The steak story

Long long ago (the 70’s) in a place far far away (well I’m sure it took longer to get to Argentina then…were planes even invented??) there was a massive parrilla on Avenida Florida in Buenos Aires, the name of which has been lost in the fog of time and dodgy memory. Huge barbeques with whole pigs and other such tasty animals being roasted over open flames were enticingly positioned in the windows, luring the punters in, in much the same way the sirens lured Odysseus, but with food not singing and scantily clad-ness (which quite frankly could have been a bit of a random combo).

Legend tells of a brave and hungry, yet slightly idiotic man (my dad) being challenged to a duel of eating by a loud American man at the next table over a piece of steak interestingly named ‘Grand Baby Beef’. The cut in question was so large it dangled over the edges of the massive plate it was presented on, and was most likely an actual entire side of a cow. Why the word ‘baby’ was even present in the name is anyone’s guess. Anywho, my dad, who I might add was always keen on a good duel, gamely took up the challenge, and won! The loud American was suitably impressed, and my dad swaggered back to the hotel with my mum, proud as punch.

However, the moral of this story, as anyone who has achieved such a thing can tell you, is that you go home and lie on your bed with your heart thudding so heavily in your chest you think you are about to have a heart attack, and this is before the meat induced sweats come upon you, as your body struggles in vain to process the biggest piece of protein you have ever given it.

Fast forward to 2004 when my husband and I decide to visit Buenos Aires, and ask my dad where to go for steak……the long and the short of it being that we have the best and most gigantic steak ever, my husband ordering the mythical ‘Grand Baby Beef’ as he too is not shy of a challenge, and managing to polish that off, as well as some fries and half of my steak…being followed home by dogs who can smell the meat on us a mile away, and lying on our beds with the blood pounding in our ears, our hearts thudding in agony, and being CONVINCED we are about to die.

Soooooo 2010, keen to repeat this fabulously painful experience, we trot down Avenida Florida once again, past the street vendors and dizzyingly vast array of black market ‘handicraps’ (short hand for crappy handicrafts) to where we think the parrilla is, but it is gone!!!!! Thinking we have just gone to the wrong end of the street we walk the entire length of the avienda, but to no avail – the gigantic institution of (insert name here) has gone, despite having survived the last 30 odd years. Devastated - and were really were – we headed back to Palermo and to another parrilla, where we have a perfectly sufficient but not even remotely heart attack inducing steak, which actually meant we had room for salad AND desert, which was nice….I guess, if you like that kind of thing.