Before this thing becomes a journalistic scandal of New York Times-ian proportions, let me clear up the ostensible problem here and now: Against some evidence to the contrary, I went ahead and wrote that the first ice cream we sampled in Buenos Aires had hazelnuts in it.
This is the troublesome passage:
On our first afternoon, Jessica orders a coffee-flavored dulce de leche ice cream with hazelnuts dipped in chocolate …
The Jessica in question is my wife. She maintains the ice cream in question did not have hazelnuts.
"You can say it had hazelnuts," she told me. "But if they call me to fact-check, I will tell them it didn't."
I don't think Jessica will mind my saying that she is normally a stand-by-your-man kind of gal. But every gal has her limits, which, for some, may include being called "gal." Jessica's limit is divulging what she considers false ice cream preferences.
I love nuts in my ice cream. Jessica considers the pairing an unnatural act. Although she likes nuts by themselves, she would never knowingly order an ice cream with nuts in it.
And there is the rub. She did not knowingly order anything.
Here is what happened. We were walking down a street with our 15-year-old son, Sam, in the fashionable Recoleta neighborhood, when our heads were turned by a young woman at an ice cream shop.
"Wow," I said.
"Yeah," Sam replied in that hushed tone of a teenage boy with lust in his heart. "Wow."