Repeating the same constructive behavior over and over, hoping (one day) for a positive result is difficult but virtuous. It’s the effort made by eating oatmeal every morning, brushing your teeth after every meal and daily journaling. It’s weekly therapy, consistent workouts and taking time for spirituality. It’s Rudy trying over and over to get into Notre Dame. Or Mother Theresa tirelessly serving the poor.”
How about that, I’m right up there with Rudy and Mother Theresa. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. After all, I’ve slogged my way through the swamps of local sushi bars, downing nigiri after nigiri made of salmon and cream cheese, hoping that someone, somewhere, will rise to the challenge of producing good quality plates of raw fish and rice. And there have been successes, and glimmers of hope – Yuki, Nihonbashi, Comedor Nikkai, Maki… but mostly it’s been lackluster, mediocre, and all that salmon and cream cheese. Who decided that was to be the emblem of the local sushi world?
So, awhile back, a place called Go: sushi go, popped up in the Buenos Aires Design Center, Pueyrredón 2501, here in Recoleta, replacing some forgettable spot that was there before. I hadn’t made the long trek of a couple of blocks, figuring, more of the same. But, out wandering the other night, feeling in the mood for some sushi, and near to the shopping center, I figured, what the heck, after all, I’ve liked the other restaurants there, it’s a classy, high-end kind of place, not your average suburban mall. And so, I went, to Go.
First off, I didn’t know that Go is a kosher sushi spot. Well, good for them. To the best of my knowledge only one of two here in town, and I haven’t been to the other. It limits the options off the bat – no shellfish, so there goes the shrimp and octopi possibilities. But, hey, the menu lists not just salmon, but white fish, and some vegetable sushi, and, amazingly, not everything is listed with cream cheese. A few creative sounding rolls. And, a beautiful outdoor spot to sit, enjoy the evening, and the lovely fountain that graces the dining area.
Well, let’s see, how does is stack up. First, they bring bread. Yes, bread, in a sushi bar. Okay, it’s Argentina, there’s always bread on table. But strangely, here, not the usual baked cotton balls, but, shards of chewy pita bread. Okay, in addition to sushi, there are some odd… extras… like babaganoush, hummus, and salmon kibbe on the menu, so a touch of the Middle East thrown in. And the bread is good. Not so much the salad that comes with it, a remarkably awful bowl filled with red cabbage, carrots, and unidentifiable other stuff drowning in a cloyingly sweet dressing.
And the sushi arrives, oh, but wait, I forgot, my waitress had returned, about 15 minutes after I ordered a selection of varied white fish, salmon, and vegetables and informed me that not only was there no white fish of any sort, but they didn’t have most of the vegetables. Count to ten, call on the spirit of Daniel Ruettiger (yes, I know, he’s not dead, but I needed some strength), and forge ahead…. They did, however, have plenty of salmon, and even cream cheese if I’d like… I went for some salmon skin nigiri, always a favorite, and two different rolls, neither of which contained the cheese. Let’s just say that salmon skin in sushi ought to be grilled, or broiled, and get a nice crispy, chewy texture. Slow cooking in some sort of fat or oil so that it’s as soft, slimy and dripping as ectoplasm is not the right approach. The Spicy roll of seared salmon had no spice whatsoever. None. And not even the lime that was supposed to accompany it – they were out. And the salmon was cooked to death, to the point of chalkiness. The Green Go roll of salmon, ginger, avocado and green onion might have been saved by the green onion, but they were out of that too. Oh, I should mention, instead of the usual shreds of daikon or carrot, crisp and fresh on the plate, these were scattered with bits of pickled red cabbage – in that same gloppy sweet and sour dressing as the salad.
The party of 20-some, 30-something girls on a night out seemed to be enjoying themselves, but then, they were just eating platters of salmon and cream cheese nigiri and drinking heavily. The young man in the yamulke who kept winking at me until his parents arrived, at which point they proceeded, at mom’s direction, to move tables, five times in as many minutes, trying to find a spot she liked, might have appreciated the kosher part, but who knows, they were still trying to settle in when I gave up on the food and left. The tab, for six pieces of sushi, two six-piece “half rolls” and a small flask of insipid sake? 102 pesos.
I won’t be back. Let’s just say, No Go: sushi no go.
Kid, the next time I say, ‘Let’s go someplace like Bolivia,’ let’s GO someplace like Bolivia.”
- Paul Newman, in the movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
While we know them best as Butch and Sundance, their original names were Robert LeRoy Parker and Harry Alonzo Longabaugh. There’s a fairly good record of their lives, which involved the entire bank and train robbery history, along with a vague attempt to disappear from that life by becoming farmers here in Argentina, down in Patagonia, only to find themselves back in it for “one more job”, leading to the infamous shootout in Tupiza, Bolivia, against a couple of soldiers, town police and the mayor. Then again, the latter has never been proved conclusively, and there’s some conjecture that a couple of other banditos were setup to take their place, while Butch and Sundance quietly returned to Utah and took up lives under another set of assumed names. Either way, the incident was enough to spark some Casa SaltShaker interest 101 years later, and a chance to play around with some Bolivian cuisine.
There is a plate of daily fare in the city and surrounding area of La Paz, called, simply, a plato paceño. At the most fundamental, it consists, generally, of a slab of simple white cheese, generally fried, a boiled potato, a piece of an ear of corn, and some peas and/or green beans. Maybe a piece of meat, but not necessarily. It’s filling, relatively nutritious, and cheap. It was also an inspiration to turn the whole thing inside out and create these little parmesan baskets filled with goat cheese mousse flavored with thyme and parsley, and top it with some fresh corn, peas, green beans and a touch of finely diced red rocoto peppers (first day, mixed into the mousse, second day, sprinkled atop for more color) – the whole think dusted with some hot paprika.
Arguably, the best known soup of the Bolivian canon of dishes is the sopa de maní, or peanut soup. Having recently produced a West African version to a bit of acclaim, taking this one on seemed a logical choice. Strong beef stock, then a mix of onions, carrots, peas, tomatoes, potatoes and a good dollop of peanut butter gave the base, and then on the side, we served up dishes of salsa llajwa, the classic Bolivian hot sauce – puree of tomatoes, rocotos, shallots, huacatay, quirquiña, olive oil, salt and pepper (different preparation from the attempt on the link, much fresher tasting).
One of the favorites, especially around the Lake Titicaca area, is trucha a la crema – pretty much a fillet of trout boiled to death in cream, with little in the way of seasoning. Here, I marinated the trout for a couple of hours in a little lemon juice, sesame oil, ginger, chilies, salt and pepper, then baked it in the oven until just set. The sauce, a mix of cream and milk with a good amount of garlic in it, some more of the huacatay, salt and white pepper, all blended together and simmered until the flavors mellowed, then thickened with just a touch of cornstarch. Served over blanched, julienned zucchini and carrots tossed with a little butter and salt.
Pretty much the traditional dish here, picante de pollo – chicken thighs braised slowly in stock with onion, tomato, rocoto, cayenne, parsley, cumin, oregano, garlic, salt and pepper. Served with a mix of basmati and wild rice, small Andean potatoes that were first boiled and then tossed with hot butter for a few minutes, and a salsa cruda of onion, tomato, rocoto, parsley, salt and pepper.
And, finally, a little cake based on a common penchant in Bolivia for chocolate and cinnamon together – or at least so a couple of sources claimed. I whipped up a batch of the chocolate-chili cupcakes that have been so popular in various guises, split them open and spooned on some hot blackberry jam, then dusted the whole thing with cinnamon and sugar.
I vote for the quiet lives in Utah after having successfully scooted away….
It seems to me that there are two kinds of trickery: the “fronts” people assume before one another’s eyes, and the “front” a writer puts on the face of reality.”
- Francoise Sagan, French playwright
Not that I’m necessarily in accord with the idea that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, mine normally consisting of a small pot of coffee, there are those days when I want something… familiar. Oh, I’ve gotten used to the medialunas, that imitation croissant that locals are so fond of, and other pastries, alongside a little watery espresso, but sometimes that just won’t do. And Sunday was one of those days, as a friend and I met up noonish (proper breakfast time on a Sunday) in Palermo, in an attempt to find an American style breakfast. We ambled and looked at menus, and nothing looked like “it”, until finally we saw the posted menu at Malasartes, Honduras 4999, right on Plaza Serrano, which listed omelettes and a variety of other breakfasty sounding items.
We settled in, and settled on, a couple of the desayunos americanos, which sounded pretty much just like what we were looking for – scrambled eggs, toast with melted cheese, bacon, a mug of café con leche and fresh squeezed orange juice. Top that off with a couple of Bloody Marys and we looked golden. The drinks arrived first, nice and spicy with tabasco rather than horseradish, and perhaps a touch too much worcestershire, and then just as swiftly disappeared as our waitress retrieved them within a minute announcing that they were not made correctly, she could tell – and whisked them back to the bar where the bartender, to the best we could tell, added a grind of pepper, perhaps a squirt of lime, and a celery stalk. Toss-up as to whether it was better or not, certainly the pepper was a good addition, the rest tasted pretty much the same. The breakfast arrived, and while the presentation wasn’t classic norteamericano, the ingredients were there. The coffee, good, and enough of it. The juice, just right. The eggs, okay, a bit overcooked, but tasty, the toast, odd rounds that were a little too toasted, topped with some sort of uninteresting cheese, and cubes of actually quite good smoked and cured bacon. All in all, a good effort, and satisfying enough that we figure we’ll come back and try some of the other food – the hamburguesas passing by on the way to another table looked thick and juicy and stacked with condiments and such. And at a bargain price of 23 pesos for the breakfast and 22 for the cocktail, all told brunch cost a not so whopping US$12.
Fresh is the obvious first characteristic of Vietnamese food. An array of fresh ingredients is used in cooking, and additional fresh vegetables and herbs are essential accompaniments to every meal. Most Vietnamese dishes are designed so that fresh vegetables and herbs play an important part in completing the dish.”
- From the introduction of Vietnamese Fusion: Vegetarian Cuisine by Chat Mingkwan
Just letting you all have a gander at what we’ve been doing in classes – this morning’s Vegan Vietnamese woke everyone up with that favorite of street food, the banh mi sandwich, here made with fried, smoked tofu and a mushroom-pistachio pate filling in for the roasted pork and pate; we whipped up a batch of seitan and then braised it in a ginger and garlic broth with mushrooms, carrots and spinach; and, one of my personal favorites, slices of tofu cooked slowly in a pineapple soy-caramel; and a little cilantro-jasmine rice on the side.
Children don’t read to find their identity, to free themselves from guilt, to quench the thirst for rebellion or to get rid of alienation. They have no use for psychology…. They still believe in God, the family, angels, devils, witches, goblins, logic, clarity, punctuation, and other such obsolete stuff…. When a book is boring, they yawn openly. They don’t expect their writer to redeem humanity, but leave to adults such childish illusions.”
- Isaac Bashevis Singer, Author
I realized that this was the first time (I think, anyway) that Halloween fell on a night we were having a Casa S dinner. It’s too important a holiday to let pass by without acknowledgement, so saddle up your broomstick and away we go…
Deviled Shellfish – a mix of clams, cockles, scallops and mussels mixed with sauteed green pepper, fresh chilies and onion, some breadcrumbs, parsley, lemon zest and bacon. Packed into a small cazuela dish, spritzed with a little oil and broiled.
Based on a classic Portuguese soup, Sopa de Espiritu Santo (well, okay, that’s how you’d say it in Spanish, not Portuguese), or Holy Spirit Soup, we made this into a Spirits Soup – a hearty oxtail and garlic brown that was then packed with chorizo, chicken, celery, carrot, onion, potato and cabbage, and flavored with a mix of bay and mint added in the last bit of cooking.
Okay, it kinda sorta looks like the form of a Witch’s Hat, no? Still playing around with the homemade phyllo dough, here stuffed with spinach, goat’s milk cheese, paprika, cinnamon and salt, topped with black sesame seeds and served up with a roasted tomato and chili sauce.
I don’t know whether the church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster approves of eating spaghetti, but we did. Squid ink tinted espaguetis caseras (homemade spaghetti), finely julienned carrot cooked separately, meatballs made from albacore tuna, salmon, chilies, chives, lemon zest, salt and pepper, and a classic pink vodka sauce.
Likewise, I’m not sure how the Great Pumpkin feels about the eating of pumpkins, but here, a pumpkin cheesecake topped with a shard of pumpkin seed chipotle chili brittle. The night was hot and humid… sultry even… and within a minute, all the shards had collapsed into droopy ribbons – so much for the pretty presentation. Still, the flavor was there, even if the brittle was a bit more like chewy caramel.
Me anda faltando plata chicha, coraje y un empujón del diablo pa’ enamorarte.”
from the lyrics to Canción Zamba Del Carnaval de Duo Coplanacu
Henry and I spent a lovely evening out at a small club in Palermo, El Empujón del Diablo, that features tango and other folklore music acts. The impetus, the performance of a university friend of his, Andrea Lias. We were also treated to the singing voice of Roque Catalano, a well-established tango singer. Apologies for quality of photos and videos – I thought I had my camera in my bag and didn’t, so ended up using my phone…. Click on the video links and they’ll take a minute or so to start playing – it seems to cache it first rather than just streaming it – I’ll work on that….
