Towards the end of our time in Buenos Aires, with too many great restaurants left to visit, we went on a binge. Parrillas, pizzerías, cafés, morning, noon and night. "Jürgen", I said during our last meal, pork grease dripping repulsively off my chin. "This is getting disgusting. Tomorrow, let's heat something healthy." Abuela Pan, your time had come.
When I consider the word chalkboard, my head instantly seizes up with all sorts of negative connotations. My brain thinks "school", my nose remembers the stale stench of erasers being pounded together, and my ears... the unbearable screech of a bad piece of chalk scraping uselessly against the slate. Awful.
Calle Martín Rodriguez in La Boca is the rough-and-tumble kind of street you'd normally want to avoid after sunset. But there's one very good reason to set those concerns aside for one night: Il Matterello.