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.