Just finishing up a ten day stint in Argentina, I have run across a couple more offerings. The best places for these seem to be restaurants and I am just at a loss to understand how it works that these people don’t get the picture that your computer’s Babylon translation software lacks the depth of subtle nuances to adequately translate say, a strong box as I mentioned last time. Suffice it to say that they simply don’t. In the case of restaurants, this seems to me to be almost fatal.
Consider, if you will, the following. Starving for a dose of really juicy and savory Argentine beef, you go to a place called Lady Salta, reported to serve the best salteña (said, “Saltaynya”) empanadas and the overall best traditional fare in the greater downtown Salta. You go in and the waiters, all dressed in gaucho duds flat topped, wearing wide brimmed hats with the front turned up, boots, vest and baggy pants, the whole nine meters (we are in Argentina remember) comes and hands you the menu. You scan the menu and it all carries a translation to English.
It describes the elements of the barbecue, some of which we don’t eat north of the Rio Grande but even that is okay:
The, “Parilla,” is correctly translated as, “Barbecue”
“Chorizos,” really are “Meaty Sausages,” it just makes me chuckle expressed that way, the, “Asado de tira,” is okay as, “Grilled short ribs,”
“Riñones,” does fine as, “Kidneys,”
“Mollejas,” they nail as sweetbreats
“Pechuga de pollo,” has been translated perfectly as, “Chicken breast,”
But---
Are you ready?
“Tripas,” have been translated as, “Beef guts.”
Now, I am not sure about anyone who has not hunted or worked around animals but in my case, guts, only conjures up the image of a gurgling, steaming pile of entrails on the ground. Right away, this impacts my appetite with images summoned from a not inaccurate word but one where something more subtle might have been used.
Hazards abound. In the Princess Bride by Mandy Potemkin says, “I don’t think that means what you think that means…” A friend of mine assumed that, “Menu,” a good Latin word means what we think it means. He asked the waiter for the menu in his broken Spanish and was presented with a bowl of soup, followed by a gigantic mound of rice, chicken, some almonds and yellow gravy. The plate of the day was soup followed by aji de gallina all very delicious but my friend kept wondering when they would bring him the carta.
Sometimes, these translations just leave a body befuddled. Speaking of menus, while in the international airport in Buenos Aires, I read the chicken sandwich part of the menu. The Spanish description of the sandwich in question read, “Pollo especial,” (my translation, special chicken). The English translation had chicken with eggplant. Curious, I ask the waitress about the sandwich. “How do you prepare the chicken?”
“Boiled,” she says.
“So what do you do with the eggplant?”
“Oh, that has been badly translated. The sandwich has lettuce, tomatoes and cheese… no eggplant.”
Kind of bummed because I thought it sounded interesting with the eggplant, but still hungry, I order the sandwich. I eat half of the sandwich wondering how anyone could mistakenly put eggplant instead of lettuce, tomatoes and cheese. Then it dawns on me and I nearly snort out a tomato slice. They also have slices of hard boiled eggs. Their dependable Babylon translation software, combined with the cooks precision to render, “Chicken with eggplant,” for what, I can only surmise they meant to read, “Chicken with eggs and plants,” special chicken indeed!
