My vacation last week in Buenos Aires was like the trip I’ve always wanted to take to Paris: I could eat and shop where I wanted with only minor shock to my credit card. What the city lacked in cultural attractions as grand as the Louvre and Notre Dame, it made up for in restaurants and stores devoted to small Argentine designers. I had no idea how much I would shop. All I wanted was a pair of boots; I ended up with two, plus a raincoat, a wallet, two dresses, vintage Argentine cooking magazines and more. In between, of course, I ate—trying everything from a down-and-dirty, locals-only parrilla (a word that means “grill” in Spanish and is synonymous with the corner joints specializing in grilled meats that are as ubiquitous as brasseries in Paris) to trendier spots that showcase the city’s newest culinary talent.

In general, the food in Argentina is subtle in flavor (french fries qualify as a vegetable and spicy options are limited) but not substance, with most portions straddling humongous and ginormous. Melted cheese is definitely toward the bottom of the food pyramid there—people tend to eat it daily, whether served in a block that’s grilled and oozy, an irresistible appetizer known as provoletta, or draped over plates of pasta big enough to feed a group of cavemen. Of course the beef, usually served unadorned, is glorious, especially when cooked to a perfect medium rare, which happened more often than I expected (people had warned me that it’s often served well done).

While many high-end restaurants turn out nicely conceived, well-prepared food, there are victims to what our brilliant travel editor wrote about in her May 2007 article “The Insidious Rise of Cosmo-Cuisine”, which could exist in any big city from Milan to Dubai. Standard restaurant, recommended in our 2007 Go List, is an exception. Instead of shying away from the often clunky Argentine comfort classics, chef Santiago Garat perfects them. I loved his cheese-and-onion-stuffed empanadas, which were crisp and flaky and served with sweet gherkin pickles sliced lengthwise and tossed with chives. His veal brains ravioli smothered in a chunky Bolognese sauce was so good, it could possibly bring Mario Batali to tears.

While no Paris, the food scene in B.A. is vibrant, with more restaurants than I could ever get to in a week. Plus, people’s excitement about food and wine is palpable, making it a fun place to eat. Stay tuned for Part 2, in which I’ll list my limited but hopefully handy black book of must-try spots.