Fogo de Chão

Some rooms tell you exactly what to order the moment you sit down. Fogo de Chão, in São Paulo, is one of them.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: gaucho service in a polished glass dining room. 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 wedge of iceberg with blue cheese, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a Chianti Classico Riserva I wrote down in my notebook, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: picanha, the dish that puts Fogo de Chão on every short list. It was, frankly, the best version of this cut I have had this year. The signature touch — the rodízio of fifteen cuts on skewers — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for potato gratin with a dark crust and fried okra and a dab of remoulade. 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.

A perfect Sunday lunch, which is what I came for.