Your Joe.
...yer mud, yer murk, jolt, jamoke. Importantísimo.
Afortunadamente the city is full of good stuff (not that you can't get served umbrella juice when you least expect it.)
There is one very big coffee problem in Buenos Aires, however: sometimes you want yer java before exposing any or all parts of you to the general public...not even so much as to crack open the door wide enough to pull in a styrofoam cup from the delivery guy.
That's right, folks, when it comes to en grano para la casa this can be a cruel, cruel town.
Maciej Ceglowski said it best in this post of his, possibly the greatest quick-take (he wasn't here very long!) on Argentine food ever written:
"Other dangers lurk in the Argentine pantry. Worst and most puzzling in a country settled by Italians is the horrible ground coffee. Most cafés and restaurants serve good espresso, but you are in the wilderness as soon as you try to find something you can brew at home. The idea of purchasing beans to grind seems to be a great novelty - it took several days of hunting to find both a grinder and something to put in it. Grocery store coffee is inevitably sold pre-ground and roasted with sugar, giving it a dark color and the taste and aroma of burnt socks. It's possible that coffee, like Argentine yogurt, is just meant as a delivery mechanism for sugar." (Source : http://www.idlewords.com/)
The only joint in town that gets my whole-bean trade is a block and a half north of Avenida Santa Fé on Pueyrredón. Some of the best I've ever tasted anywhere on any continent. The stuff is so good that I count the compliments on the smell that I get on the bus bringing ½Kg back home ...or on the elevator, even on the street. So very remarkable is its quality that, if it's not too windy, people on the sidewalk look around at each other wondering where that delicious roasty perfume is coming from.
Now I'll admit up front that I'm not much of a coffee snob. I guess you could describe me as a "roaster snob" in that I'm happy to accept a lower order of arabica that's fresh from the roaster rather than some loftily pedigreed stuff that's just plain been waiting for adoption too long. (Please Note: only the Av. Pueyrredón location does the roasting...go there.)
Having said that, I'm happy to report that I cruised all over their map of varietals to my complete satisfaction. All or most of my favorites are on the card.
Coffee being what it is (one of the original exotics) you're going to be paying like you do for everything imported here...way out of the Peso League. There, after my 'round-the-world with my darling Muse of the Morning, I started to question my financial sanity.
That's when I thought I'd give the house blends a try. There are three and they are much, much more affordable.
À la Goldilocks, I first tried the Terciopelo. As the name suggests, it was very smooth...too smooth for me. High quality, freshly roasted, but I like a little bite with mine. Still, I was ecstatic to find something affordable for daily fixing that was this good.
Toward a more edgy cup, I next scored a half a key of the Expresso. I know, I know... espresso blends: the dumping ground of grounds...usually roasted beyond recognition even if it might contain good beanage. Not this one, tho. Pretty damn good it is. It certainly satisfied my taste for something a bit more amargo but didn't leave me feeling like I'd bought the sweepings out of the drum.
Last on my list was just right. A nuanced balance between richness...and poverty! The Portobello. Se dice "similar a aquellos cafes de la Piazza Spagna, pero con un toque artesanal." Gotta love that. Stumble no more would I into the shower when I craved my dark stuff...now I stumble into the KITCHEN AND BREW MY OWN!
Since cafés were way up at the top of my list of reasons for emmigrating here, I admit to being a little conflicted not frequenting my favorite boliches quite like I used to. I'm working thru that.
Now, as to yer aparato, a good espresso machine is something to be respected. It will set you back thousands of pesos and, still, many disappoint. After a prolonged safari into that realm, I realized that a morning taxi to the finest java house in Buenos Aires, and back, would never eventually equal the price of the really good (usually Italian) devices.
That realization led me to explore an icon of European cinema that is equally at home with the porteña kitchen: La Cafetera Italiana.
The local brand is "Volturno" but it's identical to the classic "little man" Italian model and is almost free compared to any good maquina de espresso. It goes right onto your stove top and, sans crema, does a splendid job on splendid beans. You might be tempted to term it a percolator, but it is not. The under-pressure water passes only once through your grind and up into the upper chamber safe from any destruction from over-heating. A compromise, to be sure. But one I think you could live with comfortably ...even as a standby for when an exalted machine breaks down.
No matter what your travails here as regards that burnt-bean-beverage that we adore, keep in mind that coffee at home is sort of an oxymoron here in the Paris of the Palmeras ...good coffee here is generally regarded as something to go out for. But with a little forewarning and a little hard currency you can enjoy an exquisite cup before braving your new world here.
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