Chifa Man-San - Perú 832, San Telmo

A Chinese restaurant run by Peruvians may seem like a strange mingling of cultures but it is not altogether uncommon in La Ciudad de la Furia (Buenos Aires' pseudonym according to the 80s Argentine rock band, Soda Stereo). We are after a few drinks and some hefty food to soak up the cheap wine we have just sophisticatedly sipped from plastic cups, at the opening of an art exhibition in  Centro Cultural Borges.

I have been warned by my two companions, who are regulars at this straight up no-frills eatery, that under no circumstances should I try any seafood or fish on the menu; the only things that are safe are vegetarian or meat-related. Indeed, as a steaming pile of squid rings are served up at the next table Enrica pulls a mock-concerned face from across the table, conspiratorially whispering 'suerte!' (good luck) under her breath before laughing. This does not fill me with any deep sense of confidence in the food I am about to consume, but if my dining companions are regular and loyal patrons then I am in good hands, right?

We choose two rice dishes to share between the three of us, one with chicken and mushrooms, one egg-fried with vegetables. I am keen to try the dish named Felicidad para todos (translated helpfully into English on the menu, 'Happiness for all') for novelty's sake but the high price tag suggests an insurmountable expanse of food which would necessitate a doggy bag or three. I make a mental note to make a return visit with five or six hungry friends, on the proviso that what we eat tonight is decent. Fabricio orders the dishes, asking for three plates for serving, big portions, and for the food to be made with 'mucho amor', to which the pint-sized no-nonsense Peruvian waitress gives a bemused smile. He also tells her about my blog-writing endeavours in a bid to blag extra generous portions and/or free drinks, but she remains utterly unmoved, and judging by how busy the place is, she has no reason to be otherwise.

Inbetween talk about Maradona, greasy spoon cafes in London, dancing tango, and the exhibition we have just seen, we hungrily ladle the rice onto our plates, top up our beer glasses, eat and drink. The only obvious concession to Peruvian cuisine is the tiny saucer of salsa picante which sits like an afterthought beside the soy sauce and is reminiscent of the kind you get in Peruvian restaurants to dip bread in at the beginning of a meal. It all tastes good, not astoundingly so, but freshly prepared and made with love, as requested.

The total bill including a generous tip comes to a total of ninety pesos (less than £14) for the three of us, this is clearly the place that Argentine inflation forgot. Sated and happy we go off into the night in the direction of a milonga, sustained by our full bellies and the expectations of the night.

Don David - Vidt 2063, Palermo

Pizza, a foodstuff which is still of some heated debate between myself and my Argentine acquaintances, is only equalled in popularity by empanadas here in Buenos Aires. Served in a variety of forms, baked, fried, doughy, flaky, they are liable to be a solid and dependable option. The most common flavours are generously seasoned mincemeat (meaning salty, usually not a sign of pepper or herbs) or sliced ham with oozy cheese. I recently discovered a gourmet empanadería on the block where I live and I am not sure whether to be overjoyed or deeply concerned by the convenience of a place that sells empanadas stuffed with mozzarella, pancetta and plum or parmesan, rocket and walnuts at four and a half pesos (70p) a piece.

I call Don David one afternoon to order a couple of their dough-enveloped delicacies. When they ask for my address I am embarrassed to confess that I allow them to deliver to our apartment building, a total of about thirty metres from where they are located. Here in Argentina this is not an issue, the only country I am aware of that offers delivery at McDonald's, I am clearly not committing a faux pas, but this does not stop me from feeling like an empanada-scoffing sloven. I send my housemate down to open the door and pay for our purchases, thereby hoping to delegate my shame.

Endearingly wrapped in patterned brown paper and string, the warm parcel of anticipation is delivered. The tuna empanada is tomato-filled and flavoursome, the mozzarella, pancetta and plum one is seeping fruit and pancetta juices from the very first mouthful; a touch too sweet, it is still very moreish. Yep, I am leaning towards being deeply concerned by this absurdly convenient discovery.

Café Margot - Avenida Boedo 857, Boedo

The olde worlde cafes of Buenos Aires are widely renowned, and deservedly so; they are a delight to behold. Every so often you come across one by chance, in a part of town that is mostly residential and unremarkable, where by default it stands out for its inimitable charm. Café Margot is one such place, a quaint corner cafe that is a gem in the otherwise unassuming barrio of Boedo. Classic black and white chequered flooring, scratched, worn and loved wooden tables and chairs, and ceiling-high shelves of wine behind the bar.

Margot makes up part of a group of fifty-something coffee shops in the city dubbed cafés notables, distinguished by their cultural and historical importance, usually places that were frequented by celebrated writers, musicians and the like, in a bygone era. Nowadays patrons are a mixture of locals and tourists, hoping to find a glimpse of Buenos Aires' belle epoque. Café Margot is a little different, however. It is quaint without pandering to pretensions of authenticity. No tango music playing here, instead the tinny speakers blare out Kylie, Haddaway and whatever else happens to be on the waiter's chosen radio station that day.

Merienda

The menu is as long as it is uninspiring, mostly listing sandwiches in every combination imaginable, but I turn my attention to the first page, the list of coffees, and order Café Americano con crema and a medialuna (mini croissant). The coffee is strong and bitter, the sweetened cream taking the edge off a little, and the medialuna is flakey and decent with a hint of what tastes like coconut. In cafes notables coffee is always served with a mini cube of cake, whichever kind has been freshly baked that day, and a small glass of soda water, Italian style.

On a Thursday afternoon I find myself sharing the space with only three or four other customers and the odd pigeon that decides to wander in from the street, before plodding out again confused. However, later, at around five or six o’clock it will be packed with porteños in search of merienda (afternoon tea, usually comprised of toasted ham and cheese sandwiches and/or sweet pastries) and at weekends it is generally busy. Café Margot has got a seamless and unaffected ambience, a far cry from the long queues waiting outside Café Tortoni, or the camera-toting crowd in Bar Seddon, other cafés notables in Buenos Aires.

Caseros - Avenida Caseros 486, San Telmo

Hidden away on the wrong side of Avenida San Juan, close to Parque Lezama in San Telmo is Avenida Caseros, a single gentrified beacon in an otherwise badly-lit, shifty neighbourhood. Populated by trendy bars and brunch-serving cafes, among them sits the restaurant Caseros. With floor to ceiling windows and ample lighting, it is noticeable walking by on a dark summer's evening. It manages to look warmly inviting despite the two-storey high ceilings and sparse art-gallery-white walls. Tables and chairs are of the French-rustic variety and the decor nods to a distinctly Scandinavian chic. 

On being handed the menu I am delighted to see there are a number of reasonably-priced seafood and fish options, unusual for Buenos Aires (unless you happen to be in one of the city's many wonderful Peruvian restaurants enjoying ceviche, which I surely will be before too long - watch this space). I opt for a leafy salad with prawns, fresh salmon and orange segments. Jeff chooses Costilla de Cerdo (pork chops) served with watercress salad and potato gratin. My salad is drowning in oily vinaigrette and the salmon, which appears to have been deep-fried, further adds to the heaviness. The pork is decently succulent, but it is the gratin which is the highlight, slivers of potato and onion, velvety and perfectly seasoned.

The towering stack of chocolate and orange

A bottle of Malbec later and having devoured dessert, a towering stack of syrupy preserved orange slices alternated with wedges of quality chocolate - which doesn't quite work as well as we so badly want it to - a porteño on the next table thrusts a further glass of wine upon us. Try it, he tells us, it's the best wine on the menu, good Argentine wine. As we take generous sips, he continues to declare its virtues, proudly emphasising its Argentine origins (unnecessarily so, as the wine list offers only native wines). An epicurean patriot, eager to share life's pleasures. And he is right, the wine is delicious, possibly the best part of a meal which never quite delivers what the flair and ambience of the surroundings promise.

I will certainly be making a return visit to Caseros, but only to the road which bears that name, rather than the restaurant, which has essentially underwhelmed me. There are, after all, a handful of other alluring places to sample - all in the name of research of course - in what appears to be a flourishing neighbourhood.

Las Complejidades de la Pizza: Pizzeria Güerrin - Corrientes 1368, Microcentro / An anonymous bar - Plaza Serrano, Palermo

It seems my last blog post about Ugi's Pizza caused quite a stir among my South American acquaintances. Its appearance on facebook is met with a simple response from a Peruvian friend who has lived in Buenos Aires for over twenty years: "I don't like the Ugi Pizza". Then another comment is forwarded to me: "we used to buy it to take away and eat in the street at 3am when we were goths and poor". Finally, Juan sets me straight. According to Argentine standards, pizza should have a layer of cheese of an equal depth to the base; the tomato sauce should be viewed merely as an afterthought. Here in Argentina, the cheese is all important; but quantity, not quality, is key.


My mistake, it appears, has been to compare Argentine pizza with the Italian version. Where Italian pizza is wafer thin, delicately daubed with tomato sauce and lightly scattered with cheese, its Argentine counterpart is hefty, solid, and weighed down by counterfeit mozzarella. The two are incomparable, rather like comparing sushi with fish and chips. The thousands of Italian immigrants that came to Argentina in the last couple of centuries must have changed the recipe somewhere along the way.

Piles of fainá at Pizzeria Güerrin

So, if I had to name my preferred place for Argentine pizza, I would suggest Pizzeria Güerrin, located on the eastern end of Avenida Corrientes, Buenos Aires' answer to Broadway. Wedged between numerous theatres, it houses a sit-in restaurant as well as a communal stand-up-and-eat-in bar area at the front, perfectly laid out for people-watching. Apart from the ubiquitous cheese-loaded pizza, they sell faína, a typically porteño delicacy which is shaped like a pizza slice, but made from chickpea flour, salt, oil, and not much else. The idea is to place the fainá on top of your pizza slice and eat the two together like a sandwich. Much as I am loathe to admit it, I quite like fainá. It goes down well with an ice-cold glass of beer.

Cheese, glorious cheese

In Plaza Serrano, Palermo, I share a pizza with Juan - once he has finished his complex lesson on the precise ratios of pizza toppings, that is. We are in one of the generic bar-cum-restaurants the square is mostly made up of, and the pizza is also acceptable, but certainly not overwhelming. I am inclined to agree with the general consensus, that pizza is very rarely, if ever, terrible: When it's good, it's really good. When it's bad, it's still pretty good.

Ugi's Pizza - Carlos Calvo y Chacabuco, San Telmo (and various other locations)

The Cubans would be envious of the minimal, über-communist style of dining mastered by  Ugi’s Pizza. You walk in, order the one and only item available, pay, sit down, eat. Interaction is kept to a bare minimum and usually you find yourself in forlornly deserted surroundings.

I remember the first time I went to Ugi’s on my first visit to Argentina in 2008. My request to see a menu was met with a look of amusement by the server, that and deep contempt. Ugi’s don’t do menus, they don’t do choice (unless you consider choice to be the decision between a whole pizza and a quarter). Ugi’s do mozzarella pizza and nothing else, so you can like it or lump it. As it happens, I like it, and maintain that it is one of the better pizzas in Buenos Aires, despite Argentine friends finding my opinion unbelievable (you know who you are!). The base is doughy and yielding with just enough bite, and the tomato sauce is succulent. Ok, so the cheese is not proper mozzarella, but what do you want for nineteen pesos (£3) a pizza, big enough for two people? (Incidentally, a quarter pizza is charged at 4.75 pesos, exactly a quarter of the price of a whole one; apparently Ugi’s don’t do bulk buy discounts either.)

Surely Argentina is not
experiencing deflation?

There is a running joke among expats and locals alike that Ugi’s prices illustrate the astronomical rate of inflation in the country. Indeed, when I arrived at the end of 2010 a pizza cost sixteen pesos, now at nineteen pesos, the ‘Ugi Index’ is looking a little worrying. In a strange turn of events, when I pass the San Telmo branch at the weekend, I notice the price has dropped to a mere fourteen pesos, thereby throwing the whole theory off course. Surely cause for celebration: I go in to have my quarter pizza slapped on the plastic plate in front of me; no fuss, no bother, just food.

Hausbrot - Avenida Sante Fé 3253, Palermo (and various other locations)

Ok, so I admit, the name of this bakery appeals to my (half) germanic self, but if there is one thing Germans do well it's bread (that and cars, efficiency, terrible Europop and many more things not relevant to this blog...). I discovered it through one of my classmates at Spanish school on my last trip to these shores and have been planning my return. A little about bread in Argentina: it usually ranges from the fresh but tasteless variety you buy in panaderias to the salty, spongy, preservative-filled loaves you find in supermarkets. In other words, Hausbrot is a real exception.

Medialuna 'integral'

Breads range from sunflower seeded and yeast-free to linseed loaves and sesame plaits, all made with integral flour (meaning wholemeal, though the word reminds me of 'integrity', making me feel even more virtuous for choosing it over white bread). They also sell empanadas, packets of nuts, seeds and flour, and plenty of delicious cakes and delicacies that pertain to be healthy because they contain wholemeal flour and/or seeds. For myself, I am willing to play along with this fallacy if it means I have an excuse to sample medialunas (mini croissants), pan dulce con chocolate and muesli cookies in the coming weeks.

Pan zeppelin con girasol

Sarkis - Thames 1101, Palermo

Sarkis has become somewhat of a holy grail for me. Having failed many times to obtain a reservation, tonight I am determined to eat at Buenos Aires’ most popular Armenian restaurant. In fact, Kate and I have been planning our visit via many excited emails since I booked my flight back to Argentina (I am glad to have friends that share my enthusiasm for food).

Alas, it is fully booked they tell me over the phone, we have to arrive early to have any chance of getting a table. Luckily for us, ‘early’ is a relative concept and by Argentine standards means 8:30pm so Kate and I arrange to meet to put our names on la lista before waiting hopefully, peering through the window at our future fellow diners. Eventually my name gets called, "Su-see?", and we are led to our table in the capacious, unimaginatively furnished room.

You don't come to Sarkis for the décor; you come for the respite from the omnipresent parillas (steak houses) of Buenos Aires. While the interior may be bland, the food is a refreshing antidote to typical porteño dining and therefore it’s an excellent option for vegetarians.

Queso Blanco, Ensalada Belén and Jamba

We order several meze-style dishes: Ensalada Belén, Queso Blanco, Jamba, Falafel all served informally as and when they are prepared, by old-school waiters. The salad is a mixture of fried aubergines and peppers mixed with sultanas, almonds, herbs and spices, salty and sweet, crunchy and yielding in equal measure. The Jamba is a delightful smoky red pepper dip topped with walnuts and leafy herbs and pleasingly oily. The falafel is a little disappointing in its dryness and the Queso Blanco (white cheese) is underwhelming, but both are adequate.

Kate and I have a lot to catch up on, our chatter interspersed by each dish arriving and the topping up of our wine glasses (is there any better sound than the glugging pouring of wine?). At eleven o'clock we start to think about leaving, but at half past we are ordering dessert, feeling relaxed, seduced by the chatter around us. We order a ‘small' ice-cream sundae, but as if to tease us, our waiter brings the larger size, giving us amused knowing looks when he sees us very nearly finish the vast mound of ice-cream, chocolate sauce and booziness.

The 'small' dessert

We are certainly not the last when we finally take our leave at around half past midnight, and this is one of many things that makes me happy to be back in Buenos Aires: the lack of urgency in the bars and restaurants. You can mooch in cafes for several hours barely buying more than a single cup of coffee, and in restaurants you are never told to be out by a certain time. After close to four hours at Sarkis, a hugely popular and busy restaurant, we are never once made to feel like we are overstaying our welcome, and feel nothing less than completely contented throughout the evening. I agree with Kate when she deems it to have been an “epic” dinner; the Holy Grail did not disappoint.

Dadá - San Martín 941, Centro

Day two in Buenos Aires, jet-lagged, disorientated, lethargic, my only hope of feeling vaguely human again is a good dose of iron in the form of steak and red wine (it is my theory that anaemia is non-existent in Argentina, but I have yet to verify it).


Dadá sits on a street of few restaurants or bars, a neighbourhood that seems unpromising at first sight, but then pleasantly surprises. More pop art than dada, the walls are daubed with crude murals replicating sixties art and the lighting is moodily low.

Lomo Dadá

The brusque waitress that greets me, responds firmly in English to my table request in Spanish - I tell myself it is the jet-lag causing me to trip over my words - and I do as I am told, gladly sitting myself down at one of only about eight tables.

Jeff arrives moments later and without much persuasion convinces me to go for the Lomo Dadá, sirloin steak with mustard sauce. "The piece of meat is the size of your head", he tells me. I am promptly sold (sorry veggie friends - I will forward your complaints to Jeff).

Decadent does not begin to describe the dish, one look at it would be enough to give the faint-hearted gout. The meat is beautifully tender and nicely rare by European standards (Argentines tend towards longer cooked meat) and the sauce is piquant and buttery, but not sickeningly so. Potato gratin on the side is decent and not too heavy. Washed down with half a bottle of Malbec (what else?), it is just the tonic I am looking for. Jeff has Bife de Chorizo, a classic cut of beef which is served here atop potatoes and messily piled high with leaves and salsa.

Bife de Chorizo

The location of the restaurant in microcentro means many fellow diners are of the suited and booted variety, but the place doesn't feel corporate or staid. We are impressed by the man in the kipper tie, shaggy hair and side-burns who looks like he might have just stepped out of a seventies police drama.

Disappointingly, we have no room for postre, but I feel sure that I will be back to enjoy the experience again in a more sentient manner once I have recovered from the jet-lag...

My mission begins...

The meat is delicious, the ice-cream is lush, and the countless bakeries of Buenos Aires offer delectable treats in an array of sticky, sweet forms, but all in all, culinary inspiration can be lacking here. Argentina is not the obvious destination for a person who, like me, spends approximately half their waking (and dreaming) life thinking about their next meal. But here I am, in search of enticing food; food that is inspired; restaurants that do not consider salt as an adequate substitute for fresh herbs and spices.

I will sacrifice my dignity to take photos of every plate of food that I consume in a public eatery (thus looking more like a tourist than I already do) and give my unfettered opinion on every mouthful.

Let the eating commence...