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The waitress tilts her head with a blind smile and raised eyebrows without saying anything. When I ask her for the menu her resignation switches to surprise and she walks off as quietly as she came—she still hasn’t uttered a

I have barely shut the door behind me and Mariano Ramón launches into our interview. He bounces out of his seat from behind the bar, gives me a firm handshake and walks me in a circle around a tight kitchen

Naiara Calviño carefully pieces together a ‘ahogado de cabeza’ in the little rectangular kitchen at the back of Chochán. She slices an individual loaf of glass bread that has a slight bubbly surface and rich brown color that tells

I didn’t grow up eating milanesas or the nearly identical North American ‘chicken fried steak’ but there is something nostalgic about eating one. Maybe it has to do with my childhood struggle of trying to convince my mother to buy

Two families of nearly a dozen members each take up impossibly long tables on either end of the room that transform this hallway-shaped restaurant into a cozy enclave. Lines of wine glasses tinted neon yellow with Inca Kola and shiny

“My grandma didn’t like to cook, she cooked to survive,” Alejandro Osuna recounts with a playful shrug, “Everyone has to eat.” He grew up on her cooking. It was a routine duty with a fixed calendar of meals: Monday was

The waiter meanders over to the table and drops a laminated menu in front of us. The skim selection has as many food options as it does drinks—four different soups and a few ambiguously named appetizers like chinese raviolis and

The waitresses face changes from kindness to confusion when I ask where the Guarani food is on the menu. I wondered if I was in the right place. I’d struggled to find El Cortijo despite its conspicuous location on a

The waiter slinks over to the table empty handed and lazily asks, “Do you need a menu?” as per routine. “No.” I know exactly what I want. It is the same exact order I make every time I visit La

A milanesa with french fries isn’t what immediately comes to mind when I think of dining out in the neighborhood of Once, easily one of the city’s most multi-cultural barrios. A mountain of ceviche, warm tamales, sweet tropical juices