Quality and tradition mattered most, but quality could mean inventing with hibiscus
On International Ice Cream Day, Argentina paused to take stock of one of its most intimate pleasures — the artisanal helado. Surveys confirmed what most already knew: dulce de leche and chocolate hold an almost devotional place in the national palate, claimed by nearly nine in ten consumers. Yet beneath that loyalty, a quieter story was unfolding in the ice cream shops of Buenos Aires and beyond, where makers trained in Padua and Palermo were pressing hibiscus flowers into orange juice and grinding Sicilian pistachios by hand. A country does not choose between memory and curiosity — it finds, in a small cold cup, room enough for both.
- Nearly nine in ten Argentines reach for dulce de leche or chocolate, making tradition not just a preference but something closer to a cultural reflex.
- A new generation of artisanal makers is quietly pushing the boundaries — hibiscus-orange infusions, chai spiced with cardamom and star anise, and avocado cream challenge the old hierarchy of flavors.
- The tension is real: 90% of consumers say quality and familiar taste guide their choices, yet the same consumers are filling shops that offer carrot cake, babá napoletano, and Welsh cake-inspired chocolate.
- Shops are navigating this by doing both at once — honoring decades-old recipes while launching seasonal and experimental flavors that exist for only a limited window.
- The landscape is settling not into conflict but into coexistence, with tradition and invention sharing the same display case, and the public, it seems, welcoming exactly that.
On a day set aside to celebrate ice cream, Argentina's artisanal makers offered a clear portrait of the national palate. A survey by the Association of Artisanal Ice Cream Manufacturers found that nearly nine in ten Argentines prefer chocolate or dulce de leche — with granizado dulce de leche leading at fifty percent. Association president Gabriel Famá described ice cream here as a mood lifter for any season, a pleasure rooted in quality and familiarity.
But the survey also revealed something more nuanced. Among the top fifteen flavors, there was room for sambayón, mascarpone, and red berries alongside the classics. Ninety percent of consumers said quality and recognizable taste mattered most — yet new creations were gaining ground too. The tension between loyalty and curiosity was shaping the city's ice cream culture.
Antiche Tentazioni brought family recipes from Padua, shipping Sicilian pistachio ingredients directly from Italy while also offering mango-passion fruit and babá napoletano. At Dolce in San Isidro, maestro heladero Alejandro Reijman ground hazelnut and pistachio pastes from scratch in a stone mill and blended Ecuadorian and Brazilian cacao into a proprietary chocolate. El Piave grew their own quinotos at a factory in Wilde and made avocado ice cream from natural palta — and named a flavor Manjar Blanco after a chance encounter with a Chilean customer.
Elsewhere, Cadore drew on Welsh cake for a chocolate speziatto with cinnamon, ginger, and Jamaican pepper. Napoli created a hibiscus infusion with fresh orange juice and a chai flavor built from black tea, cardamom, and star anise. Flamingo's flavor of the year paired white chocolate and Nutella cream with chocolate-dipped raspberries — available only for a limited time.
What the shops of Buenos Aires revealed was not a battle between old and new, but a quiet accommodation of both. Quality could mean honoring a Neapolitan recipe or inventing something with hibiscus and orange. The people coming through the doors seemed to want exactly that — and the makers were ready to give it to them.
On a day set aside to celebrate ice cream, Argentina's artisanal makers were ready to tell you something about the country's palate. The numbers were clear: nearly nine in ten Argentines reach for chocolate or dulce de leche when they want something cold and sweet. A survey by the Association of Artisanal Ice Cream Manufacturers, conducted with the consulting firm D'Alessio IROL, had asked people what they loved, and the answer came back decisive. Granizado dulce de leche—that grainy, caramelized milk confection—topped the list at fifty percent. Chocolate with almonds followed at forty-nine percent. Plain dulce de leche came in third at forty-three. The preferences were so consistent that Gabriel Famá, the association's president, could speak with confidence about what ice cream meant to people here: it was pleasure, quality, and a mood lifter that worked in any season, any moment.
But the survey also revealed something more interesting than the dominance of the classics. When researchers asked about the top fifteen flavors, they found room for everything from sambayón—that egg-and-wine custard—to mascarpone, from red berries to cherry with cream. The market had space for both tradition and invention. Ninety percent of consumers said that quality and the recognition of familiar flavors mattered most when they chose where to buy, yet new creations were valued too. The tension between these two impulses—loyalty to what works, curiosity about what's possible—shaped the landscape of Buenos Aires' ice cream shops.
Antiche Tentazioni arrived four years ago from Padua, Italy, carrying family recipes across the Atlantic. Their Sicilian pistachio came made with ingredients shipped directly from Italy. Their tiramisu had won the Italian Cup in 2018 at their original location. But they also offered mango and passion fruit, a cremino layered with banana and Nutella, and babá napoletano—a baked pudding soaked in rum and studded with raisins, a sweet from Naples that few outside Italy would recognize. At Dolce in San Isidro, the maestro heladero Alejandro Reijman explained the philosophy behind their twenty-four daily flavors. The hazelnut and pistachio pastes were made from scratch: the nuts were toasted, their skins removed, the meat ground into flour, then refined in a stone mill until smooth and homogeneous. Their chocolate was a proprietary blend of Ecuadorian and Brazilian cacao, used in creams, coatings, and chunks throughout the menu. The chocolate volcano—intense chocolate fused with chocolate ganache—sat alongside cheesecake made with cream cheese, homemade shortbread, and wild berry sauce.
Chungo had been making ice cream for nearly fifty years, and their dulce de leche bombón combined artisanal caramel with chocolate bonbons filled with more of the same. Santiago Fernández, the factory manager, told Infobea that their signature creaminess came from the fat content in real cream and milk, not industrial substitutes, and from the technology of their production. El Piave, with locations in the city and in Lanús, had grown their own quinotos—a small citrus fruit—at their factory in Wilde, harvesting them each year to cook down for the season's production. They made an avocado ice cream with natural palta, cream, milk, and sugar. They had a flavor called Manjar Blanco—white delicacy—born from a chance encounter when a Chilean customer walked in asking for manjar, the Chilean name for dulce de leche, and the owner's father thought: what a beautiful name for an ice cream.
Podio's signature was dulce de leche streaked with natural caramel and chocolate-covered cereals. Their newest creation, Cuore Rosso, married raspberry and strawberry with a touch of cream and chunks of white and dark chocolate. They were planning an autumn flavor called Brisas de Otoño—autumn breezes—mixing dulce de leche, mandarin, and Nutella swirls. Helados Pocho in Haedo offered the traditional granizado dulce de leche but also pino pingüino, a white chantilly cream with hazelnut chocolate sauce, and limón de albahaca, lemon and basil frozen together. Cadore made a chocolate speziatto—semi-dark chocolate with cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and Jamaican pepper, streaked with blueberries and walnuts, inspired by Welsh cake. At Napoli, they had created something called hibiscus: an infusion of hibiscus flowers with fresh orange juice, a citrus summer flavor that their makers said tasted like a delicacy unlike anything else on the menu. They also made chai, the Indian tradition of black tea with cardamom, star anise, cloves, black pepper, and coriander.
Flamingo's flavor of the year was white chocolate with Nutella cream and raspberries dipped in chocolate—a combination of sweetness and acidity, texture and taste, that would sit in their case for only a limited time. What emerged from this landscape was not a country choosing between old and new, but one that had made room for both. The survey had shown that quality and tradition mattered most, but the shops themselves suggested that quality could mean honoring a recipe from Naples or inventing something with hibiscus and orange. The ice cream shops of Buenos Aires were not fighting over whether to preserve or innovate. They were doing both, and the people coming through their doors seemed to want exactly that.
Notable Quotes
Any moment, season, or situation warrants ice cream to improve one's mood— Gabriel Famá, president of the Association of Artisanal Ice Cream Manufacturers
Our signature creaminess comes from real cream and milk, not industrial substitutes, and from our production technology— Santiago Fernández, factory manager at Chungo
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does dulce de leche dominate so completely? Is it just habit, or is there something about the flavor itself?
It's both. Dulce de leche is Argentina—it's in the culture, in childhood, in the idea of comfort. But the survey shows people aren't rejecting new things. They're saying: give me quality first, and then surprise me.
So the shops that are thriving are the ones doing both?
Exactly. Antiche brings Italian tradition but also makes mango-passion fruit. Dolce makes chocolate volcanoes and cheesecake. They're not abandoning dulce de leche. They're just not stopping there.
What about something like hibiscus? That seems genuinely foreign to Argentine ice cream culture.
It does. But Napoli's makers said it tastes like a delicacy, something different. That's the invitation—not to forget what you love, but to taste something you've never had before.
And people are buying it?
They're trying it. Whether it becomes a classic like dulce de leche, that takes time. But the fact that it exists, that it's in the case, means the market has changed enough to make room for it.
What does that say about Argentina's relationship with ice cream?
That it's not precious about it. Ice cream is pleasure, mood, any moment of the day. So why not make it interesting?