Bs As: The Most Dangerous City in the world.

When it comes to sweets... you're in serious trouble.

As an American I sometimes wonder how foreign women - most notably the French - are able to keep such slick, chic figures considering the culinary figureheads that are undeniably representative of the culture: wine, cheese, pastries and buttery sauces.  People even wrote books about it.

In Spain I attributed the generally svelte bodies of the youthful (female) population to the centuries old European metabolism that, unluckily, we lost when we won the war with Britain.  A small concession, I guess.  But the truth is I'm just a little jealous my country gets tagged for being... well... fat.  Statistically, I guess, we can't deny it, but I feel the pangs of jealousy every I see a couple sipping beautiful, foamy full-fat coffees... without even the tiniest grain of guilt.  Life is to be enjoyed, right.  RIGHT?!

Please tell that to my metabolism so it can - you know - get with the program.  Preferably, the Argentine program.  One day, they are going to arrest me for banging tearfully on cafe windows and drooling on pastry cases the city over.

Maybe it is just what your body gets used to processing on a daily basis that shields locals from the the packing-it-on that, as a foreigner, appears inevitable when traveling and living abroad.  Arriving in Latin America I had no idea what to expect as far as culinary norms, but every country, it appears, is distinctive.  In Uruguay and Argentina breakfast is nothing more than toast and coffee or medialunas (a smaller, even more buttery version of the French croissant sometimes lightly glazed) and a café cortado (coffee cut generously with steamed, whole milk).  Not so far away is Colombia: a country which enjoys eggs, toast, coffee and pastries for breakfast.  In Argentina, you will never find an egg on your plate before 2:00 or 3:00pm.  It just isn't done.

Recently I made an omelet for a friend of mine who was visiting.  It was 9:30am.  I used three eggs.  Susana, upon entering the kitchen, instead of being wowed by my culinary adeptness - if you saw the pan and utensil set-up we've got here you would know why - she exclaimed: "Three eggs?!  For breakfast?  That just isn't healthy."

But where am I going with this?  Don't be taken in... the Argentine diet consists of three staple foods: beef, empanadas and pizza and is in no way to be revered as "healthy" much less "balanced".  I mean that kindly.  I love empanadas and, what I've discovered, is that I love dulce de leche even more.  I have been beating around the bush for a month and a half now about this stuff and I think - considering I've don't a little plumping since my arrival in February - it is time we all came to terms with the mysterious, devilishly good nature of the Argentine delicacy.  (Well, it's pretty damn popular in Chile and Uruguay too).

That's right... you just leave the spoon right in it.  Disclaimer: I have never purchased a jar of dulce de leche for my consumption.  This is not my jar and that is no my spoon.

Dulce de leche, by definition, is created by simmering milk and sugar slowly over a low heat until it changes color through caramelization and thickens due to the evaporation of water in the milk.  The result is a sinfully creamy spread that can be smeared, piped... folded or dipped into with almost anything you can image.  Popular vessels for dulce de leche here in Argentina include pastries, churros, ice cream, bonbons, toast on a day to day basis and, of course, el alfajore.

So when I say that Buenos Aires is one of the most dangerous cities in the world... I mean it.  Dangerous for your health, your waistline and your self-esteem...

A few examples... 

(Dieters beware)

This was modestly described as as dessert for two... two what, I ask?!  Of course, I could have killed it all on my own if given a dark room, privacy and the promise of a personal trainer afterwards.

A traditional pastry from the town of San Pedro outside of Buenos Aires, *filled* with dulce de leche and pastry cream.

If it is something sweet... nine times out of ten there is dulce de leche involved.  No doubts.  No exceptions.  This is Argentia.

An alfajore, being about as distinctive and popularly associated with Argentina as mate, is unofficially the national cookie.  I don't know if we can have national cookies - like birds or trees - but if the title exists, then in Argentina it is a fat little alfajore, oozing dulce.  For those of you who might remember, I wrote a short in college entirely from the perspective of a Boston Cream Donut just to give my professor something to gripe about and I am considering a second installment...  

But what is an alfajore exactly?  I asked myself the same question about a month and  half ago.  Essentially these treats are made by sandwiching two soft, barely sweet cookies with dulce de leche and, finally, coating the whole thing in chocolate.  Revolting, isn't it?

In Argentina, when you're feeling peckish after tea time you eat an alfajore.  When your children are pestering you in the check-out line you buy them an alfajore to hush them up.  When you skipped lunch or you're late for work (rare because lateness isn't as strictly frowned down upon here) what do you eat: an alfajore.  Sure, you can find them occasionally in the States, but every street corner, every 24 hour kiosk, grocery store, confitería or bakery has alfajores available... 24-7  They range in size from a silver dollar (with a good inch and half of dulce de leche filling) to the size of a grown mans palm.  Most commonly you find them lined up in little metallic and brightly colored wrappers, *begging* to be eaten.  

I tear up just thinking about this.  It was my first, but not my last.

I have to say that my research so far has been limited to "simples" - that is to say alfajores with just one layer of dulce.  "Triples" are another story entirely: consisting of three cookies and two layers of dulce de leche.  Considering the previously mentioned plumping... perhaps that is for the best.

Getting away in Uruguay

Colonia and Montevideo:

Has it really been that long since I posted anything?  Wow.  You'll have to forgive me - I have been taking wonderful photos to show you.  

Take a trip with me to Uruguay - my most recent getaway.  Although Colonia is a popular crossing point for Visa dodging tourists (less than an hour by speed boat ferry from Bs As) it really does warrant a visit.  Luckily, I had to the chance to go with a friend of mine over the weekend: 

We caught the 8:30am ferry from Puerto Madero, and after going through some very haphazard customs, we boarded our boat right on (Argentine) time: 9:00.  Even though there were no seats left on board, we enjoyed sipping coffees at one of the cafe tables near the center of the ship.  It was, possibly, my favorite part of the trip.... well, at least as far as traveling goes.

We got to Colonia and quickly booked bus tickets to Montevideo for that evening.  Once the logistics were out of the way we were free to enjoy the beautiful weather (clear, breezy and only about 72 degrees)...

Colonia is one of only a few places that still feels charming, laid back and inviting even when it's up to its eyeballs in Easter weekend tourists.

Antique cars abound in Colonia - making it even more quaint.

We shared a traditional asado (or paradilla I'm not sure) for two at this cafe complete with cow: brains, intestine, ribs, liver and the welcome sausage... and not so welcome blood sausage.  The biggest language barrier I have come across in Latin America so far has been on restaurant menus - of all things.   Although I asked specifically if "salchicas" (sausages) came with the entree - and the waiter replied no - look what made it to our table with the  rest of our half a cow... sausages.  That said... thank goodness.

One can only eat so much brain in public.

Did I mention that there was also a liberal liter and half of sangria to help... wash it down.  Thank goodness.

Although summer may be a more popular time to go... early fall is the perfect time to see Colonia.

The Rio de la Plata has a beautiful "ocean" style breeze and plenty of majestic look out points to relax and enjoy the quiet that only a small town can provide.

In Montevideo the color clears up a bit, but I sort of like to imagine it as a dreamy "sea" of chocolate milk.  On clear days you can see the coast of Uruguay - which is lush and green and studded with rocks - from Puerto Madero in Buenos Aires.  In Montevideo (the capital of Uruguay) the river opens up even more and becomes, more or less, it's own little ocean.

The trip to Montevideo - about two and a half hours by bus - was only made less enjoyable by the constant coughing on a small toddler who, apparently, had la gripe recently.  Although it made me nervous, I vowed to drink some delightful immune system boosting tea (newly arrived in a delightful care package) as soon as I set foot back in Buenos Aires.  Otherwise, the seats were comfortable and the driver didn't drive like a bat out of hell like some others so we even caught a little shut eye before getting to the "big city".

Our first priority in Montevideo: dinner; luckily, "chivitos" are a traditional Uruguayan dish and they are, without a doubt, the most delicious thing I've eaten so far in my time South of the Border.

Thinly pounded chicken breast, grilled to perfection, sandwiched by lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, green olives, ham, cheese and about two and half hard boiled eggs.  The bun was liberally toasted too - just the way I like it.  A chivito is sort of whatever the chef/house declares it to be.  At another restaurant it came on a plate (no bun) with ham, cheese, a fried egg and lots of shredded vegetables to pile on top.  You wouldn't believe it, but it is really delectable.  Get ready... because when I get back there is going to be a serious Chivito Movement in Richmond Virginia.

                                

I was convinced that despite Hollywood's best effort, I would not be scared away from staying in my first hostel.  "La Posada del Sur" was rated superb so I figured why not give it a go!  After all, it was only for one night.  Although Ciudad Vieja is a little sketchy after midnight - and not a place to be out and about during the wee hours of the morning - the hostel was as clean as it was charming.  It is also "sustainable" and featured an amazing breakfast of home baked organic breads, succulent jams (including a kiwi walnut that was to die for) and local butter.  The rooftop patio - resplendent with hammocks and some squat wooden deck furniture - paired beautifully with a bottle of rose after a day of seeing the sites.

In Ciudad Vieja looking out over Rio de la Plata.

I tentatively stalked around in the surf at this beach downtown just because it was *that* inviting.  I even picked through some shells and stones that had washed up in little nests on the shore.  There are paved river walkways (called Ramblas) that run along the main road, more or less, all around the city.  The side walks were packed with people drinking mate, taking a stroll with friends or just lazily fishing.   Although the water was a bit chilly, I don't think I could have imaged a more perfect weekend to have visited Uruguay...

...Even if I left more than a little bit tired and foot-sore.