Food Porn: Losing Our Argentine Steak Virginity

Man cannot live on bread alone. -Jesus

Man cannot live on meat alone. -No one, ever

In Argentina, it was my goal to prove that second statement has never been said because it simply isn’t true. Food in Argentina spoiled us.

Our first meat-filled engagement took place at La Monumental in Salta and like every meal in Argentina it was accompanied by red wine that flowed like it was miraculously transformed from water (though it isn’t necessary to man’s survival- it just tastes good).

We met up with our friends Travis and Kara for the last time during this trip as eating a feast of meat is most enjoyable with others. We took their advice and ordered the Bife de Chorizo (which is sirloin, not sausage) and Churrasco de Filet to share between the 4 of us. While waiting for the meat to cook slightly, we indulged on the bread- which was served with 6 different sauces/toppings and were fantastic.

When the meat arrived, accompanied by fries and a small salad, our eyes and mouths widened simultaneously. The glands in our mouths began profusely secreting fluids of happiness. It was beautiful. And massive. We wiped the drool off our faces, divvied up the portions, and wasted no time devouring the cuts. Moans were made by all while consuming the perfectly-cooked steaks.

After eating so much that we couldn’t think straight, we waddled out of the restaurant and said our goodbyes- looking forward to the digestion to come.

Our second meatfest took place in the form of a farewell dinner with our new family, Leigh and Noah, at Tosca outside Salta.

Here we opted for a different approach and ordered a sampler-type, family option. This allowed us to eat just about everything on the menu through the use of smaller portions (probably the only time those words are not blasphemy). In customary fashion, the meal consisted of one of the best bottles of wine we’ve ever had; fries; fries with scrambled eggs; a tiny shared salad; bread and sauces/toppings. This bread was worthy to serve the man himself (and the sauces as well).

I took a picture of the meat translations in the menu to help us keep things straight and have a better understanding of what sections of cow or pork were were ingesting at which times.

And as you can see by the length of that list, when they started bringing the meat out it just didn’t stop- similar to my experiences at Brazilian steakhouses. Only, the meat here was far superior.

Stealing the show was the Molleja (sweetbread, or more specifically, the cheeks). The crispy, fatty, meat just melted in our mouths. However, not far behind was the Tira (short ribs). Perfectly cooked and seasoned, easily the best ribs I’ve ever had. The Morcilla (black pudding or blood sausage) was also good but not my favorite variety. The Chinchulines (chitterlings/small intestine) were an experience all their own. The first bites were quite nice, although chewy. But as you continued eating, the flavor and textures of a liver pate-esque filling began to take over- making it less enjoyable with each consecutive mouthful.

The night ended with thoughts and mental images of our ridiculously full stomachs expanding into every available nook and cranny in our torsos, choking down some ice cream, and memories that we won’t soon forget.