El Pobre Luis

Walking into El Pobre Luis for the first time is a small piece of theatre, and that is before any food has arrived.

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 Caesar salad assembled tableside, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a glass of port to finish, and then another, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: entraña fina, the dish that puts El Pobre Luis on every short list. Cut through it and you found that deep, beefy, almost iron-tasting interior that only comes from time and dry air. 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 grilled radicchio with anchovy butter. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was vanilla ice cream with a shot of espresso poured over, 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.