Last Meals Before Africa

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DAY 136: I woke up in time to meet up for the meeting of a bike tour at 9:30.  However, realizing that I had many chores to take care of before leaving Buenos Aires (and South America for that matter)—buying medicine for my irritated eyes and cough, doing laundry, checking out of my hostel and, of course, Blog duties—I was glad that I blew it off.  I did however make time to experience the characteristic cuisine of Buenos Aires one last time.  Aside from the steaks, my other weakness was for empanadas—a tasty treat found all over the city.

EMPANADAS, THE DELICIOUS PASTRY filled with either meat, fish or cheese surrounded by a baked crust, were all over Buenos Aires—as common as hot dogs in New York City.  The St. Nicholas Hostel was in a convenient location because down the block and around the corner was La Americana, the self proclaimed “La Reina de las Empanadas.” A Buenos Aires culinary institution since 1935, La Americana had reason for its claim in being the best. 

“I tried other empanadas at other places, and they just weren’t as good,” Amy the American from the hostel told me.

“[You can’t come here and tease me with an empanada from La Americana,]” a woman at a newsstand joked when I bought a newspaper from her while holding a still steaming chicken empanada in my hand.  She told me she’d rather have the empanada than the one peso twenty I owed her for the news—but the chicken empanadas were just so good, I wasn’t about to give it up.

So for one last time, I went to the famous empanada restaurant, which also did baked sweets and pizzas, although I never saw anyone go in for those.  Empanadas were their specialty, set apart from the rest with their whatever-it-is they put in their dough, and whatever spices they used in their beef, chicken or ham & cheese fillings.  I managed to arrive just as a fresh batch of chicken empanadas was coming out of the oven, and when it hit my taste buds, I knew that I’d have to return to Buenos Aires one day for another fix.

EMPANADAS ASIDE, I didn’t neglect the fact that I was in Steak Country and paid a visit to Chiquilin, the somewhat fancy bistro with the perfect, fatless steaks that I went to the other night.  This time around I landed in on the power lunch crowd, and dined amongst men apparently working out deals at their tables.  Next to a side of mashed potatoes, I had my last steak (picture above) in this visit to the “Paris of the South,” for just around five dollars with the exchange rate—at a fraction of the cost of the same thing in a similar place in the States.  Now if that’s not reason to come back to Buenos Aires, I don’t know what is.

I SPLIT A CAB TO THE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT with Amy the American, yet another former dot com employee.  (She actually quit her job from Amazon.com after tiring waiting for a lay off.) Amy was bound for Chile from Argentina via Air Canada, while I was bound for South Africa from Argentina via Malaysia Airlines, on a plane that would continue onto Kuala Lumpur.

After a final glass of fine Argentine wine in the airport bar, I did some Blog work until I boarded the 747.  I sat next to two older guys that were more interested in their newspapers than conversation.  They probably just buried their heads in the news because they were just as annoyed as I was at the boorish Argentine rugby team all over the cabin that treated coach like their own team clubhouse.

For my in-flight meal I chose the beef for a little closure to this entry.  Although I’m usually not that fussy about airline food, I have to complain this time; there’s no way the beef could even compare to the best steaks of Argentina.


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This blog entry about the events of Wednesday, March 03, 2004 was originally posted on March 04, 2004



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