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Buenos Aires' Best: A Stir-Fry

Who would guess that my top dish in Buenos Aires this past trip would be—not steak, not pizza, not pasta, but a Chinese stir-fry.

It was a beautiful contrast to the overload of ham and cheese in which I had indulged. Apart from steak, these two seem to be the staff of life in Buenos Aires. And I was ready for something else.

I found it when, by accident, I wound up in Chinatown. I had gone to Belgrano to visit the Museo de Arte Espanol Enrique Larreta, a mansion that is now a museum of Spanish art and furnishings. But I arrived too early. it hadn't opened.

There was nothing to do but explore the neighborhood. Walking along Avenida Juramento, where the taxi had let me off, I passed the usual cafes and shops. And then I stumbled upon Arribenos, a  cross street crammed with Chinese restaurants, markets and shops selling the sort of Asian trinkets you find in Chinatowns everywhere.

The Casa China had the same things as Asian markets in Los Angeles, from woks and ladles to sushi vinegar, low-salt soy sauce,  lemongrass, Thai shrimp paste and fresh seafood on ice.

But where to eat?  There were too many choices. Midday bargain lunches were tempting. For as little as $4.50, they offered several options. But which would be best?

And so I asked a man who appeared to live in the neighborhood. “Go to that one,” he said, pointing across the street. “Everyone likes it.”

And that is how I came to eat at Todos Contentos, a traditional Chinese restaurant fitted out with red lanterns, red walls and placemats with Chinese horoscopes. Instead of chopsticks, tables were set with knives, forks and big spoons.

My $7.60 choice from the "menu con platos combinados" (combination plates) included just two dishes and a drink. All three were very, very good.  

Pollo con almendras (almond chicken) was light, fresh and perfectly cooked. The moist and tender chicken chunks were tossed with diced carrot and red and green bell peppers, then finished off with a handful of fried whole almonds. 

The chop suey beside it showed off impeccably fresh, crunchy bean sprouts combined with shredded carrot, green onions and cabbage.

The sauce for these dishes appeared to be nothing more than broth seasoned lightly with soy sauce. And so I was able to taste the food directly, free of extraneous flavors.  

The drink choices were mineral water, a gaseosa (soda) or cold tea.  Even the tea was exceptional, at least to my taste. It came in a tall glass without ice but sweetened, just as tea in Indonesia is sweet unless you specify no sugar.

Todos Contentos means everybody content. After that lunch, I was no exception.  

Todos Contentos, Arribenos 2177, Belgrano, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Local Tel: 4780-3437. 

A Tale of Two Milanesas

Talk about coming full circle:

The first place I ate a milanesa sandwich was in Buenos Aires at the Pasadena Cafe. This was my first meal in that far off city, late at night after the long flight from Los Angeles.  It seemed odd to find, across the street from my hotel, a cafe with the same name as the city adjacent to  my hometown.

Even odder, the next time I had a milanesa sandwich was in Pasadena itself, and at an Argentinian restaurant.

Malbec (in the bottom photo), which replaces a short-lived Argentinian place on Green Street, offers "new Argentinian cuisine," but  also old favorites such as empanadas, gnocchi, sorrentinos (Argentinian ravioli) grilled meats and milanesa sandwiches.

Malbec's milanesa is a thin cut of beef or chicken that is breaded, fried, then  layered with arugula and tomato in a baguette spread with mayonnaise and grainy mustard.

In comparison, the Pasadena Cafe's milanesa was rudimentary--a thin, chewy strip of fried meat  gripped in the center by a tiny roll.  A glass of house red wine and dulce de leche gelato decorated with wafer cookies completed that meal.

At Malbec, lunch started with a basket of baguette slices to eat with chimichurri, a classic Argentinian sauce made at this restaurant with parlsey and fresh oregano, olive oil, lemon juice, pepper and other spices.

Next came the day's soup, a simple but very good puree of broccoli, leeks and potato.

The French fries with my sandwich were commercial. Nevertheless, they were the best that I have had recently--soft, hot potato inside a thin, crisp outer layer. Light, and not greasy. I ate every one.

Instead of the Pasadena Cafe's nondescript glass of borgona (Burgundy), I sipped with great pleasure a glass of Don David reserve Torrontes from Salta province in northwestern Argentina. This light, floral white wine is perfect for lunch.

In a restaurant named for Argentina's premier red wine grape, there is bound to be a good selection of Malbecs. The wine list, composed exclusively of wines from Argentina, offers  17 of them.

On a previous visit, I ordered Finca de Domingo Malbec from Salta, interesting because most Malbecs come from Mendoza, the main wine-making region of Argentina. However, Salta produces some that are excellent. 

That time, I ordered a dish that Argentinians love to hate, gnocchi, which is traditionally eaten on the 29th of the month, when money from the last paycheck is running out.

The only time I ate gnocchi in Buenos Aires, the dumplings were tough and chewy, which would justify the porvery link. However, I was eating them in fashionable Recoleta, and they were not cheap.

Malbec's gnocchi restored my confidence. The dumplings were light and tender and the tomato-laden beef stew that went with them was a great dish in its own right.

Sometimes eating food far from its place of origin means making do with second-rate renditions. That is not true at Malbec, based on what I have had. And the prices are reasonable. An $11.95 business lunch special  includes soup or salad, any sandwich or a pasta, coffee or a soft drink. Wine is additional.

Odd that I never ate at the Pasadena Cafe in Buenos Aires again, although I have walked past it many times. In case you are traveling there, here is the address:

Pasadena Cafe, Guido 1705, corner Rodgriguez Pena, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Tel: 4815-0545.

Malbec, 1001 E. Green Street, Pasadena, CA 91106. Tel: (626) 683-0550.

A Penguin to the Rescue

The empanadas are good at La Americana. They ought to be, because this big, bustling restaurant in Buenos Aires claims to be "La Reina de las Empanadas " (The Queen of Empanadas).

What I go there for isn't the empanadas, though. but the penguins.

No, not penguins to eat, but to provide more wine than I should probably drink at one sitting.

For some reason that I don't know, ceramic penguins are prized as wine decanters in Buenos Aires. Not just at restaurants but in homes too, because housewares stores sell them.

They come in various sizes, either white or brown. White is the usual color for wine. Brown might do for beer.

Not knowing about the penguins, I  went to La Americana because  Jose, a guy I met at a pizza place, sent me.  He thought I would like the empanadas. "They might be too spicy for you," he warned. They were not. 

"Spicy" in Buenos Aires means an extra shot of "spices" such as green onions, not chiles. So an empanada saltena con picante, a Salta style beef empanada at La Americana, contained nothing very picante.

Hojaldra de atun--tuna inside puff pastry--was sweet and caramelized  at the edges. And pascualina wasn't an empanada at all, but a wedge of spinach and egg torte.

This was hearty food, and I needed liquid refreshment. A penguin of house wine to the rescue.

A few days later I went back for an empanada criolla (hand-cut beef)  and a pizzeta calabresa, a little pizza topped with tomato, mozzarella, sausage  and a sprinkle of oregano .

This time, I chose Crotta Bonarda Malbec from the wine list. It too came in a penguin.

A few months later, I was back. This time I  consumed an entire pizza Brasilena (tomato sauce, mozzarella, ham, pineapple, red bell pepper and green olives).

It was late, and the restaurant was jammed.  But the line for tables moved quickly, and I was soon wedged in a corner seat by a window where I could observe penguins as they arrived at nearby tables.

Prices have risen in Buenos Aires. Nevertheless, this May, my pizza cost less than $7, and would easily have fed two, maybe even three. And the medium penguin of house red wine that you see in the photograph cost just one peso more than the year before--a birdful of wine for only $2. 

La Americana, 83 Callao, corner Bartolome Mitre, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Tel: 4371-0202.

Koreatown in Buenos Aires

The spicy Korean stew kimchi jjigae is as simple as it is wonderful.  My Korean friend Sejung can whip it up in seconds, using cabbage kimchi, pork, onion, garlic, tofu and  rice cakes.

Aside from hers, the best kimchi jjigae that I have eaten recently was at a restaurant, not  in Koreatown, Los Angeles, where there are scores of eating places, but in Buenos Aires.

No tourist would ever find Kil Chong.  It is hidden away in Flores, a section of the city where the first Korean immigrants settled in the 1960s.  There is no sign that says restaurant, no indication of cooking, no dining room that can be seen from the outside, just the name in the Korean script Hangul on a small lantern high above the doorway.

I found it thanks to two friends, Korea-born Monica Lee and Carolina Mera, a professor at the University of Buenos Aires who lectures and writes about Korean migration.

Driving around the barrio with them, I saw Korean-owned textile businesses, a Korean school, churches, a Buddhist temple, a panaderia (bakery) with a sign in Hangul, small markets and other enterprises.

The Korean population of Argentina once numbered 45,000, Carolina said. Now it is down to 20,000, almost all of them in Buenos Aires.

Long ago, Flores was a wealthy area and a separate town. The rich moved elsewhere and Flores was amalgamated into the city. During Argentina’s economic crisis from 1991 to 2002, many of its Korean inhabitants left the country, and the barrio became impoverished. On Saturday, when businesses close in the afternoon, it was especially quiet.

Fortunately, Kil Chong was open. We entered through a bare hallway, then climbed upstairs to a plain room with formica-topped tables and ceiling fans.

The restaurant caters to Koreans, not outsiders, and so the menu is in Hangul, with no Spanish translation and, certainly, no English.

There are just 16 dishes, including bulgogi (grilled beef), galbi  tang (short rib soup), mandu (dumpling) soup, bibim bap (a rice bowl with meat, vegetables and egg), sun dubu (soft tofu), naengmyeon (cold noodles with or without broth), and kimchi jjigae.

Our lunch was impressive. We feasted on 10 side dishes (banchan) in addition to the dishes we ordered, a far more generous display than that offered at a couple of ambitious new Korean restaurants in Los Angeles.

Along with sweet and sour radish, cucumber strips, soy bean sprouts and other vegetables, the little dishes held dried radish leaves, squares of Korean pancake, dried fish with potato, tiny spicy dried fish and fatty pork slices with hot red sauce.

Fiery red, richly flavored kimchi jjigae came in a black stone bowl. The marinade for bulgogi (grilled beef, cooked in the kitchen), was topnotch. Carolina asked for yukgae jang, a spicy meat soup, and Monica wanted naengmyon drenched with sweet and spicy red sauce.

Kil Chong makes its own kochujang, the red pepper paste that is used in many Korean dishes, and this indicates the effort that goes into the food.

Tourists are more likely to go to Bi Won, which is closer to the heart of town and well publicized.

Although owned by Koreans, Bi Won cooks for Argentinian tastes, and the food lacks true Korean flavor. The night I was there, the restaurant had no kimchi, which would never happen in a genuine Korean restaurant.   

Bi Won offers the sort of Asian decor that tourists like, and the service is good. But for food, Kil Chong is worth the long ride to Flores, a barrio way off the tourist trap.

Ordering from a menu in Hangul needn’t be a problem. Just point to numbers 5, 7, 8 and 11, and you will have a delicious, inexpensive meal of dumpling soup, grilled beef, bibim bap, kimchi jjigae, beef broth, rice and all the banchan you can eat.

Kil Chong, Campana 714, Flores, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Tel: 4674-5900.

Bi Won, Junin 548, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Tel: 4372-1146.

A Visit to Valpo

This is really scary. I can see through cracks in the floor boards to the steeply pitched rails beneath the little car in which I am riding. What if it should cut loose, plunge off the side or hurtle me to the bottom?

Ahhh. It reaches the top, the door opens, and I head out for a magnificent view of the harbor of Valparaiso, once Chile’s greatest port.

The harbor looks busy, but its heyday was long ago.  The opening of the Panama Canal put an end to the long voyage around the tip of South America, diverting ships far north of Valparaiso.

Although named a UNESCO World Heritage Site, this historic and picturesque city plays second fiddle to glamorous Vina del Mar next door. Tour groups go there for lunch after catching a few highlights of Valpo.

In order to see more, I have avoided the tours and taken an early morning bus from Santiago. My goal is to ride the historic ascensores (funiculars) that climb the dramatic hills upon which the city is built.

Constructed in the 19th and early 20th centuries, the ascensores are lovingly tended and, I presume, safe. More than a dozen still operate. The one I’ve just ridden goes up Cerro Artilleria (cerro means hill).

At the top, stalls sell tourist trinkets. A single restaurant has posted its lunch menu. And history buffs hike further to the Museo Naval y Maritimo (naval and maritime museum).

Another 250 pesos takes me down, and I board a bus to Ascensor Concepcion. “Tell the driver you want to go to Turri,” advises a woman at the bus stop, because that is the local name. This hill seems even steeper, but the trip is mercifully short.

Cerro Concepcion offers a cluster of inns, restaurants and cafes and a long walkway with benches where one can relax and enjoy the view. Still, I have been warned not to wander heedlessly, and I avoid an empty street where I see an individual I don’t trust.

Other tourists tell me that residents have directed them away from questionable areas and advised them to keep cameras hidden. Down below, I skirted two drunks as I headed toward a bus stop.

Downtown seems run down, and the houses that I have seen in the hills look flimsy and weathered, like homes perched above the ravines in Tijuana.

For lunch, I go to Café Turri on Cerro Concepcion, near the funicular terminal. This restaurant is in another world from what I have seen.  Modern, airy and upscale, it could well be on a hill in San Francisco or in an exclusive part of Santa Barbara.

View windows look out to a broad terrace and the sea beyond, but it is too cold to sit outside, although other tourists clamor for these tables.

Lunch is elegant. Fish (reineta) has a creamy seafood sauce that incorporates oysters, shrimp, mussels and razor clams. The potato gratin that the waiter suggests is just right with this.

I ask for a red wine, and he brings De Martino Legada Reserva Carmenere 2006 from the Maipo Valley.

Dessert is a Chilean classic, mote con huesillo, or cooked wheat with whole preserved peaches. In this upscale rendition, it becomes Vanidad Porteno (portenos are inhabitants of this port city) and is paired with a glass of late harvest wine, Casa Silva Semillon Gewurztraminer 2006 from the Colchagua Valley.

Another 250 pesos, and I am back down, map in hand, walking to an ascensor nearby.  But I get lost in the warren of twisting streets and never find it. Instead, I come across an artisanal fair and buy a jar of merquen, a spicy red pepper seasoning that originated with the indigenous Mapuches of the south.

Another booth has chumbeque, a traditional sweet from Iquique made of  flaky cookies blended with  lime juice and cane syrup. And another has fancy handmade chocolates.

Continuing on, I see grand, faded, European style buildings from Valparaiso’s glory days. A market street is congested—produce stalls, bakeries, empanada shops and a woman nodding in a chair beside a table of goods for sale.

Farther on is a line of stalls aimed at local trade, piled with alpaca scarves and caps for the cold weather to come, cheap jewelry, snacks and, although it is May (autumn in Chile), nativity scenes from Peru.

A bus takes me on a swirling ride around the hills, passing a sign for La Sebastiana, the house of the poet Pablo Neruda, which is now a museum. 

I visited the house on a previous trip, so I don’t get off. On that trip, I stopped only long enough to see La Sebastiana and to have a quick coffee at a famous café of the past, Café Riquet (now closed). One of its customers was the Chilean military dictator Augusto Pinochet, or so a taxi driver told me. Pinochet was born in Valparaiso.

This time, instead of rushing in and out, I have wandered for many hours. Walking to the bus stop, I pass a pet food shop with hungry mutts clustered outside, modest lunch rooms and a bakery where frosting flows over cakes like folds of fabric.

Near the Parque Italia, a tree-lined square, I see a lively stall that sells obleas colombianas, and I buy one for the trip home. The tissue-thin wafers (obleas) are put together with arequipa, which is luscious, soft, Colombian style milk caramel.  It is a sweet finish to an interesting day, and in only an hour and a half, I am back in Santiago.

Touring Valparaiso.

Tur-Bus goes every 15 minutes from Santiago to Valparaiso. Buses are comfortable and seats are reserved. The ticket office in Santiago is inside the Universidad de Santiago Metro terminal.  A round trip ticket costs about $8.

The O microbus will take you around the hills of Valparaiso, affording good views of the harbor if you sit on the right. Board this bus on Francia just past Colon, above Parque Italia.

Ascensor rides are 250 pesos each way. Go armed with a map, a guidebook and enough Spanish to ask directions.   

A Fun Place to Eat Fish

Going to Donde Augusto is like stepping into a carnival where raucous  barkers try to collar you for every sort of attraction.

This restaurant is in Santiago’s Mercado Central, which houses a lively fish market, an abundance of cafes, produce displays, spice sellers and much more.

The building alone is worth the trip for architecture buffs. They can inspect an airy wought iron superstructure that dates from the 19th century.

Inside, prospective customers face a barrage of invitations to buy. It would be nice to take home some of this glorious seafood—fresh scallops on the half shell, mussels, oysters, clams and fish such as corvina and dorado. But we kitchenless travelers can only admire, then head for one of the cafes to eat our fill.

Donde Augusto is the best known and most touristy, but I always eat there, because it has a balcony, from which I can look down on strolling musicians, families assembling at tables on the ground floor, waiters juggling trays of food, colorful heaps of fruits and vegetables, and a nonstop swirl of shoppers.

I always start with the same dish—locos with mayonnaise and potato salad. Locos are often confused with abalone, so it seems like a bargain when you get two thick, tender, sweet chunks of this pale shellfish for about $15.

However, locos are totally different. They are carnivores, whereas abalones are herbivores. Wild harvested deep off the coasts of Chile and Peru, where they cling to rocks and subsist on sea life, they consist of a single shell with tempting, delicious flesh.

Waiting for the locos, I have a pisco sour, the most popular drink in Chile as well as in Peru. The waiter, who is Chilean, confesses that he thinks pisco sours are tastier in Peru, but this one is good enough for me.

To accompany the cocktail, there are salty, flat,  glazed rolls called hallullas and fresh salsa, the pebre to which Chileans are addicted.

The locos plate is a good advertisement for Chilean produce as well as seafood.  The butter lettuce leaves are springy and super fresh. So is the tomato slice. And the potato salad is light and well made, dressed with the same intensely yellow mayonnaise as the locos.

When seafood is this good, I can’t stop at one dish, and so I order machas parmesana—razor clams on the half shell with creamy Parmesan topping. Twelve half shells seem a lot, but they are gone in a flash.

For dessert, I want something cool and refreshing, like helado de chirimoya—cherimoya ice cream. Marbled with orange sherbet, the ice cream is a good choice, and I spoon it up slowly so that I can spend a few more moments drinking in the vibrant scene below.

Donde Augusto, Mercado Central Local 66/166, Santiago, Chile. Tel: (56-2) 672-2829. To get there, take Line 2 of the Metro to Puente Cal y Canto. As you emerge from the terminal, you will face the large building that houses the Mercado.

 

Cazuela for the Soul

It is raining in Santiago, and I am coming down with a cold. What I need for dinner is chicken soup. And there is one restaurant that I am sure will have it.

So I head for Galindo, which is known for such typical Chilean dishes as cazuela, a hearty meat and vegetable soup.

Galindo is in Barrio Bellavista, a bohemian, trendy, touristy neighborhood. It is near my hotel, and I walk there despite the gusts of wind that make my umbrella useless.

Ah good, one of the dishes listed on the board outside is cazuela de ave—chicken soup.

Inside, the restaurant is crowded, but a table by the window is free, and it is a nice spot, where I can look out on lamp light flickering in the trees that line the dark street.

Everyone else is looking at me, or so I think until I discover that a soccer game is in full swing on the TV set over my head.

I order a pisco sour, because the lime juice in the drink should help get rid of the cold. The cazuela arrives in a brown pottery bowl. It is magnificent, a very fresh, tender chicken leg surrounded by chunks of corn, yellow squash, potato and rice in delicious broth. The long green strands over the top are green beans.

(Unfortunately, all this goodness doesn't come through in my photo. Perhaps the camera was not at its best  that night either.) 

The waiter provides a plate so that I can lift the chicken out and cut the meat from the bones more easily than in a sloshing soup bowl. I put the chunks back and stir in a spoonful of pebre, a zesty Chilean salsa, to make the soup even more flavorful.

All is well until I experience a breathless, choking sensation. It isn’t the cold but smoke drifting from the tables around me. Then I see a sign that says the room is a “zona de fumadores” (smoking zone).  When I ask to move to the no-smoking section, I learn there is none. The entire restaurant is a tobacco zone.

Except for the unwelcome fumes, I’ve had a good dinner, though. And I walk out into the cool, fresh, rain-washed night air, smoke-free and feeling much better.

Galindo, Dardinac 098, Barrio Bellavista, Santiago, Chile. Tel: (56-2) 777-0116.

Coffee and Kuchen in Chile

A fascinating part of Chile’s history is the arrival of German settlers in the second half of the 19th century.

They came at the invitation of the Chilean government and settled in the far south, which then became a center of German culture

The newcomers introduced beer, sausages, breads and delicious pastries, one of which met with such wide acceptance that it crossed over into Chilean cuisine.

Kuchen (cake) is the only German food word that has been adopted without alteration by Chileans. You don’t have to seek out German restaurants or go south to find it. Cafes anywhere may have it, just as scones and Danish turn up at coffee shops in the United States.

The most common is apple kuchen, topped with a lattice crust, a glaze or migas, a crumb mixture similar to streusel.

When I walked into Café El Observatorio in Santiago one morning, I found on the menu “kuchen de manzanas con miga streusel” (apple cake topped with crumbs), identified as a “receta alemana” (German recipe).

A slice with coffee was perfect for a mid-morning break, just as German housewives might have served it. Juicy diced apples with a scattering of raisins sat on a tender crust under a layer of sugary crumbs, not the nut streusel that is common in the United States.

Interestingly, Barrio Lastarria, where Café El Observatorio is located, dates its earliest construction to about the same time the Germans set sail for Chile.

Quietly bohemian and seriously cultural, the barrio is populated with artisan shops, fashion boutiques,  antiquarian bookstores, interesting restaurants, cafes, bars and the like.

Café El Observatorio occupies a corner of a century-old house that functions as a cultural center.  It  is peaceful to sit there overlooking the tree-lined main street, Jose Victorino Lastarria, which was named for a 19th center intellectual, revolutionary and political figure.

The café also has a nut kuchen with caramel that I haven't yet tasted, so I’ll be back for sure next trip.

Café El Observatorio, Villavicencio 395, corner Jose Victorino Lastarria. Tel: (56-2) 632-4588. Open 8:30 a.m. to 1 p.m. Monday through Friday; 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. Saturday and Sunday.

Deja Vu at Liguria in Santiago

I feel a twinge of familiarity as I walk into Liguria in Santiago.  And a little confusion.

I left Buenos Aires less than two days before, but I seem to be there again. Carlos Gardel is singing tango. And the bar looks like any respectable café in Buenos Aires, comfortable, convivial, a bit antique.

Opening off the bar is a dining room decorated with vintage signs. A wildly-colored mural covers the wall at one end of the room. At the bottom, a sign says “tangos, cuecas.” And the tango beat goes on.

The menu offers dishes that are common in Buenos Aires (grilled meats, provoleta), but also  traditional Chilean food, and I order arrollado huaso, a pork roll named for the Chilean cowboy.

This is certainly cowboy fare, meaty and heavy. The marinated pork has been rolled tightly, wrapped in pigskin and simmered in water and wine. It comes with delicious fried potatoes sprinkled with merquen, a hot red pepper seasoning from southern Chile.

My companion has beef cazuela, which is just as hearty. The large bowl contains a dense chunk of beef along with a whole potato, corn cob chunks,  squash, green beans and rice, submerged in broth. A large, pale chile stretches across the top.

The red-checked tablecloths and rustic setting seem just right for dishes like these.

Neither one of us can finish, because we started with a platter of melted goat cheese and arugula that was too good not to finish. Chilean goat cheese is mild, mellow and creamy, not strong like the goat cheeses I am accustomed to at home.

Our bread basket includes golden sopaipaillas, made with pumpkin. In Chile these are eaten along with meals or as a dessert, with syrup.

The wine we select is El Bosque Winemaker’s Choice Cabernet Sauvignon 2005 from Vina Casablanca. I like the label, which shows a tree bent by the wind.

Unwisely, we order two desserts. One is  leche asada, a custard baked in caramel.  It has been cut in a square and topped with an orange slice, which imparts a lovely, delicate flavor.

I eat so much that I can’t manage more than a forkful of a luscious tres leches cake, billowing with meringue. Only a huaso-style  appetite could have handled that.   

Liguria Bar-Restaurant, Providencia 1373, Santiago, Chile. Tel: (56-2) 235-7914.

Astrid & Gaston: Chile's Finest

Three trips to Lima, Peru, and not once did I eat at Astrid & Gaston, the trend setting restaurant founded there by star chef Gaston Acurio.

Now, finally, I have eaten at Astrid & Gaston. Not in Lima, but in Santiago, Chile, where the first A&G outside Peru was opened in September, 2000.

The timing was perfect. Astrid & Gaston has just been named the best restaurant in Chile by the Guia Culinary 2008, based on a survey of restaurant goers.

The restaurant was honored for its varied and elegant menu, which focuses on authentic Peruvian flavors. Its dessert menu won first place in that category.

It follows that my four-hour tasting lunch was brilliant. Course after course of exquisite seafood. Peruvian standards such as tiradito, ceviche and causa rethought with Acurio’s vision. Wines matched to each course from a selection of 360 labels, large enough to require two sommeliers.

What stood out? Everything, starting with a pisco sour made with aguaymanto, a berry-sized orange Peruvian fruit that is available only three months of the year in Chile, where it is known as physallis. The flavor was as sunny and tropical as the color of the fruit.

No time to finish the drink, good as it was, because I was handed a glass of Vina Valdivieso extra brut sparkling wine to accompany the first course, tiradito, which is the Peruvian equivalent of sashimi.

The cancha (roasted corn) on top of the fish was the same cancha that restaurants in Peru set out for snacking. The fish was lenguado (sole) in a bright yellow chile sauce that swirled around circles of green herb oil.  The tiny red bits scattered over the sauce were rocoto chile.

Peruvian ingredients are easy to get in Santiago, which has at least 50 Peruvian restaurants, including several I could walk to from my hotel.  Peruvian corn, potatoes, herbs such as huacatay and flame-colored rocoto chiles are available fresh, so there’s no need to alter dishes to make up for missing ingredients.

Acurio trains his chefs in Peru and manufactures eight sauce bases there to distribute to the restaurants. There are other Astrid & Gastons in Madrid, Caracas, Bogota, Quito and Panama, and one will open soon in Mexico City.

The chef in Santiago is Oscar Gomez from Ayacucho, Peru. For ceviche, Gomez stacked marinated octopus, shrimp, calamari and corvina, working in tastes of traditional ceviche garnishes such as red onion, giant corn kernels, rocoto strands and a slice of pale sweet potato.

The wine was Vina Casablanca Nimbus Sauvignon Blanc 2007 from a cool valley that is noted for whites.

What a shame that more Chilean wines aren’t available in the United States, because they are wonderful, like the Anakena Viognier 2006 from the Rapel Valley that came with the next dish, causa de atun.

Traditional causa stacks layers of  bright yellow mashed potatoes with seafood or chicken and avocado. This version played with that concept, employing an appetizer portion of lime-flavored yellow potatoes as the base for tastes of smoked trout marinated with dill and raw tuna from Easter Island.

Never have I tasted pasta so perfectly cooked as that for the next course, a crab shell filled with bucatini a la huancaina. Bouncy yet tender, the pasta was seasoned with a shellfish reduction and huacatay. and coated with spicy yellow ocopa sauce.

Ocopa is a creamy mixture that includes milk, cheese and aji amarillo (yellow chile). A grilled crab leg came on the side, and more crab was mixed with the pasta.

The wine was Alto Vuelo Pinot Noir 2007 from William Cole Vineyards in the Casablanca Valley.

Another red, Terra Noble’s Gran Reserva Merlot 2005, came with sudado de pescado, a winter fish stew appropriate for May’s cool fall weather. The fish was corvina (sea bass) cooked with tomatoes, corn, garlic, cilantro and yellow chile in a vibrant orange sauce.

Departing from seafood for a moment, I ate arroz con pato--crisp duck leg with northern style savory green rice. Then back to seafood with quinoa chupe.

In Peru, chupe is like chowder. In Chile it is dry, not soupy. This version included picoroco, a crustacean that attaches to rocks like a barnacle, as well as shrimp, clams, scallops and oysters.

The wine for both these dishes was Chile’s signature Carmenere, an Amplus One 2004 from Santa Ema. If my suitcase hadn’t been overstuffed, I would have hunted down a bottle to bring home.

And at last, dessert—a stemmed glass containing a soft mound of white chocolate blended with cream cheese, surrounded by orange chile sorbet and a compote of pineapple cubes and aguaymanto marinated in pisco.

Instead of a Chilean wine, Taylor’s 10-year-old tawny Port accompanied the sweets, including a final plate that contained a delectable taste of chocolate soufflé, a slice of cooked banana topped with a rocoto strip, a packet of filo dough filled with banana paste, and two ice creams, one flavored with banana, the other with nothing more than rich cream.

Is it any wonder that afterward I walked the equivalent of three subway stops to my hotel?

Good news for Californians: I learned from Alejandro Hartmann, who directs Astrid & Gaston in Santiago, that Acurio will soon open a restaurant in San Francisco modeled on the seafood restaurant La Mar in Lima.

Personally, I wish La Mar were coming to  Los Angeles. After one taste of Acurio’s food, I want more, much more.

The Photos:

From the top, diners at Astrid $ Gaston; aguaymanto pisco sour; tiradito; ceviche; causa; bucatini; chupe; the dessert cup; an exterior view of the restaurant.

Astrid & Gaston, Antonio Bellet 201, Providencia, Santiago, Chile. Tel: (56-2) 650-9125.  The tasting lunch is about $60 and must be ordered by everyone at the table. Wines are additional.