After a very enjoyable few days here in Buenos Aires, made more so by the informed guidance of some local FTers, I'll be leaving BsAs tomorrow with a bitter taste in my mouth, having been taken for 60 pesos at El Establo, the parrilla recommended by many an FT BA regular and a former favorite of mine.

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I got passed three bogus 20 peso notes by a waiter there, having asked for change of a hundred so I could adequately tip the b*stard. He came back with five 20s, the top and bottom of which were legit, the middle ones fakes (and not even good ones I would discover).

Completely my fault that I pocketed them, but I was distracted by a cell phone call that came exactly when the bill and change did, and when reaching for my phone I found two tens in my pocket that I had forgotten about and ended up becoming his tip. I was also also off my game as I have had a nasty head cold since Sunday and have been dosing myself with all manner of medication. I scooped up the twenties and went to catch a cab back to the hotel.

When I went to pay the driver, I flipped through the folded bills (the only things in that pocket) and immediately spotted the fakes - I swore to myself and told the cabbie to head back the restaurant.

Of course, I knew I was screwed but as I was leaving town tomorrow and I was full of red wine and cough medicine, I really wanted to shove the fakes down the guy's throat as a going-away present.

I went back into the restaurant and interrupted the guy while he was talking to some other diners. I let him know I didn't appreciate the gesture and where he could put the 60 pesos he stole from me. His previously very serviceable English had now disappeared.

I gave him a friendly shove and stuffed one of the notes down his shirt collar, swearing at him in English. By now the restaurant had stopped to watch the show, so to make sure everyone knew the plot, I threw the other two bills at the guy from a distance of a few feet, said what I think was, "here's your f'ing change" in Spanish, and called his mother a whore, just for effect, and left.

Had I been back home, I probably would have gotten a little more physical, but I need to be at a wedding in NYC this weekend so I don't have the time to spend in an Argentine jail and/or hospital. Some may not agree with my tactics, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let that slide.

So there you go. The guys at El Establo can always find time to clip a turista, no matter how busy they are... and by the way, if you see a curly-haired, blue-eyed punk waiting tables there, keep an eye on your wallet.