I saw treats like these in the pastry shops in Buenos Aires last year but Elena would always say I mustn’t eat those ones; wait until we got home.

‘Home’ was Jujuy in the far north, on the outskirts of the city, and early in my stay we wandered out the gate onto the gravel road where untethered horses browsed the verges and trimmed garden foliage, until we came across a young man to whom Elena gave a message for his mother.

A few days later he reappeared at the door with a heaped plate of hot pastries. A pot of tea was made, a cloth thrown onto the table and we sat down to eat.

Como se dice en espagnol? I asked Elena.

Pastelitos de dulce — dulce de membrillo y dulce de batata.

Melting pastry filled with grainy quince, or sweet potato, jelly. I ate enough to tide me over until my next visit.

Meanwhile I’ve begun to talk about Rosa Mira Books. To learn more, click on the green leaves in the side bar.