Tea-up

In the afternoons all across Argentina, Brazil and Uruguay you see locals carrying a thermos to meet friends. They pass a leather cup with a silver straw among them. Odd you might think, but no, they`re partaking in the most South American of rituals - mate. It`s a kind of tea made from the yerba plant and it was adapted from the Inca culture, but as I`ve discovered there`s far more skill involved than a dunk and squeeze.
You won`t find mate in most cafes, it`s reserved for the street, house, park, bench and is rarely drunk alone. I meet a patient mate drinker willing to brief me in the art of this laborious infusion. We begin filling the cup three-quarters full with the green dried leaves. We then soak it with luke warm water and repeat this three times until the tea has expanded. Next the hot water from the thermos is added and my friend makes a well for the silver straw, which has a filter at the bottom. As a newbie, I`m not given the straw until round eight of filling the leaves with hot water as it`s really strong.
When I get my turn, it`s not the most pleasant flavour. In fact, it reminds me of an overstewed green tea when you forget to take the bag out. I`m told three attempts and I`ll love it. I persevere, but it still tastes too strong and bitter. Mate doesn`t contain caffeine, but it is a stimulant and about an hour later I`m chatty and feeling really calm about everything. We`re laughing away and I`ve got tons of energy. So now I know why you don`t drink it alone, you need someone to laugh with. Although the taste could get better in my opinion, I`ll be giving mate another go. The ritual of spending an hour laughing with friends and feeling happy is ok by me, bitter brew or not.

Operation Secreto

I arrive at a street with a number scrawled on piece of paper. There`s no sign of a restaurant. An old man is smoking in a doorway, I tentatively ask if it is the restaurant I`ve walked a long way to find. Minus teeth, he responds that he`s never heard of a restaurant here. This restaurant is part of Buenos Aires` exclusive puerta cerrado (closed door) dining scene. I`m all for covert cuisine, if only I could find the damn thing.
There`s a vaguely familiar symbol on a wall with a small door in the middle. I push the buzzer. Hola. I give my name. Footsteps. A door opens into a courtyard. Once the door shuts behind me it`s all smiles and welcoming handshakes. This restaurant is no longer particularly underground, most closed door restaurants appear in people`s living rooms, however, here they have converted a space the size of a garage - hold on it probably is a garage. There are seven tables, an open hatch kitchen and it`s eclectically decorated with model cars.
It`s empty, but it doesn`t seem to matter due to the small scale and homely ambiance. The draw to Almacen Secreto is regional Argentine cuisine and the menu is divided geographically. The north is fairly familiar territory to me as is the centre, but as the area I`ve failed to visit the south is most intriguing. I chose pickled trucha (trout). Inch square nuggets of pink trout have been given the vinegar treatment along with onions, peppers and garlic. The trout crumbles at the slightest touch and is very moreish with the crunchy onions and peppers. I heap piles onto warm homemade bread with some garlic soaked butterbeans.
As the only diner my main arrives a little too quickly, but I'm excited. I´m trying pork in frutas del bosco (fruits of the forest). Four pork medallions arrive in a light gravy speckled with mustard seeds and blueberries and some herb covered rice. Blueberries are grown in Argentina so their presence isn´t surprising, it`s just the pairing with the pork I'm not convinced about. Well, not for the first time, I'm wrong. The sweet yet flavoursome fruit stands up amiably against the nutty pork. I can taste something else and it takes me a while to work out the flavour because it's really subtle, it's mint. There are fresh mint leaves in the gravy, I'm shocked. It shouldn't work. It's a lesson in restraint, I think, the blueberries are minimal, the mustard sting slight and the fresh mint only hints underneath it all. It provides a light, but very interesting sauce, that keeps entertaining my tastebuds until the final fork.
The waitress hovers hawkishly at my shoulder as I sip a short black coffee, I'm still the only diner. I don't care, I wanted an exclusive dining experience and it doesn't get better than private service. I start to wonder whether it's a reward for years of dutiful serfdom delivered in one hit of playing "upstairs". One could get used to this.

Parrillas in the mist

A bad bus journey followed by a night having my face mauled by a savage pack of mosquitoes has left me less than enamored with Montevideo. It may be Uruguay's capital city, but old town Monty feels like the most rundown parts of Buenos Aires. But, the ciudad vieja does hold what must be the BBQ-lovers mecca - the Mercado del Puerto.
This is a covered market a stone's throw from Montevideo's port, now filled with parrillas instead of market stalls. The flagstone floor holds up wooden bars surrounded by stools at the centres of which are the slanting grills over wood burning fires. I take a seat at the coalface, it's a little warm, but I want to see all the action. For those not wanting to singe their eyelashes there are plenty of tables at this particularly upscale parrilla called El Palenque.
I'm buzzing with all the activity, it's a relatively small space and I watch trays of fresh fish being shuttled to workstations. The BBQ-maestro tosses a log into the fire at one end of the grills, this is burned for hours and the embers are chipped away with a scythe-like implement and shuffled underneath the steaks and fish. Nothing escapes the subsequent fire power, whole chickens roast, sausages spit and curl, fish sits up top next to potatoes and a whole charring butternut squash.
This is more than just a steak house and there's plenty of Spanish heritage in the menu. First up, I try a fat and crispy chorizo pimiento - a paprika spicy sausage. Orangey red inside with hunks of mauve fat, this is a traditional Spanish-style sausage. It's grilled within an inch of inedibly-burned and has the warm smokey tones of the grill. I love the way the sausage is dense and firm to cut, it's so much more robust than an English sausage. The meat is less ground, retaining the fibrous quality of fresh cuts of meat. Its picante spices tingle my tongue and lips satisfyingly - I'd be happy to eat five.
I'm still chewing the fat (literally) when my paella dish arrives bursting with yellowed rice and squid. I can pretty much smell the Atlantic from my seat, so I am hoping that's a good nod to the freshness of the squid. It's darker and saucier than its Spanish compadre and heavy with paprika and garlic. It's a little too oily, but the purple rings of squid are soft, not at all rubbery, with a reassuring tentacle count. They]ve used a heavy stock and lots of oil making this quite rich for seafood. It's tasty, though I only manage a plateful rather than the whole paella dish I've been assigned.
Some salted flattened chicken breasts are slapped on the grill as a guitarist starts churning out some Uruguayan country songs. The bar fills up with grey moustacheod, steak-paunched old men. Uruguay may share a lot in cultural-common with its neighbour Argentina, but it´s starting to reveal its identity as the bar joins to chorus the guitarist´s tune.
It might be the Uruguayan Tannat I'm being plied with or the favourable exchange rate (this meal comes in under £15), but I think I might be warming to Montevideo after all.