Parrilla Peña

I had been meaning to get to Parrilla Peña for years. I will not wait that long again.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: 1940s tiles, paper tablecloths, men in white aprons. 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 half-dozen oysters from the raw bar, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a heavy California zinfandel, no apologies, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: vacío, the dish that puts Parrilla Peña on every short list. The seasoning was simple — salt, pepper, restraint — and it was the right call. The signature touch — the asado de tira, slow and smoky — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for wild mushrooms in butter and buttered haricots verts. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was the bread pudding with bourbon sauce, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I paid the bill, walked out into the Buenos Aires evening, and put the address back into the notebook with a star next to it.