Which Cachafaz Do You Know — a Dancer or a Cookie?
Cachafaz — those who may have heard of it may immediately associate the term with a kind of dessert. After all, Cachafaz is a brand that produces its own version of the Argentinian “alfajor,” a maceina cookie filled with dulce de leche. The company was founded in 2001.
Of course, those who are knowledgeable about tango history would know Cachafaz as the name of one of the most famous tango dancers.
But is the cachafaz cookie even related to Cachafaz the tango dancer?
What’s In a Name?
Ovidio José Bianquet, also known as Benito Bianquet to some, is a renowned Argentine tango dancer who garnered the moniker “El Cachafaz.”
Those who can speak Spanish might immediately assume that El Cachafaz is a rather unsavory character.
According to an entry in the Collins Dictionary, the word “cachafaz” is translated into rascally.
An entry from Escuela Tangoba on El Cachafaz also cites the lunfardo dictionary by Adolfo Enrique Rodríguez, which defines cachafaz as “rascal, shameless, insolent, rogue, idler.”
What does that have to do with a cookie?
Perhaps nothing at all; maybe it occurred simply as a result of coincidence — unless one reads a little too deeply into El Cachafaz’s birthdate. According to Todo Tango, El Cachafaz was “born on 14 February 1885 on the corner of Boedo and Independencia streets, today [known as the] neighborhood of Boedo.” February 14 — Valentine’s Day. That may perhaps explain the mysterious connection between Cachafaz the cookie company and Cachafaz the tango dancer.
Of course, that’s all conjecture.
El Cachafaz: Who Was He?
El Cachafaz’s life, however, was no mystery. In fact, his life and accomplishments as a tango dancer remain embedded in tango history.
Those who know El Cachafaz regard him as a legend, a mythical figure in tango that seemed to be larger than life.
This was perhaps because El Cachafaz’s skill in dance could only be matched by his notorious reputation as a brawler.
According to a post from Tango North:
“‘El Cachafaz’ [translates] as ‘He who could give a damn about making an impression.’
Benito Bianquet lived up to his nickname. He was as much a bar room brawler as a dancer, and his scarred face showed the results of his lifestyle. He was by far the best tanguero of the early 20th Century. He danced in an age when the great dancers would stage dancing duels, and he defeated all of the great dancers of his day.”
Unsurprisingly, El Cachafaz seemed to be a fitting nickname. But how did he get it? Todo Tango offers an interesting explanation:
“His true name was Ovidio José Bianquet, although his name for some was Benito. Here is where Don José Gobello's knowledge is needed, and, in an article, he stated his opinion: ‘That was a nickname he was given when [he was still] a child [...] in a confusing incident. He lived on La Rioja street in the neighborhood of south Balvanera when somebody went to the police precinct to report that a shop window glass had been broken by someone who had thrown a stone at it. He was accused and when the police arrived, his mother, a native from Córdoba, could not believe it and only was able to utter: ‘No puede ser si él es buenito, es buenito (It's not possible, he's so good).’
‘The police officer mistook Benito for buenito and so he handed the report: Benito Bianquet.’
“And why El Cachafaz? According to Gobello, again, because when [he was] a young guy, he was daring with women and, more than once, he took undue liberties. One of them complained to his father about his behavior and they say that he exclaimed, furious: ‘¡Mi hijo es un cachafaz! (My son is a scoundrel!)’ The boys in the neighborhood, or all who were, did the rest.”
With such a lifestyle, it can be rather difficult to imagine how El Cachafaz even got into tango dancing.
However, one must remember that tango is a dance that began with the porteños and the lower classes in Buenos Aires.
It was only beyond Argentenian shores that tango actually flourished as a dance appreciated by high society. These places consisted of Paris, London, and New York, to name a few.
Even so, how did a character like El Cachafaz even get into tango dancing? Vida Tanguera offers a brief explanation. Below is the entry translated from Italian:
“El Cachafaz frequented the streets and ‘academias’ of the Abasto district of Buenos Aires, where Gardel was born and where tango flourished at that time (Carlos Gardel was, in fact, among his friends).
Between 1911 and 1913, he traveled to the United States, and on his return, he opened his academy. Always, Gobello says that he taught tango lessons to people from high society and made himself pay well.
“In 1929, he went to Paris where he seems to have performed the legendary ‘El Garron’ but he returned early because he was not comfortable with the European lifestyle.”
El Cachafaz the Brawler and Bailarín
Though he gained fame as a tango dancer, El Cachafaz continued his rather notorious behavior. This made it difficult for him to remain in Europe even though he seemed to be more financially successful there. Another post from Todo Tango tells this story:
“By 1920 he arrived in Paris and quickly succeeded. His creole elegance, his figure, his artistry more and more polished and at the same time more beautiful, opened for him the doors of every Parisian salon. This period coincides either with his fame or with his better financial fortune.”
“Benito Bianquet got money in enormous amounts. But in the end, in spite of the salons and the full dress, he kept on being the same rascal who disquieted his mother when a teenager, so he stuck faithful to a disordered and hazardous existence.”
On his return from Europe, only the memory of the money earned was left, as had happened before with the fortune he got in Buenos Aires. He had no other choice but to go on working, to go on living from day to day and depending on lucky strikes, which someday drove him to a theater stage and another day threw him into a low-class cabaret.
“Anyhow, those who saw him walking along Corrientes street in his late years, always erect, always ready to shine as at his best times, had no doubt that for Bianquet, his life began and ended with dancing, with a tango well danced.”
Though these anecdotes paint El Cachafaz as living up to his nickname despite his skill in dancing, his dance partner Carmen Calderón, also a celebrated tango dancer, tells a different story. An interview by journalist Irene Amuchástegui for the 55th anniversary of the death of El Cachafaz for the Buenos Aires newspaper Clarin published a report in 1997, wherein Carmen Calderón fondly recalled El Cachafaz. An excerpt of this interview from Discepolin Tango is found below, translated from Spanish:
‘He had a special gift,’ says Carmencita, ‘elegance and a unique compass. He was a great creator of steps, but he also had many ‘cortes’ (figures) in common with José Giambuzzi ‘El Tarila.’
“Don Benito did them impeccably, without slouching and with a delicacy that took away the coarseness of the tango, of the dance. Because it must be said that tango, sometimes, is a little bit disgusting, there are cuts where the woman puts her leg between the man's legs.
“He did it with elegance. He was the best.
“He wore a black jacket and fancy pants (black and gray striped) for the tango with cortes, and for the salon tango he wore smocking.
“He was not handsome; he was ugly as a dark night and had a pockmarked face, but his manner was soft and friendly. Now, when he got angry, everyone trembled.
“He never used a gun, with a slap in the face he would put them all to sleep.”
“I met him at the club ‘Sin Rumbo’ (which still exists). I went with my younger sisters whom I raised after my mother died.
“I was sitting and someone insisted [that I] dance with a man who was there. I knew it was ‘El Tarila.’ I agreed and when the piece was over, he said to me: ‘Would you agree to be my partner and the partner of ‘El Cachafaz’?’ When I heard that name, I was on like a thistle.”
“I made my debut with Don Benito at the cine-theater San Fernando; I played in the orchestra of Pedro Maffia, the best bandoneon player. We worked a lot for Francisco Canaro's revue companies. We also traveled, but there ‘El Cacha’ had a hard time; he missed a lot because he used to sleep every night at his mother's house. Furthermore, he liked to arrive every evening at six o'clock at the café on Corrientes and Talcahuano where he always sat at the same table and received his friends, among them Gardel.
“We danced the last evening, it was at a local called ‘El rancho grande,’ in Mar del Plata. We finished performing and I went to a room with the boss to listen to a soccer match between Argentina and Uruguay on the radio. Suddenly, he looked out and said to me, ‘Carmencita, I'll wait for you after the game to have half a whiskey.’ (He always called me ‘you.’) A little later, a woman came in shouting to say that Don Benito was lying in the yard. When I saw him lying on the ground, I thought it was just a fall. It's been 55 years now."
Carmen Calderón went on to become an accomplished and revered tango dancer, dancing even during her 100th year. She even shared the screen with El Cachafaz in the 1933 movie Tango, when she was barely even 20 years old. The scene with Carmen Calderón and El Cachafaz can be found in a post by Escuela Tangoba.
Based on these recollections and anecdotes, one can certainly say that El Cachafaz was quite an unforgettable character. He was remarkable as a tango dancer, though one could argue that his notorious behavior was what made him equally memorable. One thing is for sure: he has made a mark as a legend in the tango world.
The Cookie and the Rascal
Perhaps there is a connection between Cachafaz the cookie and Cachafaz the tango dancing rascal after all: one can say that both carry inside them a rather pleasant surprise.
The Cachafaz cookie has its delectable dulce de leche center, while El Cachafaz, despite his rowdy behavior, proved to be a skilled dancer that will continue to be remembered in tango history.
One could only wonder what El Cachafaz would have thought if he knew that a cookie shared the same nickname he had.