SaltShaker

 I believe you eat with your eyes. It’s really heavy on presentation.”

- Tom Welton, campus dining director

Buenos Aires – As always, I’m constantly reading about food and its presentation, as well as watching shows. Recently I started working my way through downloaded series of Masterchef shows – in particular the Masterchef Professionals and now the first season of the Australian version. One of the things that struck me (beyond that every aspiring chef in the British pros show had bad teeth and skin and everytime they’re asked how things are oging says they’ll be “absolutely gutted” if they don’t win and become a 2 or 3 star Michelin chef by the time they’re 25, host Michel Roux’s eyes are popping out of his head and he has a voice indistinguishable from Moss on The IT Crowd in which he regularly proclaims that there’s no such thing as a professional chef who doesn’t understand “the classics”, by which “I mean French cooking”, and “veg expert” Gregg Wallace, a former greengrocer, keeps parroting everything Roux says, dipping his spoon into dishes and saying something like “kwa” – which I assume is a heavily accented version of the classic “cor”) was how much emphasis they were putting on presentation. Sometimes, it seemed, more so than the flavors. I also noted how, in that particular series, so many of the youngsters going for the gold used only one or two particular presentation techniques, over and over – one that was especially notable was the constant use of the… smear… a spoonful of stuff smeared across the plate – what Times UK food writer Giles Coren wrote about as:

I find it hard to look at those and not think of skidded goose poo… you know? I’ve tried them occasionally, and they do, indeed, look that way.

Anyway, it’s got me thinking more about presentation (though please, don’t worry, I won’t be sacrificing any flavor here, the herbs and spices will march on). And, here and there, I think I’m popping up with a dish or two that look prettier than my usual. Last weekend was a combination of a Brazilian inspired theme on Friday and Saturday and a Southeast Asian one on Sunday for a private party. Most of the dishes were ones I’ve prepared before, just tuning up some of the spicing and, hopefully, the presentation. The two that for me, anyway, stood out in looking completely like I wanted to eat them, and right now (with links back to the first time I presented them and recipes), were:

Umai, a Malaysian dish similar to ceviche, and…

An avocado cream tartlet in a coconut butter cookie crust

And on the Australian version of the show, they had a visit from cute as a button chef Martin Boetz of Longrain in Sydney, who taught them how to make “egg nets”. I’ve started practicing them for an upcoming Thai inspired dinner. My first attempts are not quite the delicate things he was showing them, but hopefully I’ll get there before the dinner…

Contrasted with Martin’s version… I need to get the strands a little more delicate, and more of them in all directions, I think.

 Anybody can sell steak. But if you can sell odds and ends of one thing or another, then you’re doing something.”

- Frank Bellissimo, Owner of Anchor Bar, where Buffalo Wings were ‘invented’

Buenos Aires – We all know from posts here and elsewhere that locals aren’t fond of spicy food, for the most part. So combining that with being around 5,400 miles away from Buffalo, NY, it should come as no surprise that Buffalo Wings haven’t exactly caught on like wildfire here in town. For the most part, the places that serve them are casual, norteamericano hangouts. Still, being a favorite snack, it seems a good quest to take on – the search for the best “hot wings” in town. Now, criteria were left pretty loose. The classic Wing, not referred to with the Buffalo appellation in its hometown, is a lightly smoked and deep-fried wing section (drumsticks or “flats” or both, but not generally the wingtip), which is then tossed in a vinegar and cayenne based sauce and served with a side of celery sticks and blue cheese dressing. But the variations begin from there and branch out in a myriad of ways. Listed in the order we tried ‘em.

The “hot wings” at Cilantro, Anchorena 1122, Recoleta, are not so hot. Not that they’re not good, they are, but they’re just not particularly spicy. They are wok-fried, and then tossed in a sauce of soy, mild to medium chilies, onions, honey, and a few Asian spices, and are served 10 pieces to an order for a pricetag of $15. They’re good, and perfectly satisfying for what they are, though I’m tempted to disqualify them from the true hot wing category. Instead I’ll give them an award for “Most Offbeat Semi-Hot Wings“, mostly because we really liked them….

The Hottest Wings award goes to Amaranta, Junín 1559, Recoleta, a favorite spot for breakfast, lunch, and brunch among the norteamericano set. Not suprising that they offer up wings – and they offer them up with a choice of any of a quintet of sauces, and in portions of 7, 14, 21, or 28 wings, progressively less expensive the more you order. The “Buffalo” sauce is a mix of oil, vinegar, four types of dried chilies and various other herbs and spices. The wings are baked in the sauce rather than fried, so the texture is different from the “norm”, i.e., they don’t have that nice golden, crispy skin, but the sauce is fiery and delicious, though not remotely “Buffalo” in style. They’re served up with a side of carrot, celery and cucumber sticks with Ranch dressing.

Hard Rock Cafe offers up about as textbook classics as you can get. Though I wouldn’t order a different version, it’s good that they offer variations – instead of deep-fried you can opt for grilled (the wings are all pre-smoked so, it also only takes a few moments to get them as they simply dump them in the deep-fryer and get ‘em hot and smoking), and a choice of barbecue, “Classic Rock” (mildly spicy), and “Heavy Metal”, which the bartender assured me was muy, muy picante. Not really. About the same as tabasco sauce, which is what it basically is. I also like that the wings are properly hickory smoked before being finished in the fryer. The wings are good, inexpensive (22 pesos for a dozen), in fact without a side-by-side, I couldn’t tell the difference from El Alamo’s (the next spot we headed to), though the celery sticks on the side are a little icy from the refrigerator and the blue cheese dressing a bit too runny and not particularly cheesy. Big plus for the wetnaps on the side, they do help with cleanup at the end. And, for a noisy spot, chain restaurant or not, HRC certainly tops the skeevy atmosphere at El Alamo – fix the dressing and they’d win, but either way, I’d rather be here than at El Alamo, at least at night so I’m giving them a tie for Best Classic Buffalo Wings.

Best Classic Buffalo Wings tie – It’s a close call between these and the ones at Hard Rock Cafe. Both offer about as textbook wings as you can get – right out of the description in the opening paragraph. Tangy with vinegar, moderately spicy with cayenne, properly deep fried, though not smoked. Celery sticks (plus carrot sticks here) on the side. El Alamo, Uruguay 1175, Recoleta, edges HRC out in two areas – a bottle of really good Brazilian hot sauce on the side for those who want to add more heat, and, more importantly, a rockingly good blue cheese dressing, filled with chunks of cheese. On the other hand, the ambiance here, at least at night (I’d go during the day only), sucks, unless you enjoy being in a chokingly smoke-filled room (customers and staff smoking in the restaurant – illegal in this city), the frat boy mentality of both staff and a large percentage of customers, and the hookers, errr, young ladies, hired to hang out and get the boys to drink more. Also, while I have no problem with the 20 peso minimum at night (paid at the door, with a ticket good to be redeemed against one item), I do have a problem with the bartender looking at my 20 peso wing order (12 wings) and my 12 peso beer, and saying “I’ll use your admission ticket for the beer and just charge you for the wings.” Umm, no, you’ll use it for the wings and I’ll pay for the beer. Yet, I noted up and down the bar him pulling the tickets to pay for a beer and charging people for the more expensive stuff. Here’s a hint, that’s called theft, or at the very least, cheating. The only way I’d go back here would be at lunchtime when the atmosphere is calmer, you can relax and watch a game on TV.

It was a given going into a classic Argentine bar that alitas picantes wouldn’t be particularly spicy, at least not by “our” standards. I have to admit, I expected a bit more spice for something they bill as muy picante, especially after the bartender assured me that they were not only spectacularly good, but really spicy too. Of course, when she served them, she also plunked down a bottle of tabasco on the side and said, “You might want this,” so she may have known the real score. The wings first – deep-fried until perhaps just a bit too overcooked – falling off the bone yes, but also somewhat shriveled up and dried out – I was actually a touch thankful there were only six of them on the plate – 16 pesos, making them fairly pricey “per wing”, though, they’re served up with a whole mess of pretty good french fries, which makes up for that in some fashion or another. The sauce – stewed tomato, green and red bell peppers, onion, and a couple of bay leaves. Nada picante. Tasty, in its own way, and made for a nice sauce for the fries, but Buffalo style they ain’t. Points, one supposes, for Argentine Reinterpretation of Hot Wings at Portezuelo, Vicente López 2160, in Village Recoleta. Major points for what may be the best stocked bar I’ve seen in over four years in Buenos Aires.

Entering a Hooters is one of those things that I’d always classed in “on a cold day in hell” – at the very least, it was a cold day on the canal, Puerto Madero that is, at Alicia Moreau de Justo 840, canal side of the building. It’s an amusing location, basically just across the street from the backyard of the Casa Rosada, so if La Presidenta Cristina wants to slip out for a snack, or play with a hula-hoop or pick up a little extra cash…. It’s one of those things that I kinda sorta just don’t get the concept – not because I’m gay and don’t happen to be into the Hooters girls, but because it seems to me like the Midwestern shopping mall version of a strip club, without the stripping. And, on this cold day, it was even more toned down – one of the two girls in attendance had on her requisite scanty orange satin shorts, but a big puffy orange down jacket zipped up to the neck, and the other was wearing a pair of puffy orange sweatpants, presumeably the other half of the first girl’s outfit, and had on two layered black long sleeve sweaters. So that left Hooters to stand on its own with its road sign decor, blasting rock music, and what I will charitably call food. The wings, which admittedly are neither referred to as Buffalo nor Hot, but simply Hooters Chicken Wings, are available in portions of 10, 20, or 50, or 20 with a bottle of champagne ($20, $35, $65, and $120, respectively), the last for anyone who might possibly be able to find the setting romantic. They are offered breaded or “nude”, and with BBQ, mild, hot, or “3 Mile Island” sauces. We ordered a platter of 20 with the last sauce, and half breaded and half not. Three Mile Island has apparently cooled off quite a bit – the sauce was little more than tomatoes, paprika, and a whole hell of a lot of black pepper. The wings themselves, just pretty much disgusting – we were clearly famished given that we actually ate several of them – they’d clearly been frozen before being dumped into the deep fryer, and here and there where a portion of one had been left sticking out of the oil, it was still frozen. The fact that they were left in the fryer for more than 15 minutes (we could see into the open kitchen from our table) meant that where they did cook, they were pretty much dessicated. Since I’m creating awards here, I’ll give them Most Disgusting Wings to Be Put On a Plate.

As long as we were in Puerto Madero, we moved on a block or so to the south to one of the two in-town outposts of T.G.I. Friday’s, falling at number 1010. Now, in general, my problem with the chain is two-fold: first, the uniforms – I don’t mind the whole cluttered kitschy decor thing, but the waitresses festooned in ribbons and buttons and charms and worst of all, silly stupid hats, does nothing for the ambiance; and secondly, almost everything is too sweet, and here in BA, it’s even worse than I recall back in the States. I’ll say upfront that thankfully, the Buffalo Wings here come in a portion of only 8, and are the most expensive, at $25. I say thankfully, because having just had a wretched experience at Hooters, these were equally bad in their own way. First, the wings were really small, and really, really, really overcooked, even slightly burned in some spots, tasting as if they’d been fried in borderline rancid oil. They’re served without sauce, which comes in a ramekin on the side – choice of BBQ, mild, hot, and red hot. The red hot we were served was a vaguely brick orange sauce that tasted of roasted peppers, worcestershire sauce and old frying oil – nothing remotely spicy in it, and hanging around the corner of Odd and Yuck. Our waitress seemed shocked when we asked for actual hot sauce, and tried to talk us out of a bottle of tabasco sauce, insisting that what we had was the “hottest sauce they have” and was unwilling to consider that perhaps we’d really not gotten the red hot sauce, but maybe the extra extra mild, garnering them The Hot Wings that Really, Really Weren’t award. Even with tabasco, however, these were barely edible, and we only finished half the plate, asked for the bill and left.

I was going to also go to the T.G.I. Friday’s at the Alto Palermo shopping center, just to see if it was different – I’ve been before for a burger, which was fine though nothing special. However, my dining companion from the previous night beat me to it and passed on this missive, so I’ll take his word for it and not waste my time:

The first time I went to Drink Gallery, Chenault 1794 in Las Cañitas, the industrial modern space was empty other than a waiter and bartender, acid rock was blasting at ear-splitting levels, and they were out of nearly everything on the menu, news delivered with a shrug and a “we’re not open tomorrow so we just figured we wouldn’t buy anything for today either and run out of as much as we could.” I tried calling a few times after to see if they were open, and had their “hot wings”, but the phone registered as out of service. We decided to take a chance and go back, they were open, music this time, The Beatles, at a more normal listening level (same two staff), a few people having drinks in the place. We ordered the wings and beer. Now, these have potential… sort of…. They took awhile to arrive and if I were to guess, the wings were fresh, uncooked rather than precooked as they were everywhere else, had been deep-fried to order, resulting in the meatiest and juciest dozen of any place we checked out, and with a lovely, golden, crispy, crackly skin. Perfect. They were, however, just barely brushed with a hint of sauce, not even enough to determine if it was picante or not, so I asked for more. Turns out not, and that’s a shame with wings that wonderful. The sauce is little more than oil, salt, and what I’d guess is just hot paprika, or perhaps some sort of other very mild pepper, could even be a mix, it was just too subtle to tell. On the side, strange – two piles of carrots, one pile nice, crisp, raw carrots, the other, chilled but cooked until limp carrots. The ramekin filled with pretty much just mashed up blue cheese, not a dressing. Not easy to “dip” the raw carrots into, forget about it with the cooked ones. So, hmm… how about an award for Wings with the Most Potential?

Now, I realize that everyone (still) likes to joke about how bland British food is. And there’s some truth to it, no question. But come on, it’s not like they don’t eat spice at all – look at all those “Brick Lane Curry Houses” – Indian food, Indonesian food – and more, even if it’s not classic English cuisine. So when a small, somewhat dingy British pub pimps for their alitas de pollo en salsa picante you expect at least something at the tabasco sauce level. Not so much at King’s Town, Jufre 102 in Villa Crespo. The wings, ten to a bowl, had an odd, washed out and slightly metallic flavor, and strange texture, and it took a moment to realize they’d been boiled, probably in plain water, to pre-cook them, and then left sitting in a refrigerator until needed, at which point they were tossed in a fryer, tossed in the bowl, and then had a scoop of tomato sauce ladled over them. Plain tomato sauce. Not much more than crushed tomato pulp, probably out of a can, with some salt, pepper, and a whole lot of oregano. Even our waitress, when we didn’t finish them and said “they’re not really very spicy” admitted that they were poco picante, aun para porteños (barely spicy, even for locals). The place has a nice beer selection. We also sampled their onion rings, which were quite good, however, I’m still going to have to give them the award for Blandest Imitation of a Hot Wing. Ever.

I’ve been holding off on publishing this post because I was waiting for the re-opening of Sugar, the expat bar in Palermo, where, rumor had it, they had amazingly good and rockingly spicy hot wings. Unfortunately, after a two week closure, they’ve decided that complying with the city’s codes for food service in a bar were just too onerous and given that food was a very small percentage of their sales, have opted to re-open as strictly a bar, no food. The kitchen is closed with the intention that it stay that way. So, we may never know.

If anyone knows of other spots in town that serve up some version of Buffalo or hot wings, send a note or leave a comment, we’ll check ‘em out and add ‘em to the list.

 You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.”

- Jack London, author

Buenos Aires – In the East Village, where I used to live, the late night pizza by the slice places all seem to offer up what they call a “lasagna pizza”. I’ve not seen it anywhere else. It’s a thin crust pizza topped with ground beef and onions sauteed together, dollops of ricotto cheese and the same of good, fresh tomato sauce. It’s not really lasagna, but you get the idea. Now, I’ve always liked ground beef on pizzas, perhaps it’s just a childhood thing since they seem like a true comfort food to me. So that may color my perception of my visit to the next spot on my pizza a la parrilla list….

I was in Palermo for one reason or another the other evening – I’m never quite sure if I’m in the “SoHo” or “Hollywood” section when I get back amongst all those restaurants and shops, probably SoHo. I finished up my errands, was hungry, and decided to make the trek across to “the other side of the tracks”, probably Hollywood, and check out Grappa, El Salvador 5802, 4899-2577. It’s a big, dark wood sort of space, with a long mirrored bar and lots of twinkettes twittering around the hostess station – really, I don’t mean to be offensive, but every waitress in the place was there, seven of them (far more than the place needs, even if it were to be full, which it wasn’t), not one of them more than a whisper over the age of consent, and all chattering at the same time in high-pitch about who they thought was cute, which clubs they’d been to, you know the drill. And ignoring the customers. In fact, I was seated by a gentleman who came from the other side of the room, who glared at the girls (who ignored him), shown to my seat, and then I waited. Eventually one of them peeled off of the group, brought me a menu, and went back to the huddle. And that’s the way the evening went, for everyone. The same gentleman tried, several times, to break the group up and send them to actually provide some service for his customers, to no avail.

That one negative about the place aside, let’s delve into the pizza. The menu lists a good number of selections, though one in particular caught my eye – the bolognesa. Immediate childhood memories started to flood back, I pictured tomato, ground beef, mushrooms (oh wait, I hated mushrooms as a kid, my mom made “spaghetti sauce” without), herbs, spices. Had to have that. And just to get a solid sense of the dough and sauce on its own, the local classic anchoa, nothing but dough, sauce, and a single anchovy strip per slice. Three sizes available – individual, chica, grande – as at most of these places, they can’t seem to tell you a size, just “4, 6, or 8″ slices, as if a slice was a standard surface area – it’s not, really, different places vary wildly. But during the brief, lightning bug moment that I had my waitress’ attention, she assured me that if I was hungry, I could handle the mid-size, and therefore be able to get it half and half of two types (not a great deal here, they don’t charge half the amount, but about 2/3, of each type).

The dough, cracker thin as an a la parrilla ought to be. The tomato sauce, fresh, lightly seasoned, no real zip but not bland either. The anchovies, surprisingly meaty, good sized ones, and not overly salty. Turning my attention to the anticipated meat sauce side… brilliant idea, good execution. I only say that because I thought their salsa bolognesa was lacking in a bit of complexity – no mushrooms and just seeming a bit underseasoned in everything but salt, with which it was slightly overseasoned. Not badly, but at the threshhold of acceptable salt level, and it just could have used more herbs and other spices. Still, I wouldn’t say no to having another go at it, and you can bet that the next time I have leftover bolognese sauce I’ll be spreading it on a pizza. How simple of an idea is that, and why didn’t we all think of it before?

Nice selection of wines by the glass and quite a few different beers available by the bottle, plus a full wine list. Prices reasonable – the three sizes roughly run in the low $20s, $30-ish, and high $30s. (Hey, one point, since I’ve gotten a couple of e-mails about this recently – we use the “$” here in Argentina for pesos, pretty much back to the start of the place as a country. If I’m reviewing something here I usually just use $ for a peso price, though sometimes I’ll specify AR$ – if I want to note that it’s in dollars I use US$. I’d gotten a couple of e-mails from people who thought things sounded awfully expensive, but they were assuming that I was talking about dollar prices.)

Oh, a last humorous note – being cut into six pieces, it wasn’t cut down the center, between the two halves – so the middle slices were half and half themselves. During one of my waitress visitations, as I was cutting a slice in the middle in half to separate the two, she murmurred something under her breath about “now there’s eight slices”… you can follow the logic of where my mind went from there (maybe that’s why I got charged more like the grande price overall?).

 Chinese people say Marco Polo brought noodles from China back to Italy and Italians say they had noodles before that. All this has been based on documentary material, on personal accounts and menus. But we’ve been unable to find any actual material until now.”

- Lu Houyuan, geologist/geophysicist

Buenos Aires – The new? Barrio Chino, having gone from being a place that when I moved here four years ago was frequented by the local Chinese community and a few random chefs who were experimenting with ingredients, to a still small enclave – a mere two blocks of commercial spots – that attracts both local residents from across the city and visitors to the country. If you’re looking for ingredients or good Chinese food, that’s a good move. As a tourist attraction, it had, until very recently, really nothing to offer other than a couple of tacky souvenir shops. But now, well, hey, it has an archway at one end of the street, with cute little dragons and everything. And there you go. Instant tourist attraction.

Of more interest, a little hole in the wall that I’ve not paid any attention to until the other day, when I stopped to glance at the menu and realized that it’s a noodle house, simply called Comida China, Arribeños 2152. Boiled noodles, fried noodles, sauced noodles, soup noodles. Noodles everywhere. And, down at the bottom of the menu what caught my eye was fideos con salsa de maní – noodles in peanut sauce – on a hunch, I poked in and asked if this was “cold noodles with sesame sauce” – which is generally made with a mix of sesame and peanut, and, indeed, it was, though not cold, served hot. So, I grabbed a table, the only non-Chinese person in the place filled with 20-somethings slurping bowls of noodles and soup and families sharing big plates of steaming noodles. I ordered my favorite little potstickers – these packed with ground pork and diced vegetables, really quite good – no dipping sauce, but a bottle of soy and a jar of hot chili paste being passed around from table to table so I could make my own. I think my use of the big dollop of chili paste caught everyone’s attention as did my insistence on chopsticks rather than silverware. It was unusual enough, apparently, that I became the focus of attention as people made little hand gestures imitating the use of them – and then were surprised that I already knew how (I grew up with the things).

The sesame/peanut noodles? Not the best I’ve ever had, but quite good. Soft, slurpable noodles piled in a sauce of sesame and peanut with just a touch of soy and green onion – could have used a touch of chilies, which, another dab out of the jar when it came back around, handled. Oh, and respectively, the two plates? 10 and 5 pesos, or US$4 and change. That’s my kind of lunch.

As some portion of the world seems to move more and more into the electronic reading world, the opportunities keep opening up. So in addition to my dictionary being available via Kindle, for those of you who have one (or on iPhone or iTouch with the Kindle application installed), as I noted last week, the folks there at Amazon have added a section called Kindle Blogs. Now, this blog is already available free, for anyone with internet access, so I don’t expect that Amazon’s offer is going to be a hugely enticing way to read it – plus, of course, all the lovely photographs will be converted to grainy greyscale (see how attractive I’m making it sound?) – but, I know some folks already who basically don’t read anything anymore unless they get it on their Kindle or other reader. So for those of you for whom that’s true, and who don’t mind shelling out US$1.99 a month, it is available to have delivered to you as I update it. And hey, I get a whopping 59¢ of that, so think of the financial support you’ll be providing!

 The test of a great pizza is its irresistible crust. If you have never had a pizza with a thin grilled curst, you will love its crispy texture and charred flavor.”

- from Grilled Pizzas & Piadinas by Craig W. Priebe

Buenos Aires – The quote above comes from one of my relatively new favorite little cookbooks. It’s a great, step-by-step guide to making various types of grilled pizzas and, those wonderful fold over pizza sandwiches, the piadinas. It’s well-written, to the point, doesn’t make any outlandish claims to having invented the genre as, well, one in particular has, and best of all, is really nicely illustrated with superb photographs that give you a solid sense of what you can expect. It also covers the gamut from basics to elaborate, from savory to sweet, and from pizza for one to party planning. And maybe the really best thing of all, they make it easy. What more can you ask from a cookbook?

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I felt compelled to start sampling my way through more of the offerings of the pizza a la parrilla world in and around Buenos Aires, and so I’ve started on that little journey. Now, to start down that path, I’m going to begin with Pete Gonzalez’ house. Pete, perhaps better known as the Blessed Pedro González Telmo, or by his diminutive (shared with his patron saint), San Telmo, was just a guy, you know? In fact, the “San” is not even factual, since he was never canonized. The “Telmo” is, in Spanish and/or Portuguese, the diminutive of Erasmus, or Saint Erasmus, the real San Telmo, patron saint of sailors everywhere – though our boy Pete generally is invoked by Portuguese and Spanish sailors – just to be different one supposes – and just exactly how much good does invoking a guy who was never actually sainted do?

Now, there’s a little mini-chain, three shops, that gets all that right, calling themselves simply, “Sr. Telmo”, or Mr. T as I like to think of him. He never, by the way, lived here in Buenos Aires, let alone in the neighborhood that bears his name. The flagship of the trio, if one can call a somewhat dark, slightly dingy spot a flagship – more of a flagrowboat perhaps, is on the side street of Carlos Calvo, at number 240. Here, they refer to it as La Casona de Sr. Telmo, Mr. T’s Big House. I met up there earlier in the week with a visiting writer from OUT magazine, here hoping to find a vibrant, thriving, and numerous gay american expat population – I wish him luck, I’m afraid I was of little help in that regard, and so far the couple of people who I referred him to tell me they didn’t feel they were either. Perhaps something will come of it, since a couple of people decided that maybe we should try to get a group together and see just exactly who will show up (so if you’re a member of the category – 9 p.m. this Saturday at Empire Thai, downtown – I won’t be there, Saturday night isn’t exactly free time for me).

Wait, back to the pizza, since that’s what we’re here for. Let me just say that this place’s pizza isn’t quite what I think of when I think of grilled pizza. It’s grilled – not cooked over, say Saint Elmo’s Fire (San Telmo, you know, that’s where it comes from) and, it’s a pizza. I give them that. But it’s not that stretched out, cracker thin, misshapen crust that we’ve all come to know and love, topped with just a few, thinly laid ingredients so that they warm through while the dough cooks on its second side. This is really just a thin crust regular pizza where they happen to cook the dough on the grill, and quite possibly finished in the oven to melt all the cheese on it. Here, we sampled a half and half of their “Hot Pizza”, touted as mozzarella, bell peppers (red and green pickled as it turned out), spicy olive oil, and “various picantes”, which seemed to consist of a drizzle of a hot sauce that may have been the chipotle style tabasco sauce; and the other half, my luncheon companion wanted to try something “truly local” – what could be more unusual and uniquely Argentine than hearts of palm drizzled with salsa golf? Though it sounded vaguely interesting I eschewed the idea of trying the pizza named after the house with its toppings of bechamel sauce, ham, broccoli and mushroom – perhaps in a pot-pie?

So, the evaluation – beyond that it just doesn’t come across as real grilled pizza to me… the dough was relatively bland, but I’ve had worse. The toppings, perhaps just based on our selection, not that interesting – the “Hot Pizza” the more enjoyable of the two, but neither was a winner – the telltale sign I suppose is that with one pizza designed for two people, we left two of the eight slices behind on the plate, one of each. And at least on my part, it wasn’t because I was full. So, I’ll give this spot a just “okay”.

 True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost.”

- Arthur Ashe, activist and tennis pro

Buenos Aires – The title is not the name of “Dear Leader” in North Korea, but, in South Korea this past weekend was the celebration of Memorial Day, a commemorative day for the men and women lost in the independence movement. We chose the theme for the weekend’s flavor inspirations, and I think, even fusing these flavors with our trend towards a more Mediterranean style, my more comfortable mode in the kitchen, we came up with some pretty interesting dishes. It was a quiet weekend, with only a few people attending on Friday and none on Saturday, but that’s been the story of the last three Junes in a row – ’tis the season.

The last time I tried making seafood scallion pancakes they were a bit of a mess. It suddenly occured to me, in one of those “what an idiot” moments, that rather than trying to flip the things to brown both sides and making a hash out of it, why not just brown one side and stick the pan under the broiler. They came out beautifully this time – I also used a slightly different batter – 2 cups 0000 flour, 1½ cups milk, 6 eggs, ½ teaspoon salt, and a handful of chopped chives – pretty much the batter I use for making French style crepes, just poured in thicker and then stocked with small mussels, cockles and shrimp, and a handful of inch-long strips of scallion. For the sauce, a mix of soy, vinegar, green onion, garlic, red pepper powder (used Peruvian which wasn’t quite hot enough in comparison to Korean type), sesame oil and seeds, and sugar. The wine, we were so enamored of the Humberto Canale Extra Brut the previous weekend, especially with spicy flavors, that we went with it again.

Somewhat of a reprise, at least in the idea of a fishball soup. Instead of the light and airy but somewhat misshapen and falling apart fishballs from the previous Korean dinner, I went with my gefilte fish recipe, but added some finely chopped chilies. The broth, a deep, rich beef, miso, garlic and mushroom broth, and a bit of sauteed cabbage added in at the last moment. To accompany it, one of my favorite whites from Argentina, the Tahuantinsuyu Torrontés 2007, with a lovely perfumed, floral note, fresh apricots, spice, and just a hint of toastiness.

Certainly the most reinterpreted dish of the evening – starting from a classic jap chae – sweet potato glass noodles sauteed with vegetables – I instead carried on with the previous week’s idea of sweet potato pasta, this time formed into agnolotti and filled with a mix of sauteed spinach and mushrooms with a little garlic, salt and pepper. The sauce, a mix of soy, fish sauce, sugar, sesame oil and seeds, scallions and garlic, and then little bits of diced carrot and red bell pepper that had just been quickly sauteed. The wine, Familia Gascón’s Rose Sangiovese 2008 with its beautiful cherry flavor with hints of old leather and spice.

Some of you, those who’ve been following out Twitter posts, know that I’ve been on a bit of a “hot wings” kick recently. Now, there’s a classic Korean hot wings dish that pretty much involves boiling a whole mess of chicken wings with potatoes, carrots, onion, garlic, hot chili paste, sugar, salt, and water. In some ways it’s almost like stew, and quite good. I took the dish apart, the carrots and some new potatoes caramelized in a mix of fresh orange juice, mustard, and honey, and the wings… well, I suddenly realized that I’d made a whole mess of those two lovely mojos earlier in the week – the garlic one and the carrot one (recipes in last week’s dinner post), and the flavors, though more complex than the classic stew, pretty much fit – with onions and garlic and carrots… so I marinated the wings in a mix of the two mojos, plus, a good dollop of Korean hot chili-garlic paste. Then simply cooked them in the marinade until it was reduced to a glaze. Really quite good, and nicely spicy. The wine, from Finca Intimayu in Mendoza, their 2006 Syrah, a really dark, rich Syrah with plenty of body, blackberry fruit and spice.

And, further on from last weekend (becoming a trend, no?), I took the traditional Korean dessert of an Asian pear studded with peppercorns and simmered in sugar syrup and turned it into a tartlet. The crust, once again a basic pâte sucrè, the filling, the same as the previous week except substituting pinenuts for the almonds, as they’re usually used to garnish the simmered pear, so, more or less a pinenut frangipane sort of thing. Then a cored slice of Asian pear, and dusted the top with crushed pink peppercorns. Then baked, cooled, and served with barely sweetened whipped cream and a drizzle of good honey. The wine, from San Felipe, their late harvest blend of Sauvignon blanc, Chardonnay and Gewurztraminer.

 Not bad. Not bad at all.”

- Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady

Buenos Aires – Continued on this last week with a visit to another of the septet of parrillas that Dereck Foster listed off in the Herald a few weeks back. We headed out to Belgrano, to El Pobre Luis, Arribeños 2393, 4780-5847, a place that’s actually been on my list to try for several years. I’m not really sure why we never got there, other than, perhaps, it’s a fair distance out and when we get to there, in the heart of chinatown, we usually eat chinese. I’ve met Luis Acuña, the chef/owner, at a couple of food events, and he’s been exceedingly gracious and friendly, so I should have gone long ago. And not just because of that, it turns out, but the food as well.

The room… not my style, but I get it – it’s dark wood everywhere, which is fine, but there are also a zillion pieces of soccer memorabilia all over the place, and the few surfaces that aren’t covered with that, are covered with wallpaper that my great-grandmother might have appreciated. The room is split in levels, a bit on the ground level, a bit down a few steps, a bit up a few steps, there are tables everywhere. The young host was cute, and he gave us our choice of tables. The waiters, amazingly attentive, perhaps overly so – menus delivered within seconds of sitting down, bread already on the table (and clearly there for awhile, which was the one food negative), and ours returned in under two minutes to see if we were ready yet, and another two minutes after that… a little pushy actually. On the other hand, knowledgeable about the food – with recommendations, and when Henry decided he didn’t want wine, the waiter offered that the sommelier had earlier opened up a bottle of Gascón Pequeños Producciones Cabernet Sauvignon 2006 for the staff to try and they still had half a bottle left if I wanted a glass at cost – not bad, especially in comparison to the “house” wine by the glass, which was nearly the same price and a quarter the quality – of course, that was pure chance and fortuitous timing.

For appetizers a really tasty chorizo sausage for Henry, perfectly grilled, and a provoleta for me – I like the liquido style where it’s grilled on one side then popped in the oven in a small dish to get all melty and gooey. This one was quite good, nicely seasoned.

Henry opted for his usual favorite, a strip of crosscut ribs, the tira de asado, and I went for the house specialty, an Uruguayan one, the pamplona de cerdo (stuffed rolled pork – also available in beef and chicken versions). Really, really tasty, stuffed with cheese and peppers, though I have to admit, it was the smallest pamplona I’ve ever seen – about the size and shape of very fat cigar – still, with a little salad and a honey-baked sweet potato on the side it was plenty of food, though, being the house specialty and more complicated to make than just throwing a steak on the grill, it was also the most expensive item on the menu – and probably the smallest. A toss-up I suppose – quantity and quality both come into play. I’d order it again, so I guess quality wins out here. With tip we spent 120 pesos – 2 apps, 2 main courses, 2 bottles of water, 1 glass of wine.

Overall, quite good. I wish Luis had been there to say hello to, but his staff clearly know what they’re doing in the kitchen. In the dining room, and with timing, they need to be a little less aggressive – we were in and out of the place in 50 minutes – and we did feel like we were being rushed through everything. It wasn’t just us – I noted that this was happening around the room – we’d come early, around 8:30, and it seemed as if they were trying to get all the early folk out so they could reseat the room. I’d be curious if there’s the same hurried atmosphere for people arriving around, say, 9:30 or 10:00.