Cryptic Cocina Sunae – Buenos Aires, Argentina

The wise traveler to any foreign country will walk the walk, talk the talk, and dance the dance. I’d like to think I was wise in Argentina. I did a lot of walking because the subway wasn’t running and I couldn’t figure out the buses. I tried to talk the talk, but we both know how that went. And most importantly, I tried to dance the dance.

I hardly need to expound on the merits of Argentine tango, but I also did a different kind of dance in BA - the culinary kind. Because isn’t a good meal just the successful execution of choreography from a chef?

After the tango, the best dance in Argentina is the puerta cerrada. Spanish for “closed door”, these places hold all the mystery of being set in a private home and sit in top-secret locations, which are not revealed until you repeatedly confirm your reservation. I went for the thrill of the chase because with no location disclosed, I was literally hunting my food…and because I can’t afford a hunting license…

The dining room at Cocina Sunae is set off from the rest of the house so you don’t feel like an intruder, with beautifully serene modern décor. Mood-lit like a dance hall, this room is flirty in the right places, romantic in others, always leaving you the option of adding a little heat.

The room was enchanting, and the Gai Tom Kha was magic. Laugh all you want, but I’ve never had a dish go from bland to flavorful over the course of a bowl. The first sip actually sucked. It started as a bland white broth that progressed to savory and flavorful as a single thin slice of Thai chili released all the notes of sweet coconut with sweet’n’sour lemongrass and gingery galangal.

Over the past few years, I’ve developed a fear of shrimp almost as great as my fear of dance partners with two left feet. I’m not much better, but my concerns are centered in foot-stepping. Shrimp is easily overcooked at which point it becomes rubbery, and even the smallest of feet become bigger, easier targets when you dance. But I had no reason to fear the shrimp in Sunae’s Yum Mamuang. This salad had only the sweetest flesh. It’s hard to make a salad stand out, but this one had an element of polish and finesse that comes only with mastery. The ingredients were well-proportioned, and you rarely find natural combinations better than shrimp, avocado, and mango. The citrus dressing enhanced the entire salad subtly, adding the finishing touches to complete the package.

It’s dishes like the Sisig that put the belly on my belly. I think the tender, fatty, finely-chopped belly of pork goes straight to the ring around my belly for storage, and I can only hope it will recede if I tango just enough. Depressing nutritional facts aside, this dish progresses much like a dance. When you first learn to dance, you start with the basic step. A basic sisig sizzles on a skillet, and Sunae has clearly mastered the tender-yet-crispy pork. Then you build on the basic. Change the pattern and you move in a different direction. Add a turn to spin or twirl, and change your grip to do a dip. Applied to the plate, the pork belly is a solid basic, but it’s the egg and chicharon that add a twist to the melt-in-your-mouth quality of the dish. Break the chicharon into the pork belly like crackers into soup to add a satisfying crunch to the soft pork. No dance is complete without good music, and the garlic fried rice accompaniment was so simple yet amazing that I couldn’t decide which side of the platter I liked better.

When it comes to dance, I’m all about the innovation. Creative choreography gets my juices flowing, and there’s nothing more stifling than a dance that’s been done. Props for the creative fruit fusion in the Halo Halo, but sometimes even the most carefully choreographed steps just don’t go together. Here the grapefruit with its usually bitter finish played the overly-dominant partner who leaves little room for others to shine. This bitterness compounds with the darker bitters of the green tea ice cream, drowning out the softer, sweeter notes of lychee and passionfruit.

Despite the dessert, there’s not a single thing I regret about Cocina Sunae and almost nothing I would change. Their dancing dishes capture the spirit of all that is delicious and express all the joy of the indulgence. Cooking really is a dance - the chefs just spin and twirl on a different kind of stage. Some are lighter than air, some are a little heavier-handed, and others are dynamic, and all styles converge for an experience you won’t forget. All dance is beautiful (except for the more garish side of modern), and like a dancer well-trained, Sunae executes her choreography with unparalleled grace.

Maybe, Maybe Mott – Buenos Aires, Argentina

Soaring ceilings, a covered outdoor lounge with earth-tone couches and a loft lit entirely by a vaulted skylight is a scene straight out of Soho. Except this time it’s Soho Palermo. Other than the obvious appeal of outdoor dining on a beautiful day in BA, Mott’s market-fresh theme holds obvious appeal for the traveler who has grown weary of meat-heavy mountains and carb-loaded pasta. When I saw the word “market”, I was half a minute from moving into Mott.

Market-fresh is a bold claim to make, but not as bold as the straight-off-the-vine flavor of the Butternut Squash Soup. Sweeter than pumpkin, stringier than summer, and smoothed by a tiny touch of cream, this soup is absolutely perfect.

The potatoes in my entrée were blissfully buttery, but they butchered my Bife de Chorizo. Unfortunately butchery is only appropriate for cows, not steak. (It’s ok, I groaned too.) I should have known when the waiter walked away without asking me how I wanted it cooked. I shouted rare at his retreating back, and judging by my almost-well-done steak, either he didn’t hear me or the chef chose not to hear anyone. Since my mott-o is that steak should always bleed so this particular cut wasn’t exactly my cup of mate. And it’s a sad day in Argentina when you scarf down the sautéed peppers and onions…next to your steak.

Scream all your want to ice cream, I’ll scream for this cream. It’s rare that a dessert becomes cream of the crop in a three-course meal, but the flavor of dulce de leche made this one the crème de la Crème Brulee.

The fact of the matter is, Mott messed up big time. They ruined a steak, which was the main reason I ordered this meal. But with a flawless setting and forever-fresh feel, Mott is the only place I’ve ever been where the ambiance actually improves the food. Natural light, fresh air, and food that claims to be fresh from the market, a winning combination hampered only by an overdone steak. I walked through much of Soho, and no one does design quite as well as Mott. I’d come back just to sit and soak it in. I’m not sure I’d eat another full meal, but that crème brulee would be simply irresistible.

Best Beef in the World – Argentina

If you have a beef with steak, I suggest you let it rest…on an Argentine grill. Because that’s exactly what I did and it worked just find for me…until I realized I would be spending the following month on a beach in St. Thomas. Shut up, I do NOT have a food baby...

Swimsuit shame aside, my rather anti-climactic introduction to Argentine steak started in Ushuaia. Maria Lola’s Lomo with raspberry red wine glaze turned out to be pretty lame-o. Lomo may be one of the most prized cuts, but lean is mean especially when it’s bland and slightly overdone, and the fruity sauce tasted a little too much like it put the J in PB&J.

The lomo was laughable, but a beef buff doesn’t throw in the napkin after one mediocre meat. Then a brief longing for Patagonian lamb led to a long ache for steak, which Rio Alba only enriched. A classic steakhouse, complete with elderly waiter who was clearly the strong, silent type, I rallied to an unsurprisingly amazing and fabulously flavorful Bife de Chorizo. Unfortunately, this one was cooked a little too close to medium but by no fault of theirs. I tried saying rojo, but word from the wise…aka the idiot who didn’t look up how to say rare in Spanish before going to a nice steakhouse…look up how to say rare in Spanish before you go to a nice steakhouse.

Rio Alba had a strong showing, but after two weeks of seeing almost no English-speaking tourists, I started to wonder where the gringos go. The answer is clearly La Cabrera where you get the Argentine steak with all the comfort of Ruth’s Chris. The wait staff speaks fluent English, and everything is as polished-as-can-be, down to the free flutes of champagne while you wait. There’s no better way to make an Asian glow…with happiness you racist. And what better occasion for this celebratory beverage than the wait for a flawless Ojo de Bife (ribeye)?

The best part is, La Cabrera’s steak comes with all the fixin’s. Far as I could see, that wasn’t typical when you order grilled meat in Argentina. Not only does your whopping 400 grams (0.88 pounds) of ribeye come with a complimentary salad, complete no less than 10 little crock-lets of optional add-ons, the sides are pretty swell. The sweet potato is sweet, the mashed potatoes creamy, and who can object to precious pearl onions in red wine?

They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I say when life gives you a beef, make steak. If I ever had a beef, I’d want La Cabrera to make my steak. And if I have no beef with you, I won’t have a cow if you want to sit down and share.

Battle of the Bitters: Mate vs Fernet – Argentina

Recipe for Mate:

½ gourd/cup yerba mate

2 tbsp sugar

To prepare: Fill hollow gourd halfway with Mate, add sugar on top. Add hot (NOT boiling) water. Consume with bombilla.

Mate may sound simple, but these little leaves will pack some punch. A bitter brew at best, spoonfuls of sugar will help this medicine go down. And once you do get it down, it’s hard not to see appeal of the earthy herbal notes on which to start or end your day.

Recipe for Fernet y Cola:

2 cups of mixed medicinal herbs

½ cup camphor

1 cup Listerine mouthwash

1 small Halls mentholated cough drop, crushed

3 drops Vicks vaporub, undiluted

1 cup black cough syrup-like sludge, thinned

Combine herbs, Vicks and Halls in small, durable bowl. Mix, mash, mortar, and don’t forget to pestle. Gradually stir in thinned black sludge until mixture is liquid and smooth.

Add Coke or Pepsi, stir until desired flavor is achieved. Recipe may require more than 2 liters.

Serving size: anyone foolish enough to try it.

Imagine every herb your tiger-mom fed you to cure your cold, clear your cough, reduce your fever, and make you grow tallerstrongersmarter, all in one convenient cup. Sorry, skeptic, but your mom was onto something. Because the taste of hospital mixed with essence of medicine is forever immortalized by the Argentine palate, and Fernet has found a home in every restaurant, bar, and alcohol-selling establishment in Argentina. And let’s face it, every establishment in Argentina sells alcohol. Fernet y Cola is their Cuba Libre, and who cares if the rum’s gone when you can savor this sludge’n’Coke?

Lesson learned: When ordering Fernet, always add a chaser. There was no soda in the world strong enough to suffice so I went with the Quilmes Bock. The combination of carbonation and alcohol made me brave enough to actually try the Fernet without plugging my nostrils in advance. And yes, yes I did need the entire liter.

But chaser or not, this is one doctor who won’t be buying from the pharmacy of Fernet. The whole country’s mad for mate and honestly, so am I.

Patagonian Lamb - Argentina

Today’s brief is brought to you by the letter C. Yesterday, C was for Centolla, Chiko’s, and the catastrophic nature of my experience with both. Is it pure coincidence that the chords of my calamity are so clearly characterized by a single letter? I think not.

But featured letters are usually used to depict the more positive things in life. That or I missed the episode of Sesame Street where C was for cringe. And for every encounter, there is often a counter, and today, C is for Cordero, which is by far the best thing I had in Patagonia and possibly all of Argentina.

For starters, I sought the comfort of Ushuaia’s Bodegon Fueguino, the only Ushuaian restaurant I encountered with a line out the door. And no wonder. This sweet, cozy, winery-esque abode is all charm with a capital C, and the fire-pit-on-a-spit Cordero with a sweet glaze of orange and honey was pure Patagonian nectar. I was afraid that sweetness would interfere with the gamey lamb, but nothing could cover up something this good.

I tried a different “cuts” of lamb in El Calafate, the first being this taste of Lamb Tripe. Yes, it is what it looks like. Don’t look too closely – I won’t be culpable for upsetting a stomach much weaker than mine.

I found the idea of Lamb Pie highly suspicious, and after canoodling with the culinary tourist traps all over Costa Rica, I was even more reluctant to dine at a restaurant bearing their cultural catch-phrase, no matter how highly recommended it came. Clearly I was wrong about Pura Vida, as evidenced by this crock of what I can only describe as Patagonian shepherd’s pie. I’ve had pie, but this Lamb Pie trumped all. The crust of sweet potato was a silky smooth mash, the filling was a gamey mix of crumbly ground cordero combined with small slices of not-yet mushy eggplant. Song, songof the far down south, here’s a sweet potato pie that’ll shut my mouth.

King Crab – Ushuaia, Argentina

From the way they talk about it in Ushuaia, you’d think the mighty centolla was a culinary deity, and not just a king. And why not? Who could say no to a leg of succulent crab? The answer to that rhetorical question is a traveler on a budget. For everything there is a price, and centolla is a reasonable splurge. I did splurge, but I could only afford to splurge once.

I’m already reluctant to try seafood in a tourist town, and if my Centolla Casserole from Chikos was any indication, I highly doubt that I missed out. For starters, I didn’t even get my food for a good half-hour. When I finally “told” a server (and by told, I mean a long barrage of arm-waving and pantomiming), a casserole arrived. The thing is, I ordered a stir-fry, But I wasn’t about to risk starving to death while pantomiming the replacement, and plus the casserole was on every other table so I assumed it was good. It was not good. It turned out to be a veritable pot de crème (and not the good kind) and neither looked nor tasted like the occasional chunks of crab leg floating in it. Sorry Ushuaia, but this is one king I will NOT be bowing to.

Ham & Cheese - Argentina

After so many tasty Argentine offerings, (yes, yes, I’ll get to the meat soon enough!), I really couldn’t believe the queso. Every bit of cheese I’ve had here has made me throw my hands up and ask, “¿Que?” in the same tone people use to ask wtf. Because there is just nothing O-que about the queso. The fresh mozzarella is as processed as it gets, anything called quatro quesos tastes like it was divided by quatro, and even the Roquefort is anything but forte. The best cheese I had was a wedge of grocery-store cheddar after a long hike.

Far as I’m concerned, all the jamon in Argentina should take a hike as well. The jamon cocido is a firmer version of spam. I had a little more hope for the jamon crudo. The strong Italian influence had them calling it prosciutto. And Argentina may have mastered pasta, but prosciutto is clearly a secret the Italians chose not to share. This thick, crude, heavily salted bears an eerie resemblance to something you dig out of a box of Lunchables when you’re too young to know any better.

My advice? Curse the queso, hurry past the ham and head straight to the lomo.

Empanadas – Argentina

Picture all the worst things you can imagine and put them all together. You should get a mental image with some semblance to the men’s basketball team at UNC. Now picture the exact opposite of that and you have the Argentine empanada. Fluffy, flaky pastry shell stuffed with myriad meats, a variety of vegetables, or just the common cheese and chopped onion, these little edible emblems of all that comprises Argentine cuisine are a win every time. It’s just too bad I lost the photos…

Order a couple for a sit-down lunch or snack on a small one from any savvy street vendor. Even the smallest cafes and snack stands stock them by the bunch. The ground beef is always well-seasoned, and truly, the beef here is best. Then again, the moist shredded chicken was neither a fowl nor flavorless choice. And if you’re really lucky, you may stumble on a café that serves caprese because every time I’m craving anything veggie, they’re always fresh out.

Milanesa – Argentina

Move over chicken and eggplant, there’s a new parmesan in town. Egged and breaded to perfection and deep-fried golden-brown, that grass-fed flavor of Argentine beef flows all the way through that crispy bife de milanesa. And yes, it comes in chicken too. And no, I haven’t tried it. Who the heck orders chicken in the fire-land of beef?

The Milanesa Completa featured here comes from a simple little café called El Turco in Ushuaia where the perfectly fried cutlet is sided by fries and topped with a couple of eggs, sunny-side up. But even alone, milanesa stands strong with neither seasoning nor sauce, even without a gooey yellow yolk to spread over each crispy chew. In a country where steak and seafood are dinnertime delights, a bife de milanesa is a pretty solid way to middle your day just right.

Nothing Sweeter Than Dulce de Leche – Argentina

Sorry peanut butter, you may be the great American staple, but you don’t stand a chance in Argentina while dulce de leche lives. Forget the PB&J, here the grocery aisles house an impressive array of a butter that lets you spread the wealth.

Defined as a confection of sweetened milk and caramelized sugar, dulce displays the color and consistency of a thicker, sugary, milky caramel that doesn’t stick to your teeth. And in Argentina, everything’s a little sweeter with dulce.

A jar of spread will cover your bread, and there are even little packet portions for a girl on the go. It’s a little like salted caramel in ice cream, and Haagen Daas does no justice.

A crepe stuffing sweeter than sugar,

Filling alfajores to their fullest,

It even comes in Frappuccino form for those who like it latte. 

I’ve even taken to dipping my medialunas for breakfast. After two weeks of this sweet bliss, how the hell am I supposed to go home to fluff and Nutella?

A Plug for Pasta – Argentina

It’s hard not to get tired of meat here. Everything has meat. Even the meat has extra meat. So imagine my great relief when I found that a country that I didn’t even know had Italian influences can plate a pasta better than half of Boston’s North End.

They rocked the Pumpkin Ravioli in cream sauce, the potato gnocchi is homemade, and I suspect the ravioli is pretty fresh too. The fileto (tomato) sauce tends to be mediocre, but the creams are creamy as cream should be, and the quatro quesos is the same thing with cheese. So if you can overlook the cheesiness of this particular post, remember that I put in a plug for pasta, however brief.

Medialunas – Argentina

It may take a full moon to set off a baying wolf or howling hound, but it only takes half an Argentine moon for me. I barely notice the luna, it’s the medialuna that makes me throw my head back. 

Good thing they’re everywhere in Argentina. Every restaurant, every coffee shop, even Subway sells a couple with coffee as a breakfast combo. They’re ordered before, with, and after every meal during every hour of every day, and it’s not hard to see why. Denser than the French croissant, more buttery than the American turnover, and brushed with a light glaze sweeter than the Chinese pork bun, it’s hard not to buy one every time you walk by a bakery…or café…or bodega…or gas station… And for a couple USD at most, why not indulge in the cheapest eat in town?

Palabras From Argentina

Hola. Donde esta el bano. And thus concludes our lesson of new palabras en espanol. Mostly because that is the only intelligible espanol I speak. Also because if nothing else, this trip has taught me that I do not hablo espanol. My pronunciation is painful, and sometimes I say lo siento when someone doesn’t understand me just to apologize for butchering a language that was so lovely…until it came out of my mouth. The good news is, I’m a foodie so I do a lot of eating. Eating is one of few times during which it is normal and totally acceptable to refrain from speaking. So aside from ice trekking, mealtime has been my best time in Argentina.

Many people tell me that I need to work on my nonverbal cues or my body language. I disagree. I disagree because I have mastered the power of the point. Not the powerpoint, just the simplest tool of communication, the point. I point to whatever item my heart (and stomach) desires, and voila, my desire appears before my eyes. I can only hope that I know what I ordered because this method is not so conducive to questions. And so far, I’ve gone at least a week without saying a single word. When I do speak again, I wonder if I’ll be startled by the sound of my own voice.

I may struggle with the language, but Argentina is conflict free. The people have been some of the nicest, the restaurateurs and servers some of the most…patient. Plus Buenos Aires has a pretty cool Pink House, and what’s not to like about sipping beer in a rocking upstairs bar marked by nothing but a roughly-painted red door? La Puerta Roja, I’ll be back…but only if I can find you again.

Then there are the Patagonia cities. Where every step is an adventure and every sight takes my breath away. From the smaller Glacier Martial at the end of a grueling uphill trek to the Tierra del Fuego in Ushuaia, it’s not just the fire-land that makes every tourist’s fire burn. Just when you think you’ve seen it all, there’s the glacier Perito Moreno, a sight too unreal for any camera to believe.

I soaked in the sights, I drank in the beauty…sipped it, really, in the form of glacier ice in my Jameson…and I ate my way through it all. One bite at a time, one new palabra at a time, all the way from bustling BA to the southernmost city in the world.