The wild north-west

As my bus travels north the view from my window gets more dramatic. The land becomes rugged and dry and communities are set farther apart. In the province of Salta huge mountains and canyons divide remote communities living in dustbowls hours from civilisation. With this, the topography of the cuisine changes and this diverse north-western province has developed an interesting culinary identity.
Maize plants dominate local agriculture and the corn from these is the key ingredient in two local specialities. Humitas and tomales are both made with mashed corn wrapped in their maize skins and boiled. They both have a slight spice, more of a picante paprika flavour than fiery chilli. The tomales adds pink shredded veal and the humitas a melted cheese middle. Their sweet pepper flavour is delicate - I enjoy eating both. The corn and paprika spice remind me more of Mexican cuisine than anything I´ve seen through the rest of Argentina. They have a mushy consistency, but with a splash of local relish of tomatoes, onion, garlic and vinegar they both make a delicious entrada (starter).
Another local specialty, Locro, takes the corn and veal in a soup with butterbeans, a root vegetable similar to a turnip and chopped chives. The colour of this soup is a durgy yellow that´s not immediately appealing. The first taste almost makes me recoil, it´s got an overriding flavour of animal fat. It reminds me of traditional British dumplings, it´s lardy infact. It dawns on me that there are white lumps of something spongy in my mouth, which could be lard or even mondongo (tripe). As I persevere the fat becomes moderately more bearable and I notice that the veal tastes very good and the underlying flavour of corn, cut through with the chives is pleasant. There´s an earthy almost manure flavour left on my tongue, that reminds me far to much of the cow´s habitat and starts to put me off again. This is peasant fodder good and proper, it´s not fancy it´s hearty and it´ll keep the meat on your bones in the chilly mountains, but the prevailing fatty taste eventually gets the better of me and two thirds remains untouched.
As the terrain becomes more dry and mountainous in the west the ubiquitous cow gets replaced with goat. This filters down to the table where empanadas are filled with queso de cabra (goat cheese) and restaurants advertise the other local hero the cazuela de cabrito (kid goat stew).
When I decide to try the cazuela in Cafayate, a small town south west of the city Salta, the only place serving the fabled stew looks none too salubrious. After gingerly giving my order, I await my meal watching the waiter stamp out bugs on the cracked tiled floor. Thoughts of food poisoning start to flicker across my mind, but I´m far too polite to leave without paying and perhaps the threat of a crippled stomach is the price a food writer must pay on occassion. I vow to have one mouthful, before a swift exit.
I almost laugh when the waiter brings me a near overflowing bowl of the most delightful looking stew. It´s got huge rougly hewn chunks of cabrito interspersed with long shredded carrots, red and green peppers and onions. It´s glowing with orangey colour. Its light watery sauce is tinged from the carrots and added pimiento, with small daubs of oil on the surface. I eagerly cut a piece of cabrito and find that it tastes like a less sophisticated cousin of lamb, it´s light and tender and streets ahead of the tough older goat you find in Caribbean cuisine. It´s firm to the knife but surrenders easily in the mouth. Heaped with the vegetables and some sauce, which I detect has a splash of local torrentes white wine in it, reminds me of food from the Basque region of Spain.
This stew has depth, rustic charm and bags of flavour, it could be made with lamb, but I can´t believe my own words here, I think the goat gives it its edge and idiosyncratic peasantness. Well who da´thunk it - I´m a goat convert.

NB This food writer experienced no food poisoning in north-west Argentina.