El Boliche de Alberto

It rained the whole afternoon I spent at El Boliche de Alberto, and I cannot now imagine eating there in any other weather.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: Andean lakeside, fire crackling. 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 single chuleta of cured pork to set the mood, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a Napa cabernet old enough to drink itself, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: bife ancho, the dish that puts El Boliche de Alberto 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 — Patagonian beef in a log-cabin dining room — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for hash browns the size of a hubcap 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 a slab of New York cheesecake, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

If you are passing through Bariloche, do not pass El Boliche de Alberto by.