Eating in Argentina Part 2: All-Beef Edition

On my recent trip to Buenos Aires, I probably ate the same amount of beef in a week that I did in all of 2006. Here are a few of my favorite steak stops:

-La Cabrera: Recently mentioned in the New York Times, this new-style parrilla (place that specializes in grilled beef) in hip Palermo Soho was packed with Americans, which made me a little nervous. I had no reason to be—it was fantastic. The tang of the goat’s milk provoletta made this grilled hunk of melty cheese feel slightly less hedonistic. Our only mistake was to order two steaks: tenderloin and skirt. This was too much food since both came with six small side dishes, like hard-boiled eggs in mayo and stewy tomatoes.

-La Brigada: Missing this old-school, football(soccer)-obsessed parrilla in this Spanish colonial neighborhood of San Telmo might be like skipping cheese steaks on a first visit to Philadelphia. La Brigada is established, but not tired, with one of the most extensive lists of organ meats I saw. They ran out of goat sweetbreads (sigh) so we got lamb’s tongue in a tangy vinaigrette. The sweet-spiced morcilla was runny but delicious when spread on bread. Our waiter suggested we order the bife de chorizo, so we followed suit. I've seen different definitions but I think it was a thickly cut strip steak. It was unbelievably juicy and flavorful: my favorite steak of the trip. And the best part? The waiter cut it in half for us to share with a spoon! 

Miranda: I went with F&W contributor Mariana Rapoport to this airy, trendy parrilla filled with locals in Palermo Hollywood, a less touristy part of the fashionable Palermo Viejo neighborhood . Mariana reassured me that she thought portion sizes in B.A. were often out of control. She ordered a salad, which she still didn’t finish. I opted for a steak, this time a rib-eye, served with fried hunks of sweet potatoes (finally, some vitamins!). I loved the design of this place: warm, with lots of wood but with a bit of an industrial feel, thanks to the exposed duct work. Since the steak here was thinner than a typical rib-eye, I could finish it on my own.

-Super local place simply known as parrilla, address unknown: At this corner joint in the quiet but up-and-coming Villa Crespo neighborhood, we were guaranteed there'd be no American diners. A local we met in a wine bar (more on that another time) sent us, insisting we try a place where families typically gather for Friday night dinner. He gave us a list of what to order. The spot is a bit gritty, with dive-bar bathrooms, and when the waiter (who looked eerily like a squat version of Frankenstein’s monster) came over with a notepad and an expectant look, we knew why. There were no menus. We ordered a steak (another bife de chorizo) and French fries and we asked for a green salad. Then he grunted, “Queso?” Sure, what’s one more block of provoletta? The salad arrived, a surprisingly fresh blend of shredded romaine, butter lettuce and arugula, and he set grimy bottles of vinegar and oil (no fancy EVOO or vinaigrette here) on the shelf next to us. The steak came, a bit more gnarly than usual—and sadly, overdone. But it was worth a few extra chews to see the real, unpretentious Argentine bread-breaking and steak-cutting ritual.