Chan Chan - Hipolito Yrigoyen 1390, Congreso

My last evening in Buenos Aires and what better way to mark the end of my year long odyssey of Spanish-learning and absorption of all things Argentine than some... 

errr... 

Peruvian food. 

Despite having been to Peru, I first came across - and then whole-heartedly embraced - the delights of ceviche in Buenos Aires. In the depths of summer, when the humidity levels of the streets of Buenos Aires are beyond the pale, there is nothing more welcome than a plate of fresh zesty coriander-saturated ceviche. And possibly an equally zesty pisco sour.

 

I have sampled ceviche in an abundance of Peruvian restaurants in Buenos Aires. They seem to reside in clusters around Abasto or Plaza de Congreso; the latter is where Chan Chan can be found, tucked away on an unassuming side street; dark, grimy and litter-strewn.

Tonight I am meeting Ana, vivacious porteña pal who confesses to never having tried Peruvian food before. We meet inside, luckily I manage to get a table despite the substantial queue trailing out of the door (Chan Chan is no secret). Typical of many Argentines, Ana has a morbid fear of all things spicy, as well as being squeamish when it comes to the idea of raw fish, so I suggest she goes for (cooked) fish served with rice and huancaina sauce - an inexplicably delicious creamy, cheesy sauce, which also happens not to be remotely spicy. I opt for Causa de Salmón (a kind of terrine made from mashed potato, smoked salmon and avocado) as a starter and predictably choose ceviche as my main course.

Huancaina sauce and spicy dip

Causa de Salmón

At Chan Chan the meal always begins with salted roasted corn kernels, crusty white bread and little bowls filled with dips; one with the aforementioned delicious huancaina sauce and a slightly greenish dip, which if Ana's reaction is anything to go by is about as spicy as eating a handful of raw chilli seeds, though in actual fact is only mildly hot. The Causa is served up looking like a plate of food designed for - or perhaps by - five-year-olds; smiley face drawn with olives and prawn and flourishes of mayonnaise haphazardly squirted around the edge in playful abandon. It tastes good. Potato-y, salmon-y and avocado-y, as good as the sum of its parts; nothing more and nothing less. 

Next up, Ana's fish is rather monotonous in appearance, a colour palate that ranges from yellow to beige, but she is happy with her choice (and the non-spicy-ness thereof) and even ventures to try some of my ceviche which she also reluctantly admits to liking. The ceviche is excellent as always, wonderfully tender and with that satisfying texture and bite reminiscent of sashimi. And as far as I'm concerned, you simply can't go wrong with the combination of fresh coriander, lemon, onion and chilli. Ceviche has been my saviour when I have craved firey and potent flavours here so it is a fitting tribute that I find myself eating it on my last evening of my foodie days in Buenos Aires.

Ceviche

Fish with huancaina sauce

This is my last night in the Argentine capital, a low-key dinner with a friend. I have chosen this over a grand goodbye because I like to think I will see the people I have met in Buenos Aires again. Whether there, in London, or in other corners of the world, I hope to meet again for more good company, good conversation.... and preferably accompanied by good food too.

 

La Posta de las Cabras - Ruta Nacional 68, Km. 88, Salta

"This is possibly the most picturesque driving lesson anyone has ever had", I proclaim. Kate and I are on an abandoned airplane runway, over 2000m above sea level, arid red tinged mountains in every direction and not a soul in sight. We are in the tiny village of Cachi, in Salta province in the north of Argentina and I am teaching Kate how to drive manual in our Golf hire car. The lesson is going as smoothly as can be expected.

Fast forward twenty-something hours and we are en route to our next destination, Cafayate, Kate securely in the driver's seat shifting gears with aplomb. On the roadside to our right a sign pointing to a goat farm comes into view causing us to indecisively debate whether to make a stop. Ultimately we agree that the promise of adorable goats and delicious goat cheese is too much to resist, so Kate slows to a gradual stop and starts to do a three point turn although our lesson on reversing is still pending. Next thing we know we are squarely in the middle of the road blocking both lanes having stalled mid-turn and there is a car steadily approaching from our left. Kate chooses the flight option, flings herself out of the car while I clamber from the passenger's seat to the driver's seat as quickly as my legs will allow me. The approaching car has reached us at this point and I am aware of the glaring faces bearing down on me as I manoeuvre the car back in the direction of the awaiting goats. Kate climbs back into the Golf dazed and then we are laughing with relief.

Once safely parked, a semi-traumatised Kate sits at a table in the farm cafe and we do the only sensible thing: order cake. A baked ricotta cheesecake - made with goat cheese of course - and flavoured with orange. The goat cheese flavour is surprisingly subtle. Dense, moist and comforting, the cake takes off the edge of our recent fleeting moment of panic. Agreeing that it was worth the raised blood pressures, we vow to return the following day for more baked goods and possibly some cheese too, albeit in a (hopefully) less dramatic manner.

A Nos Amours - Gorriti 4488, Palermo

After a several week long dining spree I am craving something simple, no overblown pretensions or superfluous flourishes. So it may seem odd that I opt for a French restaurant, but I have walked past A Nos Amours so many times, gazed longingly into the minimal rustic interior and wondered what it would be like to while away an evening in this corner-located restaurant. It’s not listed in any of the guide books but gets very positive ratings and write-ups on Guia Óleo (the Argentine Tripadvisor-style restaurant website) so we are here to investigate.

When we walk in we are all immediately content with the air and style of the place. It is  often hard to put your finger on what makes a place pleasing to be in, but A Nos Amours have managed it. Vast windows house the eight or so tables, chic music plays and a doorway allows a peek into the kitchen where the chef is visible, a vast mass of dreadlocks piled on top of his head turban style. A book has been casually placed on each table. We have a book about Jean Renoir, the French director, but being high-brow diners we are more interested in leafing through ‘Footballers Haircuts’, perched on the table behind us, a small photo book of the aforementioned haircuts, featuring mostly English players from the 80s.

A sizeable chalk board adorns the main wall scrawled with the ample and almost-illegible wine list. A second smaller chalk board is presented to us by a trendy lean wild-haired French man with the day’s menu. Three starters, four main courses. Take it or leave it. I am already in love with this place for not burdening me with copious choices. We skip starters and choose gnocchi and risotto, two of each, dishes I generally avoid in restaurants because I see them as easy to make at home, but I am erring towards vegetarianism tonight and the remaining two options are meat and fish.

The gnocchi is home-made, light and yielding a far cry from the standard heavy stodgy kind and is accompanied by a tomato sauce with courgette, mushrooms and carrots. The carrots are a little incongruous with the rest, but it tastes good nonetheless. Risotto is silken smooth with sautéed leeks, delicious unidentified herbs and a generous quantity of cream. “This is some serious gourmet shit” concludes Stefan (I did mention we are high-brow). And that it is. 

The wild-haired waiter takes away our empty plates and we consider dessert probabilities. Based on how delicious the mains were we are edging towards sharing at least one between the four of us. Expecting to see another, perhaps even smaller, chalk board materialise we continue sipping our Chardonnay, but we are barely acknowledged, the waiter a little too nonchalant. We begin to wonder disbelievingly whether there are in fact no desserts (we later see there are) and as the time edges towards midnight we conclude that we are tired and beyond dessert cravings. We do the international sign language gesture for la cuenta and make our exit once we have paid our dues.

Casa Felix - address received on booking

The smiling face of Diego beams from behind the door a few seconds after we ring the bell. With barely a word we are warmly welcomed into the beautiful home that plays host to Casa Felix, one of the longer-standing puerta cerradas (pop-up or 'closed door' restaurants) of the city, a foodie trend that shows no signs of abating in Buenos Aires. We are gringo-ishly punctual, the first to arrive we sit in the living room and chat easily with Diego, clad in chef's gear, he is animated and visibly excited by the prospect of the evening's meal, which promises to be inspired by flavours from the length of Latin America. 


Once the second group of guests arrive we are led through the patio and kitchen to the compact garden at the rear where Diego proudly shows us all the herbs and vegetables they grow there. They will make up a significant part of the meal he tells us, before we are handed right on cue, an aperitif flavoured with lemon verbena from the tree we are standing under. 

Next, a plate of amuse bouche (how I have always wanted to use those two words...) materialise as if from nowhere. According to the adorable hand-written menu on a scrap of paper we later find on our table, it is 'Fontina cheese wrapped in Chayote leaves with Arrope de Chañar'. And yes, this is the English version. The ingredients are apparently non-translatable and I am left wondering what the delicious chutney-like substance that goes by the name of 'arrope de chañar' could possibly be. Most importantly the 'taste from the garden', as these canapes have been named, are a delicious combination of melting cheese and thick glossy sweetness decoratively enveloped in a leaf.


Unlike many puerta cerradas, Casa Felix does not subscribe to sitting all their guests together at the same table to awkwardly contemplate casual chatter with one another. Each booking is given their own table on the patio which is decorated with murals and colourful Mexican papel picado flags. Despite this, there is a communal air, the pre-dinner drink in the garden encourages people to converse, creating some sense of being at a dinner party, albeit a relatively pricey one (210 pesos - more than £30 - a head not including drinks). Having made the easy decision of having wine-pairings with each course of our meal (of which there are five) we eagerly sit ourselves at our assigned table.

The first course is 'Shrimp ceviche over Mbeyú, cream of corn and chilli infused oil'. Mbeyú as Diego kindly explains is a Paraguayan dish, a kind of omelette made from cassava starch and cheese. Paired with the fresh, tangy Peruvian ceviche and a rich creamy base of corn (which Latin American country was the inspiration for this component I wonder?), the flavours are overwhelming, and nothing short of divine. I immediately want to ask for a second helping, but the thought of another four courses to come - and simple good manners - mean I refrain from doing so.

goat cheese, almond and papaya stuffed hibiscus 
flowers, freshly picked herbs and greens 

Next up according to our menu is 'Goat cheese, almond and papaya stuffed hibiscus flowers, freshly picked herbs and greens'. Nicely presented with the abundant mound of verdant herbs - from the garden of course - in the centre, encircled by three nuggets of smooth yet crisp, sweet and deep dull flavours. We are happy, only more so because of the delicious wine pairings (the names of which I forget to note down in the midst of all the indulgence). The next two courses are also good, a palate-cleansing minty sorbet followed by fish as the main course. The only vague disappointment is dessert, a coconut cheesecake which has been over-fed with gelatine, making the consistency unappetisingly glutinous. Having said that, this is clearly the menu of a chef not afraid to try new combinations, to be innovative in his cooking. Four out of five (five out of six if you count the amuse bouche) is not a bad ratio of success. 


The menu changes every week, depending on what is available at the market, what is sprouting in the garden, Diego's mood, and the direction in which the wind is blowing (perhaps). This, along with the heart and soul that is so clearly invested in the cooking, and the project as a whole, is discernible in the outcome and the wonderful flavours that emerge.

La Pharmacie - Charcas 3494, Palermo

I have been given a work assignment with a twenty-four hour deadline, so am laptop-bound for the foreseeable short-sighted future. I am all set up to engross myself in the work: on my bed, door closed to distractions, computer on lap and coffee supply at hand, when the internet cuts out. The globe icon in the corner of my screen turns to menacing red cross. At exactly the same time the ceiling fan above me ceases to churn its relentless cycle sound. This can only mean two things: there is a power cut, and it's time to decamp to La Pharmecie.

If I were to name anywhere as my regular or local this would be it. La Pharmecie is closely convenient to where I live, has great corner cafe people-watching potential and opens all day every day. The wifi also works as well as can be expected, so it's an easy option for online working when cabin fever rears its ugly head at home. Service is relaxed (i.e. slow) so there is no fear of being rushed out mid-flow.

medialunas

The main draw of La Pharmacie for me, however, is its medialunas (small sweet croissants). The smell wafts from the depths of the back kitchen where they are freshly made alongside other pastries and empanadas. Many a time I have ordered medialunas to take away from the counter which allows a glimpse into the kitchen, only to watch enviously as the staff put together empanadas, swiftly twisting the doughy edges, barely looking at their expert fingers while they do so.

But returning to the all important medialunas; they are fluffy, flaky, light, puffs of butteriness, soft in the middle, sugar glazed and glistening on the outside. Delicious. The coffee is passable (I have yet to find outstanding coffee in Buenos Aires and did resort to importing my own ground beans from England), merely the supporting act to the excellent mini croissants that it accompanies. Once tried, all other medialunas - of which there are excessive quantities in Argentina - pale weakly in comparison. Better still, when the electricity is working, I get them to take-away for a lazy breakfast at home. 

1810 Cocina Regional - Julián Alvarez 1988, Palermo

Empanadas vary so greatly in quality that finding the best ones in Buenos Aires is a surprisingly difficult feat. Luckily I have been living close to 1810, a place that serves up food typical of the Andean region of northern Argentina. Think tamales, hearty stews, rice pudding, home-made flan, rib-sticking food fit for hardy gauchos. But their speciality seems to be their empanadas which are a far cry from the limp pallid specimens displayed in every second bakery window in BsAs.

Humita en Chala

In fact, on the night we go to 1810, most of our fellow diners are ordering empanadas, many are eating nothing else with their carafes of wine. We follow suit. From an impressive twelve fillings to choose from we order just three to share, the extreme humidity outside having dampened our hunger a little. Substantial warming food like this seems more apt for wintery climes, but we are undeterred and tuck in with ease once the golden toasted empanadas arrive.


The tuna filled kind is spicy and juicy, the Roquefort one is piquant, and the ricotta and ham empanada, coated with a glistening sprinkling of caramelised sugar, is the perfect blend of sweet and salty goodness in a warm crisp doughy shell. We also order Humita en Chala - a corn husk filled with creamed sweetcorn, red chilli and cheese - which is mellow yet flavoursome and comes with a biting spicy red salsa and fluffy bread rolls. 


With water and house wine the bill comes to less than eighty pesos (less than £12) for the two of us. I make a mental note to return to sample the remaining empanada flavours before too long.

El Preferido - Jorge L. Borges 2108, Palermo

My recent absence from blog-writing may suggest I have been slacking in my gourmet duties, but on the contrary, since the arrival of my madre to Buenos Aires I have been successfully eating my way around the city sampling new restaurants, revisiting old favourites and trying to include at least one of the main Argentine food groups in each day's diet: empanadas, beef, ice-cream, medialunas, dulce de leche and the most important of all, Malbec. All in the name of being a tour guide of course.

I could probably write a book about the places we have frequented, the food we have devoured, the wine we have sipped, but time is lacking so over the coming days I will be rounding up the many varied dining experiences. Starting with…

Touted as a Spanish-Argentine tapas bar slash restaurant, El Preferido has that warm homely neighbourhood restaurant feel. An antidote to the generic über-slick bars of Palermo, it offers cluttered ambience and messy charm. The place is made up of two separate dining areas, a sit-down-at-normal-height area at the rear and a bar stool furnished room at the front. We choose the front bar, shelves stacked ceiling high with vessels of olive oil, jars of pickles, vat-sized tins of tomatoes and other curious non-identifiable foodstuffs and sit ourselves down feeling like kids in the proverbial sweet shop.

Serrano ham with pickled garnish

As the bar slowly fills up, we order a simple dinner of Serrano ham and rabas con papas fritas (calamari rings with chips) as well as the obligatory bottle of Malbec. We conspiratorially decide to forgo all salads or vegetable-related dishes telling ourselves that we will make up for it tomorrow.

On the next table an Argentine man, balding but making up for it with curly-haired abundance and beard, engages in familiar banter with the waiter. They go way back. Once in a while he peers at us through his thin-rimmed spectacles, trying to ascertain who the two gringas are that appear to have imposed themselves on his local.

The Serrano ham arrives with a garnish of vinegary pepper, extracted from one of the huge glass jars I imagine, the calamari a monotonous pile of yellowish pale against the fried potato slices. The cured ham is smoky and deep-flavoured, the vaguely stale bread brought with it adds nothing to the taste. The calamari is mostly tender and the chips are nicely golden but need a lot of salt.

It is said that Argentines eat far too much salt. Government bodies have been waxing lyrical about it to the point of passing a law that prohibits restaurateurs from putting salt-shakers on the tables as default. Only once a customer has asked for salt can they bring it. In truth, most places adhered to this for a token week or month if at all, and now salty order has been restored. It seems to me that the problem lies in two causes: Firstly, Argentine food lacks spices and herbs, so there is a general need to over-compensate for this lack of flavour. Secondly, the salt-shakers all have remarkably large holes for sprinkling. Even a cautious sprinkle can yield unforeseen quantities of salt.

Our curious neighbour

Our curious curly-haired neighbour seems unperturbed by the salt-related health warnings and generously pours – not sprinkles – salt onto the plate of tomatoey albondigas (meatballs) and puree (mashed potato) before him. He works his way through his bottle of red faster than we manage to empty ours between the two of us and continues his casual exchanges with the waiter, an affable sentence passing between them here and there.

We polish off our food, the dryness of the wine nicely cutting through the greasiness of the fried food. Having no room left for dessert, we leave the cluttered old-school charm of El Preferido and go off into the balmy Palermo night. The lights of the generic neon slick bars are ablaze in anticipation of the Friday night drinkers that will surely come.

Wasabi's Sushi & Lounge - Thames 1810, Palermo / Kaizen - Guatemala 4665, Palermo

Sushi. Delivered to your door. Within half an hour. What could be more civilised? And why is this not a common thing, even a religion, on the wee isles of the United Kingdom, as it is here in Buenos Aires? 

Following in the footsteps of all the world's most cosmopolitan cities, sushi has been popular in BsAs for a while. I distinctly remember on my first visit in 2008, revelling in the knowledge that I could have delicious and copious quantities of sushi and sashimi for around £10 in a restaurant. Not any more. Now you'll be hard pushed to find anything decent for double that, but I won't bore you with the usual Argentine inflation anecdotes and witticisms*. Short of foregoing sushi completely, the best option is having it delivered, if not for the saving on drinks, tips and so on, then for the sublime convenience.

Log on to buenosairesdelivery.com and you have entered the realms of abundant choice. Several clicks later and you have selected your food establishment, the dishes you want, entered your address and contact details and are waiting with a confirmation email sitting in your inbox and hungry anticipation in your heart (and stomach).

My first experience of sushi delivery is with Wasabi's. The salmon on the niguiri has a slightly odd, almost floury texture, but the kanikama and avocado maki is perfect. Accompanied by several doses of Mad Men with my housemates - it is my initiation into the programme having, much to my housemates' dismay, never watched it before - we savour the fresh sushi. Our only complaint is the insufficiently mean blob of wasabi, but fortunately we have a supplementary hoard in our fridge. 

The next time, I have a severe sushi craving on an absurdly humid Monday where the thought of cooking is beyond inconceivable. This time we choose Kaizen who offer a 20% discount on Mondays and the salmon and avocado maki is nothing short of delicious.

When it comes to sushi I am a purist, rarely choosing anything other than fish or seafood, maybe a sliver of avocado or cucumber. For the less conservative sushi consumer the options are plentiful here in BsAs with the addition of subversive ingredients such as mango, sun-dried tomato, coconut milk or rocket. Either way, knowing that fresh sushi is readily available and wonderfully convenient makes a nice respite from the omnipresent empanadas and pizzas.

* I was however amused to recently find out that the price of Big Macs in Argentina are kept artificially low to make the Big Mac Index look favourable in an attempt to cover up the government's shameless and blatant lies about the extent of inflation (they say 8%, unofficial sources - and common sense - say 25%). Hilariously enough, if you go to any McDonalds you will find that Big Macs are not listed, you have to surreptitiously order 'off-menu' if you want one.

Parrilla Tito - secret location, Palermo

It's been quite a while since I had any significant quantity of meat when I receive Alejandro's invitation to Parrilla Tito the week before Christmas. Meat is ubiquitous in Argentina, but the quality of cooking can vary greatly, so the recommendation of a decent parrilla (restaurant serving barbecued meat) from a local is a valuable thing. To add intrigue, the place is often lovingly referred to as the 'secret parrilla', it being a well-guarded secret. Indeed my search for information online yields very few results so I have to wait for Ale's instructions on the precise location. All I know is that it's somewhere near Las Cañitas, a sub-neighbourhood of Palermo.

Devoid of any obvious sign, fronted by mirrored windows and heavy metal bars, I manage to walk past oblivious, before retracing my steps. A battered door opens onto a strip-light glow of a room, ceiling fans churning and porteños turning in their seats to see the novelty gringa step inside (it momentarily makes me think of The League of Gentleman T.V series quote "this is a local shop for local people, there's nothing for you here..."). Our table is upstairs on the terrace so I ascend the stairs out of the fluorescent glare with relief, and take a seat in the breezy, softer outdoor setting. For me, the bright strip-lighting can only be a positive indication of what is to come. A running joke-turned-truism between myself and several friends is that the brightness of a restaurant's lighting is in direct correlation with the quality of its food; the more luminous the lights, the tastier the grub. I can only imagine that the relationship is defined by a deep investment of energy in the preparation of the food meanwhile neglecting all the supposedly-trivial supplementary considerations that make up a dining experience.

Of eleven people I am the first to arrive a little before the agreed meeting time of 9 o'clock, but it's not long before I am joined by others. Half an hour later there are five or six of us, all the non-Argentines vaguely on time, all the Argentines neatly conforming to their stereotyped tardiness. By 10 o'clock Ale, grand organiser of the evening, and a few others have still not made an appearance – not that anyone is remotely surprised or concerned – so spurred on by our growing hunger, barely eroded by the glib baskets of bread on the table, we order a starter of Proveleta. This is a classic dish made of a distinctive kind of Argentine cheese, derived from Italian Provolone. It is meant to be barbecued to crispy perfection on the outside but left softly oozing in the middle, usually served as an appetiser before the asado (barbecue) proper. Parrilla Tito get the disparate consistencies just right, and washed down with red wine it makes the ideal prelude for the anticipated meat feast.

Parrilladas - table-top barbecues - are ordered, once the last straggling members of the group have arrived. Five or six different cuts of sizzling meat are served on mini grills: chorizo (pork and beef sausage), vacio (flank) bife de chorizo (sirloin), costillas de cerdo (pork chops). I lose count as I start to help myself. This is simple unadorned animal protein, what the Argentines do best, and what Parrilla Tito have mastered. Some cuts of beef could have been rarer, but that’s personal preference and the compromise of ordering a shared meal, something which is more than made up for by the innate pleasure of communal eating and having the opportunity to try un poco de todo.

The numerous bottles of wine and beer empty fast, evaporating rapidly in our large group, but the drinks keep on flowing until well past midnight. It is the Thursday before Christmas, a festive feeling permeates the air and numerous bars await us in Las Cañitas. We make an odd, but not entirely unusual group in the diverse and all-encompassing city of Buenos Aires. A mixture of expats, locals, people passing through; some know each other, others have never met, all brought together to enjoy the laid-back affable atmosphere of the beloved ‘secret parrilla’. Thank you for the invitation Ale, and for letting me in on the secret.

Croque Madame - Avenida del Libertador 1902, Recoleta

On the recommendation of a porteña friend I go in search of Croque Madame. For what could possibly be more civilised than afternoon coffee and cake when you have just paid a visit - albeit a fleeting one - to the Museo de Bellas Artes. Set back a little from the great expanse of traffic of Avenida del Libertador, I try to find a table towards the back of the cafe to escape the chugging pulsation of the cars passing by. Cited as the fourth noisiest city in the world, peace and quiet in Buenos Aires are luxuries only the wealthy can afford in their immaculate serviced penthouse apartments, shielded from the cacophony of outside by glass-fronted air-conditioned edifices. 

My well-founded fear of being sunburned draws me to a shaded table. To my left, two forty-something women, friends who have a lot of catching up to do is my guess, are about to embark on indulgent quantities of cake and milky cappuccinos. To my right, a work-and-childcare juggling mother sits at her laptop, professionally groomed and perfectly manicured. She sips the smallest, neatest espresso, while her six-year-old daughter, wearing plastic Minnie Mouse ears, propels herself around a parasol stand trying to get my, or anyone else’s, momentary attention.

Torta de Maracuyá y Café con Crema

Content in my people-watching I negotiate the menu, deciding on Café con Crema and a half serving of Torta de Maracuyá (passion fruit tart). Pre-warned by the sight of my neighbours' heaving portion sizes I am confident a half helping will suffice. As I settle down to read my book, the trickle of the fountain behind me, the sun - not too hot on this Thursday afternoon - and the steady hum of chatter are all seductively calming. The slice of tart and coffee are served, perfectly executed, by the affable bow-tied waiter. I try to make the rich yet deliciously tangy tart last, the setting calls more for delicate nibbling than greedy devouring, and manage to make a good effort.

Croque Madame is a place for treating yourself, or a friend. A place where ladies lunch, be-suited men have meetings, gallery-goers take stock; a tiny haven in an otherwise boisterous city.

El Malecón - Punta del Diablo, Uruguay

"If we go in, it will fill up straight away, we just have to be the first", I reassure Kate. We are debating whether to go into El Malecón, a beach side eatery in Punta del Diablo, a fishing-village-turned-beach-destination in Uruguay, located about one hour from the Brazilian border. It being 8pm when we tentatively set foot inside the haphazardly-formed shack there is not another diner in sight, but the promise of fried seafood and icy caipirinhas lures us in regardless. We are here for the limbo-like period between Christmas and New Year, to shake off the thickness of Buenos Aires for a few days.

The restaurants in Punta are not remarkable for the diversity of their offerings; most serve various fried seafood snacks tapas-style, barbecued fish and meat and the ubiquitous Chivito, famed national dish of Uruguay. Chivito consists of several types of meat - thinly sliced sirloin beef, ham and bacon - piled high and topped with a fried egg making for a heap of salty protein-based goodness. It is served either in a roll, making a monstrous burger, or accompanied by french fries - or for the very brave, both.

While the variety of food may not be entirely inspired in this sleepy seaside town, the ready and affordable availability of seafood is enough to make us smile with anticipation. We order a mixed platter which comprises rabas (calamari), miniaturas (fish goujons) mejillones al ajo (mussels with garlic) and buñuelas de alga, a local delicacy of ping-pong ball sized deep-fried seaweed doughnuts. Washed down with lemon caipirinhas, it makes for the perfectly untainted taste of beach holiday.

We each order a second caipirinha, then a pancake to share, spurred on by the cachaca and sugar buzz. Topped with sautéed apple slices, excessive syrup and scoops of cream, the dessert is cloyingly sweet, but we find it in ourselves to greedily finish it anyway. We are on holiday after all.

By the time we leave, the place is full of hungry surfers, sun-bathers and travellers, huddled together watching the sun go down as the year draws close to it's end.

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Happy New Year to you all, thank you for following the blog thus far. Here’s to many more wonderful culinary experiences in the coming year, mostly back on familiar ground in BA.

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