Travel
In the lively Buenos Aires barrio of San Telmo, Elizabeth Gleeson and her family prepare a celebratory Argentine feast of stew and empanadas, the folding of which is an age-old culinary art.
BySorrel Moseley-Williams
Published November 3, 2023
• 15 min read
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
The narrow, cobbled streets of San Telmo are slowly coming to life. The Porteños – Buenos Aires residents – are kick-starting a long and lazy four-day weekend with caffeine and medialuna pastries. The autumn air is crisp, as are the white silk floss tree leaves that float down over Plaza Dorrego as a lone bandoneon player warms up his fingers before beginning to busk.
Elizabeth Gleeson and her daughters, Luisa and Nova, briefly stop to watch, before hurrying along to the relative warmth of Mercado de San Telmo, the historic indoor market that houses a fascinating — if, today, somewhat gentrified — blend of family-run fruit and veg sellers, antiques dealers and speciality coffee shops under its domed roof.
One of South America’s most exciting capitals, Buenos Aires has long been attractive to migrants and visitors from many corners of the Old World (although less so during the sultry summer months, between December and February, when humidity tends to hit 90%).
In order to populate the country after gaining independence from the Spanish in 1816, Argentina encouraged a wave of Europeans to the nascent ‘Land of Silver’ from the mid-19th century to the 1950s — mostly from Spain, Italy and France, but also Scotland, England and Wales, as well as Syria and the Russian Empire, many of whom were escaping persecution and war, or dreaming of a better future.
Today, Venezuelans, Colombians and Paraguayans make up most of the country’s migrants. Elizabeth, a textile designer and entrepreneur, originally hails from Pennsylvania, but moved to the Argentine capital in 2007. She put down roots three years later, when Luisa, her eldest, was born.
Close to the Río de la Plata and Costanera Sur Ecological Reserve, low-rise San Telmo is the smallest of the city’s barrios. Inhabited by the aristocracy until the late 19th century, its well-kept townhouses have since been converted into conventillos, or tenement housing, with multiple families living under one roof, and the neighbourhood is known for its large migrant population. Smart properties stand shoulder to shoulder with scruffy facades and tucked-away courtyards, as well as a plethora of independent boutiques, bars and restaurants. It’s a microcosm of Buenos Aires, with brushstrokes of Parisian flair.
“San Telmo is compact,” says Elizabeth, “and as people live and work here, it feels intimate. You don’t have to leave the barrio to try something new as there are tons of places when we want to go out.”
It’s Friday morning, the second day of a bank holiday weekend, and Elizabeth is keen for us to beat the masses to San Telmo Market. We rush through to stock up on ingredients with which we’ll make some patriotic dishes to mark Veinticinco de Mayo (‘25 May’), the day when the May Revolution of 1810 is commemorated. Locro criollo stew and empanadas — pasty-like pies filled with anything from the local staple, beef, to cheese and onion, humita (corn paste), quinoa, llama and chard — will play starring roles on the menu today.
With its arched metal girders and roof constructed from glass and metal sheets topped by a dome, Mercado de San Telmo has an air of the 19th-century English railway terminus about it. The neighbourhood has long been home to a market, with the current incarnation dating back to 1897 (in 2000, it became a National Historic Monument). In recent years, a gentle influx of small restaurants and sourdough bakeries has contributed to its regeneration, but family-run butchers, spice stores and fresh-produce stands still manage to hold their own against the big names and more modern businesses that have taken up residence. Back in 2007, when Elizabeth moved to Buenos Aires, the market was one of few places where she could pick up fresh coriander or portobello mushrooms — rarities for the time. She still shops and eats here regularly.
“I like to come here because you can see everything,” she says. “At the butcher, they cut the meat up for you, and veggies get weighed out on the scales — everything is very fresh,” she says. “And even though the market has changed over the past few years, as it’s turning into a food hall, we still come here to dine — although not on weekends when it gets very busy.”
As we walk down the grey marble steps, tantalising aromas are already wafting through — the comforting scent of an asado (barbecue) in progress. The market captures all the senses, with a curious blend of premises lining its passageways — everything from record shops and dulce de leche (caramelised milk) stores to vintage jewellery outlets. Anyone too distracted by the trinkets and souvenirs risks being run down by a hurried market worker pushing a trolley-load of onions.
In a country where inflation is projected to reach an eye-watering 140% by the end of the year, it’s perhaps fitting that the meat sold at Carnicería 21 doesn’t have a price advertised; the signage simply names 28 different cuts available. Daniel, the butcher, has just some of his beef and pork on display, he tells me — the rest is stored in a vintage oak refrigerator. A diagram of cuts, meanwhile, makes for a handy visual guide for those looking to try their hand at asado.
Squash, white corn and beans are the main vegetables used to make locro criollo. This warming pan-Andean stew is usually slow cooked for a day with a variety of proteins and bones, depending on the budget. It’s prepared differently all over South America, but pig’s trotters, pork knuckle and bacon often go into the Argentine version.
Elizabeth pulls out her handwritten shopping list before asking Daniel for some chorizo colorado (Spanish-style cured sausage) for the locro, and a ‘roast beef’ cut (a top round of beef, rather than a slice of Sunday lunch) for the empanadas. As yesterday was 25 May, there’s been a run on chorizo (“It’s on its way,” Daniel promises) so we abandon that idea and head instead to the fruit and veg stand helmed by Laura and Analia — respectively, third- and fourth-generation grocers — for squash and sweetcorn. Around the corner, a spice specialist picks up a large glass jar of smoked paprika and bags up dried capsicum from the northwest province of Salta.
Home comforts
Back at the apartment, Elizabeth’s husband, Ignacio, sharpens his knife. While empanadas are often prepared with mince, he prefers to go the extra mile by preparing them with carne cortada a cuchillo — that’s to say, the cut of choice sliced into bite-size chunks by hand.
“Making empanadas can be time consuming, so I usually make ham and cheese ones,” he says. “But as this is a patriotic occasion, I’m making an effort.” As a student, Ignacio would cook basic meals like tuna with pasta or rice, he says, but since meeting Elizabeth, his diet has broadened. “I used to be quite basic with my recipes and she introduced me to a more colourful array of vegetables and leaves that goes beyond lettuce, that’s for sure,” he adds.
Video editor Ignacio is a lifelong Porteño, having been born in Flores, the northwest barrio where Pope Francis grew up, before moving with his family to an apartment in front of the Botanical Garden, in the Palermo district, when he was five. “Because of the Italian influence in Buenos Aires, we ate a lot of pasta growing up,” he says. “Mum didn’t cook that much, but one of her best dishes — and my favourite — was peceto con arroz [a lean cut of beef with rice], which the girls love today.” His dad, meanwhile, would make a mean fillet steak with tomato sauce, which Ignacio has never been able to replicate. “I think the secret was the exorbitant amount of garlic he used,” he says.
While Ignacio assumes the labour-intensive task of chopping the raw meat, nine-year-old Nova starts slicing spring onions, and the released blend of enzymes and amino acids soon has her running for swimming goggles so she can resume the task at hand. She’s met with gales of laughter from Luisa and Ema, Ignacio’s 12-year-old daughter from a previous relationship.
Once the meat for the empanadas has been fried with onions, hard-boiled egg, cumin, green olives, a little dried chilli and paprika and those carefully chopped spring onions, the children form an assembly line. They start filling discs of dough (some home cooks make their own, but using shop-bought is a common shortcut) before sealing them with several repulgues (crimps).
Repulgue folds are considered a culinary art form in Argentina, with nimble fingers needed to flip the dough to seal the half-moon shaped turnovers. The family has fun seeing who prepares the most elegant ones. “The trick is to not overfill the circles, so the fat doesn’t touch the edges, while also using a little water to join the dough before making the repulgues,” says Elizabeth. The trick to eating them, as I later discover, is to lean in over a plate (or the floor) to avoid any greasy accidents.
Ignacio and Elizabeth built the kitchen from scratch when they moved into their high-ceilinged, first-floor apartment and, together with the adjoining dining room, it’s the hub of the home, with space for the whole family to prepare a meal together or get stuck into arts and crafts. Matilda, the friendly cat, roams around, tempted by the scents of the various meats cooking in the oven and on the stove. The girls lay the table together, chattering away in a mix of Spanish and English, setting out ceramic bowls and plates handmade by their mum alongside paper blossoms they’ve crafted themselves. Creativity is definitely a theme in this household, the pièce de résistance being an enormous, colourful paper-chain dragon hanging from the living room ceiling as a reminder of Nova’s recent birthday.
The day has cooled considerably by the time we eat at around 5pm and the warming dishes are most welcome. The locro is so filling, side dishes are unnecessary, although Elizabeth adds pickled chilli peppers to her bowl for an extra burst of heat. The dish is packed with smoked paprika and cumin — spices typically found in the cuisine of northwestern Argentina. Chunks of corn on the cob float in the thick, dark-red liquid; I fish one out and eat it with my hands. I uncork the bottle of viognier I brought, an unusual white for Argentina, whose floral notes perfectly offset the locro’s hotter flavours.
We alternate between locro and empanadas, Elizabeth taking a bite from hers before adding more peppers. I bite into the buttery, crumbly pastry; Ignacio’s hard work chopping up the meat has paid off: the bite-sized chunks are juicy, flavoured with cumin.
As if we weren’t full enough, Elizabeth pops a dozen puff-pastry squares she stuffed earlier with quince paste into a pan of hot oil before setting them on the table in front of us. Sweet-yet-savoury pastelitos criollos are a classic teatime snack, but they’re also passionately devoured on national holidays like this one. I crunch through the dough, with its beautiful layers that have emerged on frying, before reaching the soft, sweet quince within.
As the autumn sun begins its descent, the meal comes to a close. Ema and Nova round things off with a dance routine, while I — face smiling and stomach full of some of Argentina’s most traditional dishes — am more than ready for a siesta.
How to do it
British Airways flies nonstop from Heathrow to Buenos Aires, where Home Hotel has double rooms from US$150 (£120), including breakfast.
Ignacio’s beef empanadas
Serves: 18 Takes: 1 hr
Ingredients
Oil, for frying
2 medium onions, chopped
500g beef, chopped into 1cm cube
spinch of cumin
pinch of paprika
pinch of chilli powder
150g green olives, pitted
4 eggs, hard-boiled
2 spring onions, chopped, white parts discarded
18 empanada pastry discs
Method
1. Heat oven to 180C, 160C fan, gas 4. Set a lightly oiled pan over a medium heat and sauté the onions until translucent. Add the beef and cook until there’s no pink visible. Mix in the cumin, paprika and chilli powder and season with salt and pepper to taste. Add the green olives and mix well. Remove from the heat and allow to cool.
2. Chop the hard-boiled eggs into small pieces. Add the eggs and spring onions to the meat mixture and combine well.
3. Put 1 heaped tbsp of the meat mixture at the centre of one of the empanada pastry discs. Dip your finger in water and use it to lightly moisten the edge of the disc, then fold the pastry over and join the edges to form an empanada shape. Fold the edges in a classic braid style to securely seal the empanada, then place on a baking tray. Repeat with the remaining filling and pastry discs.
4. Bake for 10 mins, then serve immediately.
Published in Issue 21 (autumn 2023) of Food by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
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