The Good, The Bad And The Pizza Of Buenos Aires

I arrived in Buenos Aires filthy, exhausted, and on the other side of a virus that had emptied my body of a weeks worth of food. So, my tour leader at Contiki Holidays, who were sponsoring me on this trip through South America, could have placed a bowl of Cheerios in front of me and it would have been the best meal of my life. However, they had pity on us poor, wandering souls and brought us to a restaurant overlooking a busy street corner, with architecture reminiscent of old Hollywood towering to both sides of us. I’ll admit, I lapped at my plate like I had never seen a full meal before.

“How was your trip?” a friend would Skype me that night. “Amazing,” I replied, “I just had the most amazing pizza of my entire life.” This was the last thing she expected to hear from a Brooklyn-raised Italian American and, also, this is Argentina we’re talking about.

When you find yourself in Buenos Aires, don’t forget to make it to Eva Perone’s grave, and remind me to pass along the name of a fantastic little leather shop in Palermo where you can score affordable heels. Oh, and regardless of whether or not you’re a good dancer, give the tango your best whirl. Visitors venturing down to Argentina’s famous capital have no lack of ideas in front of them. Often breathlessly described as the idyllic love child of romantic Paris and edgy New York, guide books quite literally overflow with tips, ideas and itineraries for first-timers that range from sorta-scary-but-generally-okay street art paths to tango jaunts in cramped second floor studios. Food lovers here are corralled into art nouveau cafes and break blood vessels eating at gourmet butcher shops until they burst.

“But stay away from the pizza,” your friends will warn you, “you don’t want that pizza.”

Since Italians are the largest heritage group in modern day Argentina, it shouldn’t be that surprising that pizza is a staple of your typical Argentinian diet. You’re likely to find a Mediterranean restaurant on many streets featuring those old staples like spaghetti and meatballs. Argentine families are often mobile in their daily routines and these quick meals fit into their schedules and fill tummies. But there’s something about that pizza that causes confusion in visitors. There’s something different about this meal that the masses of sauce-covered faces just can’t place their finger on. Even Wikipedia, the crowdsourced dictionary of “subjective” reference, says of Argentine pizza, that it “more closely resembles calzones than it does its Italian ancestor.” Maybe it’s the recipe.

There’s one obvious difference to this exotic sideshow: the crust. This is not your typical Chicago deep-dish thick crust, this is a loaf of flaky bread more on par with another Italian treat, the focaccia, a round bread topped with light sauces and herbs. To achieve that dense, chewy base, dough is left to rise for up to 70 hours during preparation. After that, it’s smothered in an array of large hunks of vegetables like peppers, broad hunks of meat and whole green olives, an achievement similar more similar to a Jackson Pollock painting than your casual New York folding slice. And the faina, ah the faina. If you’ve still got room in your belly for more, you can try to handle this slice of “secondary pizza,” a broad slice packed with chickpeas, roasted onions and cheese. It adds a satisfying crunch to the soft, mushy ball of cheese you’ve undoubtedly only just gobbled down.

While even well-traveled Westerners can admit our US standard of pizza has no resemblance to it’s Italian brethren, we can’t deny having a love affair with the iconic slim triangles of dough covered in a dollop of cheese and drowning in oil. It’s an emotional thing, it’s a nostalgia thing, and here comes Argentine pizza, a mass of bread piled-high with thick, gooey cheeses and almost aggressive toppings, throwing us all for a loop.

If you’re willing to ignore the jeers and ridicule the Foursquare check-in will earn you, there’s an actual gem of a pizzeria right on busy Corrientes Av where Guerrin has been making people cry tears of pizza joy for 43 years. Brainchild of Milan immigrant Franco Malvezzi, the pies here are thinner by Argentinian standards, but still pack a punch that will make you double over in satisfied pain after you’re done licking your fingers clean. If you’re brave enough, pour a tall glass of moscato, fight for a table in the back and join the hundreds of people who line the walls of the bare-bones shop each day for a very emotional lunch break. What does this classic establishment have that the dozens of other shops lack? It could be the minimalist interior, or the all-business serving staff. It could be that the pies are closer to the style of our nostalgic pizza dreams than other Buenos Aires fugazza. Or, it could just be that Guerrin’s house pie, teeming with spicy ham, fresh tomato slices, salty olives and cheese so thick it’s actually walking away from the pizza, is really damn good.