The journey from the door of the Niño Gordo restaurant in Palermo, to where we are now gives no time to reach any conclusion. It is 12pm and the van is already parked at the entry into what for years was known as the Villa 31 shantytown, a place which in 2012 was finally given a more fitting name.
‘Welcome to the Padre Mugica neighbourhood,’ reads text on a wall on a long corridor leading to the small football pitch where the eponymous priest once played with locals. Beyond that is a bustling hive born in the early 1930s with the arrival of Polish immigrants.
The story goes that in 1935 precarious dwellings were demolished and that in 1940 the shantytown in Retiro emerged, serving as a mecca for Italians. Later came the Bolivians and others from Argentina’s northwest, such as Teófilo Tapia, an 84-year-old man who travelled down from Jujuy in 1963.
Teófilo worked for years in the port and like so many others in the low-income neighbourhood, rather than a confessor, he found in Mugica a guide. From the first moment the priest first stepped foot on the mud of that godforsaken place, nothing was ever the same.
The priest was a large, blonde man with blue eyes who attracted girls, Teófilo recalls. All the women wanted to be nuns, said Tapia, bursting out laughing. “He would come in here and at first, they would look at him in awe, like “How can someone who’s well-off mix with us darker-skinned people?’”
Then they started understanding the importance of what he did for them. “Do you know that before the houses used to be made of wood, that we lit ourselves with candles and that he got us light?” he says, remembering the push, the priest’s tractor-like energy.
In 1974, just after celebrating a mass in Villa Luro, Mugica was hit by the bullet the deadly Triple A intelligence organisation had saved for him. “Yet his path remained,” says Tapia.
In case it was not clear, he puts on his Boca Juniors jersey before showing me the community soup kitchen where he feeds as many as 1,300 people.
We go into the kitchen. Out of the pots, tall and wide as stock tanks, soups or stews come out to relieve the hunger of a big crowd. And tomorrow, instead of beef, the meal will be chicken stew, “because we are beating River” (who are known as the ‘Gallinas’), Tapia cackled.
In a corner of the room there is a shrine with saints and Madonnas of different sizes, and intertwined between those saints Gauchito Gil. The wall opposite has a bronze plaque hanging which reads that Teófilo Tapia was declared an Illustrious Citizen of Buenos Aires City.
Yet that is not what he wished to point out, but rather the photo of Rodolfo Walsh together with those of other activists of the area. Close by, much larger, is the image of Mugica dressed as an Eternaut with the following phrase below: “The only valid hero is a collective hero.”
Learning the ropes
A man in his 20s donning a grey cap is manning a small barbecue on the pavement. The unmistakable smell of chorizo beckons and we approach, following the smoke with curiosity. The kid, whose name I do not yet know, was wearing a T-shirt that read “Chori,” one of the Palermo restaurants created by Germán Sitz and Pedro Peña, where the kid works.
It is no wonder that he was literally “wearing the T-shirt.” Chori is the place where he earns his living and the window from where he stares into the horizon is where La Escuelita started, the space opened by Sitz (Niño Gordo, ranked number 43 in the 50 Best Latam rankings) and Sebastián Atienza (Tres Monos, 11th in The World’s 50 Best Bars 2023), where they train youngsters who are yearning to try their luck in the food and cocktail industry.
Learning the ropes provides them with tools to get started in the trade.
“The idea came about together with the local CEDEL [Centre for Entrepreneurial and Labour Development], and we took note that many bars and restaurants were run in the neighbourhood and there was interest in food. First we started giving cocktail courses. The theoretical bit at the CEDEL; and practice at Tres Monos,” said Atienza.
“Lastly, this year, with Germán we opened a place right by Tapia’s soup kitchen and we put this project together including training in bartending, sommellerie, cocktail making and cookery: that is the only course that lasts four months, the rest are completed in a month’s time,” he added.
The intention is to bring students closer to quality food, guarantee rich learning and while they are at it, build a dynamic which helps them solve the lack of staff this sector has.
“We want this to become a major job pool in the future, not only for kids to come out with training, but to subsequently adjust their performance. We try to get it to be sustainable and grow in the long run, but for that we need more resources and people supporting us, he said passing on a call for help.
“Every course gathers 10 students and the entry process is simple: they are interviewed to get a feel of their expectations, their goals. Clearly the option is aimed at offering a job opportunity and although it is already starting to work it warrants time and patience,” he said.
That is because in addition to dropout rates and the difficulty for kids to join the new job market, there are time limitations: returning in the evening or at night is not an option for those who live in these 72 hectares spanning from Retiro to UBA Faculty of Law, covered in dreams, but also riddled with violence.
One of those responsible for graduates becoming acclimatised to their new job scene is Duilio Gorgal, a career chef, teacher at Gato Dumas Cocinero culinary school, who gives classes in the brand-new and well-equipped kitchen of La Escuelita.
Up the stairs is the upper floor, the cocktail area has an atmosphere reminiscent of a bar. Los Redondos’ music is played, while behind there are a series of tables as high as bars, a group of students handle the basic bartender kit: there are shakers, spoons, jiggers, mortars, sieves, and enthusiasm.
In a corner, set against a backdrop of bottles, ‘el Chino’ is focusing on a cocktail shaker. He looks at ease with his movements and it is no coincidence: two years ago he did the bartender course and today he works at Tres Monos.
“What was the more important thing you’ve learnt?” I ask.
“A trade that helps me work in something I really like. Understanding the importance of hospitality. This has changed my life,” he responded.
We come out to the pavement. Choripanes and sauces are ready. The barbecue kid – by now I know his name is Jhoel Francisco Villa Gamarra and that back in the day he did some carpentry work – offers me a negroni.
I approach a group of girls standing at the kitchen door. Yazmín tells me she is already doing internships and then she pulls out her mobile to show me pictures.
Next to her stands Micaela, a graduate assisting Gorgal during classes. She turned serious to talk about the opportunities afforded by this place, the chances to grow and to improve the economy of one’s family, the stimulus to expand growth.
She sounds both convinced and convincing. She sounds like the future. Not all is lost.
* Find out more about ‘La Escuelita’ on Instagram at @xlaescuelitax
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