It is as the tango says, that curse that "first you have to know how to suffer" to appreciate what you have. This fickle, capricious, demolished, ungoverned city seems to love to get to the edge to see if it loses everything. And sometimes, just sometimes, it comes back from the edge with good news. In this case, the news is very good, because Buenos Aires is about to reopen one of its most opulent jewels, a public palace. Sometime this quarter, with works finished and papers sealed, the confectionery La Ideal will dazzle us as it did for decades. And if this exaggerated verb is used, it is because our Belle Epoque piece is being restored and equipped as rarely can be seen.
The city of Buenos Aires was already described as the capital of an empire that did not exist, so many airs and graces were given. They populated it with domes, made some architectural masterpieces, lined it with breweries overlooking the river, ornamented it with public art and filled it with cafés. The diadem was made up of four confiterías, an archaic word that places you in the era: the Tortoni, Las Violetas, La Ideal and El Molino. The first on the list, one of the oldest businesses in the country, is intact but transformed into a VIP for tourists. Las Violetas is proof that architectural heritage is a real magnet. El Molino is making progress on a historic project. And La Ideal is about to reopen.
One of these days, this is going to look like Buenos Aires.
The Ideal has a special place in this quartet because it was built in 1910 and inaugurated in 1912 to fill the mouths of the others. It is the only one with its own building, it is the one with more meters to enjoy and the one that concentrated on what was the state of the art of the time, the Viennese confectionery. The result was a sort of institution that cultivated the social manias of the time. Upon entering, you were in a take-away confectionery and bakery, where you could buy pastries, chocolates and, of course, confectionery. Through the inner door, of fine oak and beveled glass, and the remarkable bronze and glass showcases, you could see the first floor salon, a café "for men".
That was a realm of hardwood boisseries stained a peculiar dark reddish hue, with huge mirrors repeating the stucco columns with bronze luminaries and Tonnet furniture. There was a haze of smoke, hat-laden racks and a glow of good gastronomic silverware. The ladies, and on Saturdays the mothers and grandmothers with their children, were received by the doorman in uniform and galley, and taken to the fascinating Siemmens elevator, imported in the very brief period when that firm made elevators. The elevator operator, also in uniform, took them to the second floor.
It was a dream of light, covered with small matted tables, with teapots, overlapping plates of pastries and triolets of sandwiches. Saturdays were special, with the large room full from wall to wall and the menu on automatic: the lady sat down with the children and they put the teapot, the strainer, the milk, the pastries and the sandwiches in front of her, which was what it was all about. The bill consisted of the tea and a quick count of what had been eaten. Entering on the left was a Walt Disney-like organist, much applauded.
This specialty explains why La Ideal was for years the informal home of one of the many British Ladies' Societies. The tea left nothing to be desired.
Downhill
Like so many things in the city and the country, the confectionery went into crisis. What was broken was not changed, what was broken was patched. Behind the salons there was a small building of pieces and more pieces, which ended up full of broken furniture. The bronzes stopped shining, the crockery became dull, the bathrooms a torment. The hall on the second floor was closed and years later someone had the idea of using it as a milonga, covering the oval oculus that communicated it as a balcony with the first floor. The covering was a rude concrete slab and to show contempt the beautiful railing simply disappeared. The Ideal was fading, a sadness for those who remembered it fully.
And here enters an architect specialized in these things, Alejandro Pereiro, fully supported by the new owners in the idea that we were not here to give it a facelift. Starting four years ago -pandemia by means of - La Ideal was restored in a way that is rare to see in the south in the visible and completely rebuilt in the industrial aspect, with a high standard and a wide back. Let's go by parts.
Whoever enters the confectionery can now see the floors as mirrors. It is not a polishing: the original marble had been replaced by a granite and now it is marble again, meters and meters of color-matched marble. The bronzes of lamps and chandeliers were not simply polished, because everything was disassembled, polished and stove lacquered. It is spectacular, there are pieces that not even new reflected like this. The level of detail reaches to the lamps themselves, which were carefully chosen to give the right tone and be dimmable. None of them were available for the project and that's why they ended up importing two thousand bulbs, which now bathe everything in a tone... you have to see it.
The boisseries are no longer dark, because they have neither the original stain nor the century of smoke stuck to the wood. Everything was disassembled, cleaned, reassembled and fixed where parts were missing, and now shows lighter wood tones. The whole hides new fixtures and houses a discreet set of 22 fan coils to keep the air always fresh. Those who remember the counter will be surprised to see the wood and bronze wall of the industrial refrigerator that served as a backdrop since 1912. Restored, with missing parts copied and working perfectly, it is still the only public refrigerator with mirrors...
And the bathrooms! Pereiro equipped them with salon-style boisseries and huge vintage sinks purchased and re-enameled. He even took care of the detail that each one has a hidden closet with cleaning elements, so as not to walk between clients with those unpleasant trolleys.
On the second floor the marvel is repeated. The elevator was disassembled, polished and restored as if it were a piece of religious art, but with a new engine and digital system. You go up, open the scissor door and the first thing you see is a sort of kiosk worthy of Tiffany, an aviary of glass and bronze topped with a hood of colorful stained glass. When you enter the hall you see again the hectare of marble, the bronzes, the boisserie and the reopened oval, enclosed with the only modern touch of the project, a wall of tempered and curved glass, a technical feat made in Rosario.
But the shock comes when you look up and find that the ceiling also opens, creating a frankly unique piece. You will see a long rectangular space with perfectly semicircular ends topped by a barrel vault with a sort of golden lattice and stained glass windows at the ends. The trellis is neither bronze, nor extruded metal, nor wood: it is 1910 Italian-style cartapesta. And it is not the cartapesta of today, a complicated papier-mâché, but the one made by the masters of the time, a mixture of plaster, jute fibers and other herbs. Not only was it restored to perfection, but it was also gilded to the leaf, like the capitals and moldings of the halls.
The top of the building was a gable roof of metal and brick. Today it is transparent, to illuminate the jewel they protect, which at sunset has its own lighting system. In this charming attic is the molding workshop that made it possible to replace lost capitals and moldings, of which there were so many. Access to the attic is through the remarkable "factory" of La Ideal: kitchens, bakery, chocolate laboratory, huge refrigerators, freezers, forklifts, electrical panels, security and climate control installations... "There is nothing here by halves", Pereiro explains, showing first class brands in the equipment and even the type of wiring he installed.
Anyone who remembers the glories of the place will find them again. La Ideal will reopen as a restaurant, café and tea house. Those who sit down will be seated in the restored Tonnet armchairs or in faithfully made copies. And one of the things that survived the decline was a large set of the masitas triolet, with the fleur-de-lis logo. With a bit of luck, you're in for a cup of tea.
SOURCE: Página 12