Always check the exchange rate
When I was a new Assistant Professor, I was invited to present at a conference in Chile; shoutout Juan-Pablo Montero, shoutout Felipe Balmaceda. My wife and I flew on the red eye from Miami. Turns out, I don’t sleep that well on planes. After we landed and cleared customs and immigration, there was another three hour car ride to the beautiful beachfront town where the conference was held. We arrived at the hotel, but it was still a bit early and our room wasn’t ready. Between the lack of sleep and the travel, neither my wife nor I had any sense of the time, but it looked like it was vaguely approaching midday. “No problem, let’s go to lunch and take a little walk. By the time we get back, our room should be ready.” Great plan.
“Ma’am could you recommend a place?”
“Of course, señor. If you walk down here to the right just a few blocks, you will see a charming picada. Tell Jorge we sent you.”
“Wonderful, thanks so much.”
We walk down and to the right, and as advertised, find the picada. Jorge seems especially excited to see us.
“Please señor, come right this way.” He ushers us to a seat right in front of the window and brings us some menus. My wife speaks Spanish, but mainly medical. We peruse the menu.
“Jorge, do you have any specials?”
“Of course, today we have parrilladita, a little mixed grill with a few pieces of several kinds of meat.”
“Is it a lot of food?” my wife asks. We don’t know if we’re coming or going at this point, so she doesn’t want to load up.
“It is a generous portion, but if you feel hungry, it should be just right.”
“-ita,” I said, “means little.” I was proud of the Spanish I had picked up after only a few months of living in Miami.
“And how much is it? Oh, 40,000 pesos.” I did the math. The exchange rate was about 500 pesos per dollar. 20 bucks. Perfect.
Years earlier a student had complained that my course “Mathematical Economics” was using too much math. “I totally get it when it’s numbers, but when it’s letters I get confused.” Without batting an eyelid I responded “Interesting, I am the exact opposite.” I really should have paid more attention to this exchange.
The food arrives. A verbal description cannot do it justice. This was the Mount Everest of meat plates. Steaks atop sausages atop other, less readily identifiable proteins. Somewhere beneath it all, there must have been a plate. This monstrosity could comfortably feed an entire family for weeks.
A German family we said hello to earlier passed by the window just as the food came. They stopped, pointing and jeering. I think they may have even snapped a picture. They probably still talk about this at family gatherings.
We gave it our best shot. Every bite was delicious, and I am by no means dainty. By the time we both tapped out, it still looked like our food was untouched.
The bill came. Apparently, 40,000 divided by 500 is not 20.
We saw the Germans walking back the other direction, savoring their ice cream cones. "Did you enjoy your lunch?” the dad called through the window, laughing.
“-ita,” I called out, pointing at the shrapnel scattered on my plate. “It means little.”
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