By Dereck Foster, for the Herald.

“The trouble with you northerners,” I was lectured a few days ago, “is that for you the world ends on the banks of the Riachuelo.” My plaintiff was perfectly correct. Flip through any leading newspaper or magazine which  includes restaurant reviews, and one discovers that a high percentage – an outrageously high percentage – of places covered can be found ensconced in a vast area that begins, (at its southern end), on the banks of the Riachuelo, generally referred to as La Boca, and stretching north as far as San Isidro and further on. This lopsided picture gives the impression that, once one crosses that ghastly, odiferous boundary southward bound,  one enters a land of pizza parlours and greasy fast food outposts that stretch right down to the frigid Antarctic wastes.

The day I have just referred to found me entering a truly alluring, almost bewitching, restaurant situated on the “wrong” side of the Riachuelo, and proud of the fact. El Viejo Cañón (Hipólito Yrigoyen 996, 4228-8009) is just over 60 years old, and looks it is a truly elegant and authentic way. Starting out as a neighbourhood general store. It then became a bar where its draught beer, served with a generous supply of excellent and varied picadas  (tapas) brought it fame far beyond its modest origins. From there to bar-restaurant was an easy step until circumstances involving poor management caused its closing.

Fortunately this did not last long, thanks to Don José Beraldi who decided that such a landmark could not be allowed to vanish —like so many other of our diminishing number of historic sites —bought the place and set about restoring it in the most authentic manner possible. Today, El Viejo Cañón stands much as it did at its birth, with its seemingly never ending old wood shelves loaded with old bottles, jars and tins of every type and age, and a menu as close to the original as possible (with the necessary modern touches artfully included by executive chef Gustavo Gómez, who has been ruling the kitchen (and the parrilla) for 10 years, with remarkable success).

In addition to its authentic decor and its impeccable service — which never falters, even when the large L-shaped room is full, (which is almost always) — the fairly extensive.menu is a definite attraction. Perhaps in one way in an unintentional manner, because if you have a moment to spare while your gambas al ajillo (40 pesos) are being prepared, you might read through the menu noting the English translations. It has been a long time since I have read such an incomprehensible and — at the same time hilarious — translation as El Viejo Cañón offers to “help” its customers. From  assorted cold metas (repeated throughout the menu wherever meat is involved), to Lamb to rosemary (a popular dish costing 43 pesos).

Smile along with Roman sliced squids (33 pesos) and the fried polenta, which comes with tomato sauce and anchovies, but in English is bathed in a pomodoro of anchovies (16 pesos). In the dessert line  the classic must be  without much discussion Cheese and candy (Queso y dulce, 14 pesos)
The most popular orders seem to be the Osobuco braseado (31 pesos), which comes with risotto; Lamb perfumed with rosemary (43 pesos) and the Lomo envuelto con panceta (44 pesos), a sirloin and bacon combination moistened with a red wine reduction. I put Gustavo Gómez to the test with two fish orders and he came through with flying colours. Both my white salmon and my pollack (abadejo) were prepared to the correct point of juiciness without being overcooked.

Leaving these perhaps not so minor slips aside, one can enjoy a truly delicious and simple meal for around 40-50 pesos sans alcoholic drink. (Soft drinks come in at 8 pesos, the same as coffee, both following the inflationary system applied at most restaurants these days).

Contrary to most versions that one hears, the curious old cannon that can be seen straddling the roof of the restaurant has nothing to do with the name. The cannon was placed on the roof as a sort of joke, (one assumes), long after El Viejo Cañón had become a local legend.