Chain Reaction

The Porteños have a penchant for speaking in superlatives. Since I have been in Buenos Aires I have crossed the widest avenue ever built. I have visited the oldest metro in the Southern hemisphere. And according to my sources, I have eaten the best ice cream in the world.

Helado – along with the asado – is a cornerstone of Argentine gastronomy. Brought by the vast influx of Italians in the 19th century, it has become the undisputed champion of desserts, afternoon snacks and late night deliveries.

But for a country where few franchises flourish and the local store reigns, a remarkable thing has happened to this age-old tradition. Chain heladerías with boring brand identities are making their mark on the cityscape and independent parlours in turn are closing their doors. At this rate, before long the Porteño will be boasting about the creation of the biggest heladería chain in the world.

I hunted high and low in Palermo Viejo for an alternative to helado moguls Chungo and Freddo, both just 2 blocks from my home. The same sterile smell of cleaning product haunted them. Both had expanded into takeaway coffees, ice cream sundaes and horrid-looking chocolate chip muffins. Both had queues spilling out the doors.

While for me the sight struck a fear for the degeneration of the local heladería, few seemed to share my concerns. Among them is the discerning foodlover Narda Lepes, Argentina’s answer to Giada De Laurentiis, who recommends all the chains in her comprehensive gastronomic shopping guide, La Guia de Compras. She is echoed by Maria Carra, a food expert who keeps Porteños in the know with her site, Buenos Aires Foodies, and assures me that “they still offer a high quality fresh product even after growing into massive brands.”

Helado at Arkakao

Despite the hype, I failed to be convinced by Freddo, with its sickly sundaes, robotic staff and weird cereal toppings. Freddo made its name in artisan helados when it opened in 1969 and its marketing has played on this history every since. In the meantime it was bought out by a private equity firm and is now the largest heladeria in Buenos Aires, boasting over 30 outlets in locations as far flung as London and Uruguay.

My scepticism towards Freddo, perhaps unfairly, fuelled my fury at all of the city’s chains. That is until I paid a visit to Volta, who with 8 outlets across town, wooed me with a cup of minty granizado de chocolate and a crunchy peanut and caramel concoction crafted into a beautiful soft peak. But I was still not ready to admit defeat to the boisterous big brands, and on further investigation, I discovered I might not need to when María pointed me in the way of Arkakao to sample the city’s finest artisan heladería.

The new Buenos Aires outpost for this Rosario-based heladería opened 3 months ago in a pristine part of Recoleta. Freshly made daily, they offer a range of ever-so-Italian flavours, such as gianduja and stracciatella, displayed in colourful ribbony swirls crying out to be admired. This is something that I miss when I visit the the franchise outlets, which tend to keep their helado out of eyesight, in stainless steel cylinders under the counter. Arkakao’s Jose Maria tells me this is the lazy option for storing the helado over night and always having large quantities at the ready.

Aside from Arkakao, more authentic neighbourhood parlours are still competing with the big boys. I love Tufic for their mascarpone and frutti di bosco and a devilish Oreo cookie ice cream. Peppino di Napoli is a sure-fire target for any helado lover, which like many of the city’s favourites, was started by an Italian immigrant. Cadore is another local name, and for the sake of using a Porteño superlative, let’s just say it boasts the best dulce de leche in town. Though I should think Freddo’s marketing team would probably disagree.

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