We have established how an Argentine home is never without dulce de leche. They will find any excuse to add a dallop of this saccharine goodness to just about anything. I guess that would make me part Argentine?
I was wandering aimlessly around the cobblestoned streets of Palermo Soho, which happens to be a kitschy shopping district during the day, and transforms into a hip bar district after midnight (think hipster Malate). When the lure of well-crafted leather bags became too strong, I decided to retreat to a cafe, for the safety of my VISA. I was craving for dulce de leche anyway.
Ice cream would be my default order, but I was feeling a little bit more adventurous that afternoon, so I settled for Panqueque. Panqueque is basically crepe with dulce de leche (yes, I am intrepid like that).
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity* for such a basic dish, my panqueques finally arrived at my table. While I enjoy decadent treats, I couldn’t help but lean back a little upon the sight of the crepes on my plate. Each crepe probably had 1/4 cup of dulce de leche tucked in them.
“Un plato de diabetes” was probably what they heard me say.
The Nutritional Content label on Dulce de Leche jars kept flashing in my head, with every sinful bite I took.
“200 calories per teaspoon”
“or 200 calories per tablespoon?”
I had to squeeze out half of the filling just for it to be edible. At one point, I put my fork down as I had to make a very important decision:
“Should I stop eating this indecent treat and waste 25 pesos (PHP 250) or should I go ahead and increase my chances of getting diabetes in my 20s, work on getting that
double triple chin and get incredibly sugar high?”
Yes, I really had to pause and think about it.
* In Buenos Aires, you always have to wait for an eternity, to get the waiters’ attention, for food to be finally served and to get your bill. An eternity each.