Parrilla Peña

A friend who knows Buenos Aires better than I do put Parrilla Peña at the top of a list of three. He was right, as he often is.

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 burrata with peaches and basil, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered an Argentine malbec the waiter chose for me, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: vacío, the dish that puts Parrilla Peña 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 — the asado de tira, slow and smoky — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for skin-on fries, twice-fried 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 key lime pie, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

If you are passing through Buenos Aires, do not pass Parrilla Peña by.