Study 1: La medialuna

 Argentine croissants (take 1):

It has come to my attention that people are living vicariously through me, or would like to.  So, I'm doing something I promised myself (and my waistline) that I wouldn't do: buy medialunas.

I mean, I was going to buy them sometime - and probably for somebody else - but in the name of friendship and heartwarming Skype chats, I'm doing this today.

I'm doing this for Divya.

Yes you, Divya.  

And for Doug who sagely advised me in a Facebook message: "do everything, even things you should not do..."  Well Doug, buying four flaky, buttery, sugar sweet croissants on Day 4 is something that I should probably not do, so when (and if) I can't fit into my jeans when I get home I'm blaming you.  



A medialuna is the Argentine version of the French croissant and, chemically speaking, probably doesn't vary too much from the original.  In English we could call these "half moons" or even "crescents", but that doesn't sound half as romantic as medialuna and they are eons and light years away from what Pillsbury squeezes into a can.

Take a moment and say it: medialuna (med-e-a-loon-a).  

Yes, it even sounds delicious.

Here in Buenos Aires every panadería / "bakery" or "breadshop" or confitería / "pastry shop" has medialunas and most of them are more than happy to declare they have the best in the city.  A little research, however, led me to Guber which was listed as one of three locations in the city known for these afternoon delights.

Conveniently, it wasn't far from where I'm staying and with the whole of Buenos Aires downtown on Avenida de Mayo for the Independence Day celebrations I took a quiet stroll (1 mile there and back to be exact) to Aguero 2291 in the heart of Recoleta.

For Divya.  

The shop itself was hidden two blocks from the intersection of Peña and Aguero and halfway up the first block I almost turned back.  It's sandwiched in a quiet, less than elegant, residential area and had it not been for the direction of the wind; a serendipitous breeze and my acute sense of smell I might have missed it entirely.  There were some trays of masas finas (delicate bite sized pastries), as well as facturas (think Danish and cream filled donuts) and churros (piped fried dough very popular in Spain), but the long glass case was filled with medialunas.  It's no wonder: the are sinfully delicious.

So, I bought four (two made with butter and two with lard).  

And brought them home.

And loved them from the start.  

But, before you meet them, let's go over a little medialuna etiquette:

• Should be eaten for breakfast with coffee, tea or mate or with the same beverages for tea time.
• Before entering a panadería always know which type of medialuna you are in the mood for.  Otherwise, you'll either a) end up buying a dozen and regretting it or b) you'll frustrate the attendant and give yourself away as a tourist.
• Slicing a medialuna open and filling it with ham and cheese is allowed and especially encouraged during tea time.  The medialuna then becomes a sacramento / "sacrament" and is nothing short of a religious experience.  Otherwise, skip the knife and fork and leave the butter and jam for toast.
• In most larger bakeries you will need to take a number and wait to be called.  Very often you will pay at the register before you receive your delicacies.

But, I'm afraid just writing about the taste and feel and smell of them isn't enough, so I made a short video.  Sadly, the edited and beefed up version of this video failed to upload to blogger so excuse 1) my hair and 2) the edgy, independent film quality of it :-) Also, I use absolutes at the drop of a hat - you would too if you'd just had two medialunas and three cups of tea.

Important Phrases:

Cuánto sale la docena: "How much does a dozen cost?"

Quiero una docena de medialunas de manteca: "I want a dozen medialunas"