Not Hippy Enough El Bolson

According to the Bible, I mean Lonely Planet, El Bolson was supposed to be a relief from commercialised Bariloche, but hopefully not the chocolate. The description of a pretty town, with a hippy feel, good local made beer and great walks right from the centre convinced us to stop.

Unfortunately I wouldn't call El Bolson particularly pretty and the people have a whole lot more tree hugging to do before the vibe could really be described as hippy. I mean seriously, the only thing we were offered on the street was empanadas and I think they really meant empanadas and not hash.

But the “El Bolson” brand beer was decent and the “El Bolson” brand raspberry juice heavenly. After lunch we wandered up to Indian Head, which really does look like a toothless hippy.

The view from the escarpment down to the river and the surrounding mountains was lovely and we debated which property we would buy and ride horses on.

The clouds concealing the tops of the peaks were a little worrying but we decided to clamber through the forest instead of going back to town the same way. We wandered past a lovely property where little lambs were playing in the fields before finding a track to the waterfall we'd planned to go to the next day. The path led through shrubs covered in yellow and orange flowers which brightened the dull afternoon.

The next day, the grey skies opened up for the first time during our trip. We'd already checked out of our hostel and the manager didn't seem open to the idea of us hanging around until our bus in the evening, so we were homeless.

It's not often in normal life that you need to waste time, but that's exactly how we spent the wet, cold day in El Bolson. It's amazing how long it can take to eat one piece of cake when the only dry place to sit in town is at the bus stop.

Asado!

All the inhabitants of the house had had a late night, so by the time we tip toed out to the asado around 10:30am there was already smoke wafting from the chimneys of some of the neighbours. Because that's what you do on Sundays! You make asado which is the famous Argentine slow cooked barbecue.

We'd already had a few roast chickens during our travels and on the day of our arrival, we'd been treated to an asado at Siga la Vaca (follow the cow) which is said to be one of the best in Buenos Aires. And while it was delicious – especially the salads! - we'd been promised by the family that Sunday would be even better.

We'd been to the butcher the previous day and bought more meat than I could imagine. But to be fair this would be a feast. There would be new family members to meet as well as our friends M and his wife who took us to the polo and L and her husband who we were looking forward to meeting.

So the ritual started with Jeff chopping firewood and me running around with a notebook and camera, asking loads of questions and taking photos of the asadors working. Once the coals were at the perfect temperature the giant slabs of meat were placed on the grill and acoustically monitored for the volume of their sizzling.

For editorial accuracy I wrote down each of the cuts of meat we were eating but things got tricky when we got to the offal. In order to explain exactly which part these pale coloured, worm looking things came from, P pulled out a human anatomy book. He pointed out that we would be eating riňon (kidneys), chinchulines (small intestine) and mollejas (sweetbread – thyroid) and joked that next week it would be our insides on the grill. 

  

The one tradition that must be universal while preparing a BBQ is the men standing around, drinking beer while the meat is cooking. Of course our pair of asadors had hefty glasses, peanuts and cheese to snack on while watching the meat cook for two our so hours.

Just as the meat was almost cooked everyone arrived and all 15 or so of us crowded onto a long table on the patio. Each cut of meat was served individually and passed around the table before the next one came along. And as promised, the home made asado was better than the one we'd had at the restaurant.

In case you're wondering, we both tried the offal, which I'm sure were delicious, but these more unusual meats just didn't quite appeal to our palates. Apart from the mojella that is, along with every other delicious thing on the table including the salads. For a job well done, the asadors received a rowdy round of applause for the fantastic lunch.