Beef: Argentina Style

Well, we finally got a chance to have the traditional Argentinean style barbecue. We went to a small place up Junin st. right across from the Recoleta Cemetary. The restaurants gave us samples as we passed looking for a place to eat, and one handed us excellent chorizo (sausage) and it convinced me that we should go there. Once we sat down, after having looked at the grill in the window, I convinced my companion to try a parrillada "the grilled one" platter. After some discussion, and observation that half the appetizers are what we would politely call "innards," I convinced my companion that we should ask the waiter what was in the dish before we order the parrillada. 

Well, needless to say, when the meat arrived on a miniature hibachi with chunks of charcoal burning inside, there were a few cuts of meat that we couldn't readily identify. The ribs, chicken, and sirloin were easily recognizable, but there were a few other objects that weren't. Something that was a little too much like a portobello mushroom, and something else that looked a little too much like a scallop, even though we had been told there was no seafood on the grill. We asked him to explain which piece was which, and with the help of a dual language menu, discovered that we had been served kidneys and intestines. The rest of the meal was quite good, the beef was very flavorful and really didn't need any sauces like we're used to being served in the States. But then there was the non-meat food on the grill. 

My companion and I formed a quick pact of "well, if I try it, you HAVE to try it." I went first, sampling the kidney. At first the texture was fine, and the outside of the kidney tasted like the rest of the meat on the grille. But then something else took over. Something more sinister, and iron. Soon I was chewing something that was far too fine to be swallowed and had to grab my drink to wash it down. I opted out of repeating the experience. She did not take it so well. I believe she has now sworn off meat, or at the least, beef. As culturally adaptive as I like to think of myself, it seems that in veal kidney, I have met my match.