I've often joked that Argentina has more fresh pasta shops than Italy.
It sounds like an exaggeration, but after living abroad for years, I'm not so sure it is.
My grandmother Yolanda was the daughter of Italian immigrants, so Italian food was never something "foreign" in my family. It was simply part of everyday life.
That's why I've always found the idea of an "Italian restaurant" a bit funny.
Outside Argentina, an Italian restaurant usually means a predictable menu of dishes exported around the world. In Argentina, an Italian restaurant is almost an Argentine restaurant. Italian cooking became part of our culture generations ago. We didn't just preserve it---we made it our own.
Sorrentinos are probably the best example.
Despite the name, they aren't a traditional pasta you'll find in Italy. The accepted story is that they were created in a restaurant in Mar del Plata and named after Sorrento. Today they're one of Argentina's most beloved fresh pastas, while many Italians have never even heard of them.
Imagine a giant round raviolo. The larger size isn't just for looks---it allows for much more filling. That's what makes sorrentinos special.
Ham and mozzarella is the classic version, but ricotta and spinach, or ricotta with walnuts, are just as traditional.
Growing up, buying fresh pasta was as normal as going to the bakery or the butcher.
Every neighborhood had its own pasta factory. You'd buy fresh tagliatelle, ravioli, sorrentinos, sauce and grated cheese, then head home.
When I lived in La Boca, there was an incredible pasta shop around the corner. Later, living near Uriburu and Corrientes, I'd walk to a tiny place on Rodríguez Peña that made unforgettable sorrentinos.
Ironically, I make them far more often now than I ever did in Argentina.
Back home it hardly made sense because the fresh ones from the neighborhood pasta shop were already excellent.
After moving to Germany, then Brazil and now England, I bought simple plastic molds and started making them myself.
Today they're one of the dishes I cook most often at El Boliche.
My favourite filling is homemade ricotta with spinach and walnuts. When the ricotta is fresh and the pasta is thin, I honestly don't think they need much else.
One thing that still surprises me is travelling through southern Italy and feeling oddly at home. The rhythm and melody of the language often remind me of Buenos Aires. More than once people have heard Argentinians talking and asked whether we were speaking Italian.
Maybe that's because Italian immigration didn't just change what we eat.
It changed how we speak, how we cook and, in many ways, who we are.