San Telmo’s Parrilla de Freddy Buenos Aires, by most accounts, is a city. Those accounts also attach various adjectives to it such as world-class, cosmopolitan, even Argentinian. One of the many criteria that I petulantly demand a city check off its scan-tron test sheet is the presence of a set

Exterior of El Salteno  As I said in a previous South American dispatch, things get looser, more flavorsome, and less racially homogenous in Argentina the further you penetrate the Northwestern region of the country.  Also, dustier.  I hopped off the bus in the tiny, quaint town of Tilcara, and had

<a href=”http://brokeassstuart.com/wp-content/pictsnShit/2014/03/flordecanela-e1395855282654.jpg”><img class=”size-full wp-image-68910 aligncenter” alt=”flordecanela” src=”http://brokeassstuart.com/wp-content/pictsnShit/2014/03/flordecanela-e1395855282654.jpg” width=”135″ height=”180″ /></a> Mendoza Province, abutting the Andes in west central Argentina,  is a big smudge of green amidst a large expanse of merciless aridity.  Its verdancy is owed to the enslavement of Andean snow;  upon turning to water, it runs downhill to

If the latter part of the above title makes the hair on the nape of your neck stand up and your taste buds flee in terror to hide behind your uvula, then you have the good sense to find the presence of hot dogs and sushi on the same menu

Clockwise from left: heart, corn, rocoto The flower of Peru’s glory is at its highest peak of florid magnificence when the traveler steps outside the bounds of urban settlements.  This can be difficult at times; the central yolk of most Peruvian cities is broken here and there and allowed to

 Worms Belen Market is like a big liver planted in the heart of Iquitos, a chaotic, thrumming organ through which an Amazonian torrent of fruits, vegetables, meats, barks, salves and black market sneakers is caught and dealt with in some fashion or another. Iquitos, in case you haven’t heard of

Grill master working the heat As the latter part of the above title flat-footedly implies, this weeks article has me journeying into savage, humid environs redolent of the morally queasy atmosphere of Joseph Conrad’s most famous novel.  Instead of the Belgian Congo, however, I find myself in Peru’s Amazon Basin.