When you’re well fed and boozed, life is just better. You become relaxed, gracious, magnanimous. You don’t speak, you enthuse. You don’t get up, you rise. You don’t burp onions, you exhale. And you don’t vomit – you certainly don’t vomit, even after drinking a ginger cocktail and two bottles of Malbec – because the red meat absorbs all the alcohol. You simply glide slowly toward the door, carefully avoiding steps and tables.
We reached such an enlightened state this weekend at the parrilla Cabrera in Palermo Viejo. It was the best meal of our trip so far, and included the best steak I’ve had in a very long time. Beef is amazing here in Argentina – the cows are all grass-fed, are injected with no hormones or antibiotics, and have leaner, sweeter and tastier meat than their cousins in the United States.
Now take such a steak (measuring 12″ x 6″ x 2″), place it on a wooden slab, surround it with little Korean-style bowls of pumpkin, corn, garlic, potatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, mushrooms, etc., and voilà, true love:
What we found after ordering two of the above – we shared both a sirloin and a filet mignon cut – was that customers typically share one of these for two people. So we had two of everything you see above in front of us at the same time, piled high onto a small table. I’ve never felt more like a voracious, fat American. We finished nearly all of it. Special touch: the wait was 40 minutes, and the hostess served free glasses of champagne to those of us standing on the sidewalk to make our wait more comfortable. I love this country.
On Sunday night, we went to Cumaná, a country restaurant know for its hearty stews and empanadas. It was a recommendation from a friend, and proved to be an amazingly good deal ($10 USD / person, including a bottle of wine). And now we know what a perfect empanada is supposed to taste like. They had a fantastic empanada identification scheme, where they would punch holes, morse code-style, in the edges of the empanadas so you knew what they contained. We had to consult the back of our menu, which decoded the patterns into the various empanadas we ordered: pumpkin, ham and cheese, spicy beef, and creamed chard. They even offered a dulce de leche (caramel) filling, but we were too full to indulge in such sin.
American Airlines is going to charge an excessive baggage fee for each cheek of my ass on the return flight.
-J
5 responses so far ↓
Lionel Brossi Garavaglia // July 14, 2008 at 4:21 pm |
The cheeks can be considered hand baggage, so you don’t need to process them at the counter. No problem for extra weight….
Mom // July 14, 2008 at 6:35 pm |
Buen Provecho!
Wait – did you contribute to Bon-Appetit magazine?!
Yummy! I envy you guys!
Melaney
Roving Gastronome: The Blog » Blog Archive » I live vicariously… // July 19, 2008 at 4:07 pm |
[...] he’s writing with his boyfriend, Apio y Albahaca, and one post in particular is killing me: Food = Love. “Food = Love” comes, of course, from the late, great Chef Barton Rouse, who had such a [...]
Cousin Meg // July 24, 2008 at 3:25 pm |
Just checking this out now, and this has to be my favorite post – yay meat! Love reading up on all the adventures – should be very helpful if we ever get ourselves down there!
jen // September 15, 2008 at 11:12 pm |
I don’t know how I managed to *not* comment after reading this post 12 times and nearly choking on my coffee at “You don’t burp onions, you exhale.” (or maybe that’s “reconsider the destination of my warmed beverage”), but…wow…meat festival. That had to be worth the trip alone. xo