The Pasta Makers

La Plata, Argentina — When people think of Argentine cuisine, they think beef.  True, the average Argentine consumes around 68 kg (150 lbs) of red meat per year, but a macho cannot live on steak alone, grass-fed, tender and delicious as it is. 

     Luckily, there are the wheat derived dishes; the bread, pastries and pastas (pasta,) to tide one over between the ubiquitous round of asados (Argentine barbeque) and empanadas (small stuffed pastries.)  In fact, pasta is a big thing here, and just about any place you go, even the steak houses, you’ll see at least one dish on the menu. 

     At 9 A.M. on a Monday morning, Enirque Barrez, part owner of the Good Fallarin Homemade Pasta Shop in La Plata, is making the maza (dough) for noquis (gnocchi).  He kneads a big ball of the sticky paste in his hands and then plops it into the top of an antique pasta maker specifically designed for the task, called a noquera.  Bending down, he retrieves the scalloped, gooey balls from a wooden drawer.

     “This machine is 40 years old,” he says, “almost as old as our shop.”

     Barrez shakes his head at the thought of replacing this, or any of the other specialized pasta makers that churn out fresh macaroni, spaghetti and ravioli.  “We’re not into changing things around here,” he says.    

     Besides a few safety checks, Barrez says, “The new machines are really not that much better.”     

      Like many Argentines whose ancestors “came from the ships” during the vast European immigrations following WW1, Barrez’s grandparents immigrated to La Plata from Italy and Spain, and opened up the shop in 1953. 

     This old world mix of Italian and Spanish culture, combined with an indigenous agricultural abundance, has in fact come to characterize most of Argentina’s food offerings, albeit in ways that the Buenos Aires Heritage Commission has claimed as being distinctly novel.

     One such pasta dish is the Sorrentino, allegedly invented in Mar del Plata, not the eponymous Italian city; a plump, moon shaped ravioli filled with ham and mozzarella. 

     Another is the canalone (cannelloni), which in Argentina are just as often made with crepes, and stuffed with either, a beef and herb, ricotta and pine nut or spinach and ricotta mixture.  My favorite is the beef and herb.  Tangy, with a hint of lemon juice, and slightly floral, this satisfying specialty sells out early on Saturday’s at Fallarin’s.  

     “Italians,” explains Barrez, “like to eat more dried pastas, spaghetti and angel hair.  But here, we like the pasta fresh and stuffed.”

     This fact, he says, makes it uniquely Argentine. 

     “Most of the pasta makers here are Spanish,” which, he claims, accounts for the differences with Italian pasta. 

     Though inevitably European, another evidenced influence on Argentine cuisine is the Polish Varenike, a three-bite, triangle pasta filled with potato.     

     Farllarin’s, as most pasta shops, makes their own sauces to accompany the pasta.  These include tomato, béchamel and pesto.  For those who choose to go sauceless, cups of fresh crème and shredded parmesan cheese to sprinkle are on hand.    

     “Look,” Barrez says, “in Argentina, when the sun is out, people make asado.  If it’s cold and rainy, they come to us.”