Sharing is Caring: An Ode to Mate

When I came to Argentina I fell in love.

And it was love at first sip. My two and a half year, on-again off-again relationship (it got complicated when I was in the U.S.) all began with a picture. When I first laid eyes on mate. In attempt to prepare for my semester abroad in Buenos Aires, I purchased a book on Argentine culture, and was immediately drawn to a peculiar photo of a woman drinking from a bulbous vegetable cup, using some sort bent of metal stick.

This is actually my friend Claire, but this photo may as well be in Argentine culture book

Yerba Mate, the section header read. Intrigued, I continued reading, and learned that mate, pronounced mah-tey, (not mah-tey, and definitely not meyt), is tea-like beverage (yerba), which one drinks out of a gourd (el mate) using a metal straw (la bombilla). It is prepared and enjoyed in a ritualistic fashion, and involves many defined rules and specific etiquette. Strangest of all, it is to be shared. The section concluded with a frightening list of mate rules, the most perplexing being, "Yes, the straw, or bombilla, may burn your lips. Too bad, so sad! Drink until there is no water remaining in the mate, or risk offending your server."

Mates galore! 

Despite my fear of third-degree burns to the lips, I wanted nothing more than to try mate. My first day in Buenos Aires I had a single objective, and once I dropped off my luggage, headed directly to a cafe. My heart racing, I called over the waiter: "Me puede traer mate, por favor?" Several minutes later, the waiter returned with a tea cup full of hot water and a tea bag. I am an avid tea fan, but I had never been so confused and bitterly disappointed to see a tea bag in my life. Had the book lied? Had the waiter misunderstood my order? I left the restaurant more anxious than ever to taste, to experience this mysterious Argentine beverage.

Qué onda?

During my next weeks in Buenos Aires, I would learn the fundamental lessons of mate (I continue to learn the secrets, tricks and nuances). When I moved in two and a half years ago with Natalia, my wonderful porteña 'host mom' and friend, we first exchanged names. Then I got straight to business: Could we please drink mate? Natalia nodded with a smile, and headed toward the kitchen. As it turns out, Argentines drink mate in their homes, in parks, at work, on long car rides, in plazas, (while riding a bike, if you're in Uruguay), and even sometimes during class. Basically, everywhere except in restaurants. This explained the tea bag fiasco.

Drinking mate in the car. Es complicado....

I held my breath as Natalia entered the room, and when I spotted the gourd and metal straw, I let out a sigh of relief. My time had finally come. I took my first sip of mate. It was strange, but I liked it immediately. I savored the bitter, herby flavor, and handed back the mate with an emphatic 'Gracias!" Natalia gave me a funny look. I had just made my first big mate mistake.

Drinking mate in Nati's house. Maybe a little too excited....

Now, if someone tells you that there is never any harm is being too polite, they are wrong. As it turns out, 'gracias,' in the context of mate-drinking, actually means 'I'm all done.' More times than I'd like to admit, I thought my friends were ignoring me, and then realized (qué boluda!) I had said 'gracias,' unintentionally removing myself from the mate circle. I had so much to learn. And I couldn't get enough.

At Argentine gas stations, fill up your tank and your thermos, all in one stop! 

Perhaps the most important lesson of all is that mate is to be shared. Yes, shared. For those of us from the United States, the concept of sharing a drink among a potentially large group is very, very strange. In restaurants, coke and beer come in single serving containers. At sports practices everyone has his or her own water bottle. Generally, only close friends and family share beverages. People often rationalize this one-drink-per-person mentality as a preemptive measure against the dreaded 'spread of germs.'

Argentines are often surprised when I say I like mate. 

Imagine my surprise then, when I witnessed large groups of not only friends, but acquaintances and even strangers, sharing the same straw. This cultural difference was perfectly captured several months ago in a hostel in Buenos Aires, where I approached two guys from the United States. They were sitting together at the same table, chatting, each drinking from his own mate. From the perspective of an Argentine, this scene is utterly comical, for the mate ritual is at its essence a collective one. My fellow yanquis had not yet learned that mate is so much more than just a drink. It is a shared experience.

Drinking (one) mate in park in Mendoza with my friends

My next 'Mate 101' lesson was on the ritual itself. One person, el cebador, is designated to prepare and serve (cebar) the mate. Depending on the cebador, the preparation can be fairly relaxed, to very intense and precise. My first teacher fell on the 'intense' end of the spectrum. He prepared the water, using a thermometer, allowing to it heat to just before boiling. (Once when I accidentally let it boil, and he demanded that I start over. If I was going to prepare mate, he insisted, I had better do it right.)

Yerba mate!

I will now describe the preparation and serving ritual for my curious yanqui readers. (I recognize that an entire book could be written on this topic, and therefore apologize in advance for the brevity of my description.) While the water is heating, the yerba is to be placed inside the mate, at a slight angle, extra dust is to be removed placing one's hand over the mouth of the mate and turning it upside-down. The bombilla is placed inside, also at the proper angle, and water is to be poured at the base of the bombilla, which should not be moved. Some opt to put some lukewarm water in the mate, before adding the hot water, to prevent the yerba from burning.

Giulia, cebando in the park

After trying out the mate, the cebador/a fills the mate with hot water for each person, who passes it back to the cebadora after drinking all the water from the mate. The mate moves in this way, in a circle but always passing through the cebador, until the mate is lavado, or without flavor. Repeat!

Emi, cebando! Grosa!

The cebador should remember the order of those in the mate circle, to avoid skipping and possibly angering an eager mate-drinker (I have seen this occur, and it is not pretty). Also, the cebador can choose to prepare the mate dulce (with sugar), or amargo (without sugar). Many Argentines fall decisively into one camp or the other, and some have very strong feelings about their preferred mate style. (For some point of reference, this division is not unlike the polemical crunchy-creamy peanut butter debate in the United States.)

I met one Argentine who had a yerba mate dispenser on the wall of his store. Now that's intense!

When I returned to Argentina and moved to Bahía Blanca six months ago, I was determined to master my mate technique. I knew that I would need my own equipo de mate. Now, I absolutely love this term. 'Equipo' translates to equipment, which is how it is meant in relation to mate. 'Equipo,' however, can also mean 'team.' I prefer to translate using the second option. My mate team.

The Mate Trinity

Despite my enthusiasm, my first attempt to form my mate team was an utter failure. I eagerly set out in search of the necessary items: a mate, a thermos, and a bombilla. First, the mate. Having irrationally decided that my mate would 'speak to me,' this step took months, but I finally found a lovely mate gourd to call my own. Mates must be cured before use however, and so I would have to wait.

Not wanting to ruin my precious mate, I asked dozens of Argentines how to cure a mate gourd. I watched numerous youtube videos. Every person, and every video professed a different technique. Cure for one day, some explained. Many said three, others said seven. Use butter, use burning coals, use a few drops of whiskey (I'm am nearly positive this was not a joke). More confused than ever, I chose one technique, and gave it a go. I chose wrong. When I discovered black mold in my mate, I almost cried . The bombilla I had bought clogged, and then I think I did cry. My only team member who had pulled through was the thermos.

I persevered however, and ultimately formed a functioning mate team. Indeed, there were some rocky patches on my road to becoming a cebadora (i.e. spilling hot water on my friend Daiana's lap, dumping a entire tupperware full of yerba on the floor, twice), but thanks to my wonderful Argentine teachers, I can now successfully prepare and serve mate for my friends, without causing any major offense or serious destruction.

Drinking the happiest drink around with my two housemates, Bianca and Carine!

For example, I have learned to NEVER move the bombilla around in the mate. I used to laugh at Argentines who turned red in the face watching a foreigner wiggle, or (heaven forbid!) pull the bombilla out while drinking mate. I knew then, that I was becoming argentinizada when found myself wincing in agony as an exchange student stirred the bombilla around like it was just any straw.

Yerba mate aisle at the grocery store. Does it ever end? I think not.

You may be thinking by now that I am obsessed with mate. And you would be right. I don't know if I've ever once said no to the question, 'Querés que tomemos unos matecitos esta tarde?' It is a tradition which at its essence is about meeting up with friends for the sake of spending time together. To share a drink. To share stories. It is a tradition which for many Argentines is daily, and which is a shared custom throughout the country. Whether you're in a humble jujeño village in Northern Argentina, or a swanky Recoleta home in Buenos Aires, you will see friends sitting in circle, drinking mate.

An Argentine once told me that while people often argue over a cup of coffee, people never argue while drinking mate. And I believe it. For me, mate embodies what I love most about the Argentine people and culture: a warmth, a collective perspective, an emphasis on what really matters. Spending time with loved ones. Making new friends. Telling stories. Forgetting what time it is. Laughing. Sure some germs are swapped, but it couldn't be more worth it.