Don Julio

I have eaten in a lot of dining rooms that try this hard. Don Julio is one of the few that pulls it off without looking like it is trying.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: Palermo corner parrilla with empty bottles signed on the walls. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with a small dish of marinated white anchovies, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered an Oregon pinot, against the steak waiter's better judgement, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: ojo de bife, the dish that puts Don Julio on every short list. The crust was the colour of dark mahogany, and the inside was a confident, even pink the whole way through. The signature touch — the chorizo and provoleta before the beef — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for grilled radicchio with anchovy butter and skin-on fries, twice-fried. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was crème brûlée with a proper glass crust, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I will be back. With company, next time, and a longer reservation.