La Cosecha 4963-7444

In an attempt to control the superhuman number of media-lunas (sweet, scrumptious, buttery croissants) that I consume per day, I’ve been visiting the fruit and vegetable stores (“verdulerias”) that I always found so charming. In order replace—at least a few—of my overly abundant guilty pleasures with an apple or two, I’ve started going to one verduleria in particular. This tiny little market caught my eye with its overflowing baskets of produce, shiny fruits, and exotic looking legumes—not to mention its irresistible proximity to the NYU campus.

Now at least 1 time out of 5, when I have the urge for something sweet and flakey, I turn right instead of left, and head reluctantly towards the verduleria. This adorable little shop, “La Cosecha,” is not particularly conspicuous here in Argentina. In fact, it’s very much like the hundreds of others I’ve seen in Buenos Aires as I walk from one place to the next. But this verduleria does indeed have something special about it. When I go there to survey the goods—looking but of course not touching, since such activity is not permitted in these places—a small Argentine man, named Juan, is always waiting to help me.

Juan (store interrior)

Juan who has been in the food retail business since he was 25, is sweet as pie, and always gives me a smile as I fumble around with my Spanish. “Una manzana verde y grande, por favor!” He has worked in La Cosecha for the past three years and is used to seeing lots of NYU students popping into his store to grab a healthy snack in between classes.

Now that I’ve been trying to go into the verduleria more often (to avoid the coffee shop on the other side of school) Juan and I have become quite the amigos. Not only am I certain that he saves the biggest, shiniest, crispiest manzanas for me, but I also find him to be extremely interesting, and a great conversationalist—and wonderfully nonjudgmental of my botched Spanish speaking endeavors.

Our brief afternoon conversations might even been a significant determining factor in my declining rate of media-luna consumption. Every day I learn something new—some tid-bit about how Juan came to be where he is. He moved here from Tucuman, like most Argentines, to study a “carrera,” the Argentine notion of a major. Juan had a military carrera (whatever that means), but some how ended up in the fruit and vegetable business, working in the super-market chains, “Carrefour,” “Claro”—you name it.

And despite my rosy image of the verduleria life, it wasn’t by choice that Juan ended up working in this little shop. Apparently, supermarket work is very much like the modeling industry—one day you’re young and desirable, and the next thing you know you’re 30 and useless, and out on you’re ass. No one cares about experience in this town, it’s all about youth. Juan, who is now almost 50, says no supermarket would ever hire him, but luckily he’s happy with the comfortable work at the verduleria…unless of course I was offering him something better!