Kindness of Strangers

Monday, January 5, 2009

You’ve undoubtedly heard about Argentina’s to-die-for steaks, the grass-fed ones that are so tender you can cut them with a spoon. I’m not a huge meat eater, but I like a good steak as much as the next person, and was excited to see how an expert hand could transform a slab of beef into a religious experience.

Going to an Argentine steakhouse, traditionally referred to as a parrilla, is a unique undertaking, one that I was slightly nervous about. “Don’t order too much,” I was warned by fellow travelers who had visited Buenos Aires. “It’s perfectly acceptable to split a cut of meat.” “Take it slow,” cautioned others, “pace yourself.” Who knew meat-eating was such an involved experience? We decided to take the plunge at Pena Parrilla, which was recommended to us by a lovely American couple we met in Valparaiso.

I dressed in my best outfit, which isn’t saying much these days, unsure as to what we were in for. We crawled down a dimly lit street, wondering if we had passed the restaurant, when we spotted a crowded mass huddled outside a bright doorway. “This must be the place,” I said. We pushed our way into the vestibule, where neat rows of various cuts of meat sat sizzling on a massive indoor grill. The place was packed with locals, sporting everything from workout gear to suits: it was 9 pm on a Monday evening.

I flipped open my menu, and was immediately accosted by a dizzying array of choices. Bife de lomo, bife de chorizo, mollejas, vacio, costillas, brochettes, parrillada. They were all cuts of meat, but who knew what any of them were in English, nevertheless Spanish? And choosing a cut of meat is only the first step in the process. Steak dinners are always an a la carte affair in Argentina, requiring you to choose your sides. There are typically salads, pastas, and a panoply of potatoes. What to choose? And how much? I glanced around the restaurant, wondering what I should order, but all I saw was a sea of meat.

Feeling helpless, we asked our smartly dressed waiter what he recommended. “To share?” he asked. We nodded our heads. “Okay, let’s see. Split the bife de lomo. Mixed salad. A bottle of wine.” We pointed to a bottle that sounded good. “No,” he said, “we’re out of that one. I’ll choose another for you.” Ordering had never been so simple.

First the salad was produced, an interesting mix of greens, tomatoes, onions (all Argentine salads seem to include these three ingredients, usually in equal proportion), corn, potatoes, and, my personal favorite, beets, laced with olive oil and vinegar. Simple but delicious. Twenty minutes later the massive steak was presented on a rustic wooden board. We cut the lomo, which it turned out was beef tenderloin, the best cut of meat, in half like a stick of butter. It was the juiciest and most tender steak I’d ever laid eyes on. Rosy on the inside, a touch crispy on the outside. Simple but simply delicious. Stuffed to the gills and slightly tipsy, we ordered the tiramisu, which didn’t disappoint. It was the perfect end to our first Argentine steak dinner.

* * *

A few nights later a former colleague of Maikael’s mom, who lives and works in Buenos Aires, joined us for a night on the town. After meeting for drinks in Recoleta we made our way towards San Telmo to La Brigada, which Rene told us was a local favorite. At 10 pm the line was out the door, a snake of people waiting for a table. The front door to the restaurant was locked and guarded by a man whose neck was as long as it was wide, seemingly bunched up in his mock turtleneck. That’s how popular this place was: they thought people were going to storm the place if they left the door unmanned. But relative order was maintained, and we were seated by 10:30 pm.

Rene explained the different cuts of meat that we’d puzzled over, and we were relieved that we hadn’t ordered the mollejas, which turned out to be sweetbreads (and I ain’t talking cinnamon rolls here, my friends). He ordered a super nice bottle of Malbec for the table, a gracious gesture for someone we had just met, and discussed the good, bad, and ugly of Buenos Aires (but mostly the good). He admitted that he was steak-crazy when he first moved to the city three years ago from California, but has tempered his appetite to about once a week. We, on the other hand, are still averaging a steak every two days, which is nothing compared to Aidan, an Irish guy we met in New Zealand, who reported eating 30 steaks during his 26-day stay in Argentina! If there’s anything I’ve learned about Argentine steak eating, it’s that everyone has a different threshold.

We’ve tried four different steakhouses in Buenos Aires with varying degrees of success, including the iconic and ultra-chic La Cabrera, where each steak is accompanied by a host of imaginative and diminutive side dishes (think roasted apples and caramelized garlic). But with every steak I eat, I find myself comparing it to Pena Parrilla’s, which is the best we’ve found in terms of price and quality. Itching to go back, we enjoyed an excellent second dinner there. We’ll try the much-lauded Siga La Vaca before we go – but my heart belongs to Pena Parrilla.