El Pobre Luis

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

The room is exactly what you want it to be: Belgrano, framed jerseys, family run. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with French onion soup with the cap of cheese intact, 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: entraña fina, the dish that puts El Pobre Luis on every short list. The seasoning was simple — salt, pepper, restraint — and it was the right call. The signature touch — Uruguayan-style grilling, milanesa for the kids — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for hash browns the size of a hubcap and thick-cut onion rings, stacked. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was key lime pie, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

It is not cheap. It is, in this case, worth it.