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.