Correction

Here is what actually happened Wednesday night upon leaving Museum:

Kelly has a habit of asking people what their favorite Parrilla is in the city as a way of breaking the ice with those who don't speak English. So I asked this to Jorge (not George) our cab driver, and he interpreted it as us wanting to go to a Parrilla right then. I said no, we didn't want to pay for the cab ride and such, he turned off the meter and said it's fine, you can come as my guests, I was going any way and I'm inviting you. So we drove to Belgrano. The place was called Lo de Charly and it was half-filled with men who just finished night shifts and a swarm of off-duty police officers.

The food came and Kelly just stared at it, so I kept yelling at her, "Just don't ask," but it was incredibly delicious (except for the aforementioned squiggly intestine-type swirl). When we were too full to go on, Kelly made to leave, but I informed her that the meat was yet to come. Which came with a delicious salsa criolla, so we forced it down. The whole time we made small talk in Spanish and the wait staff just stared at us, obviously confused by our presence.

He then drove us home and refused our money, so we threw 20 pesos at him and went home with our leftovers. Which Kelly ate at 6 am today upon our return from Amerika, the gay club.