Tuesday 20 December 2011

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.

Wednesday 14 December 2011

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.

Saturday 10 December 2011

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.

Monday 5 December 2011

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.