An Argentinian Asado

The gauchos helped us off our horses. Lo siento I said, in my terrible Spanish accent. I wanted to explain my apology was for all the sweat I had dripped on the horse and saddle. Riding a horse for the first time had been significantly more stress-inducing than I expected, not to mention that the gauchos had led us up a fairly steep mountain for our trek here in the Andes.

The gaucho smiled back, said something in Spanish I didn’t understand, and guided the horse away from me. Solid ground, thank the lord I thought to myself. Yet I still felt unstable.

“Here,” Lizzy said, handing me a glass of dark, purply wine. Lizzy, a seasoned horseback rider, had been at the camp for over twenty minutes.

“Thanks. This is much needed,” I said, taking the Malbec. I gulped down the entire glass, savoring the dry, full-bodied wine. “This is delicious, what vineyard is it from? One we visited the other day?”

“Nope!” Lizzy grinned as she led me to the bonfire in the middle of the camp. “This stuff is homemade.”

I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows. “Well let’s get some more!”

After refilling my glass, I looked around the campsite. The rest of our friends had settled in around the crackling charcoal fire. A low grate sat on the edge, covered with a plethora of meats. There must’ve been a dozen different cuts of varying thicknesses, as well as a pile of colorful peppers, onions, and other vegetables.

After we had sufficiently debriefed the horseback riding experience, each of us with our differing degrees of experience, we moved to the picnic table nearby. Wine glasses were refilled, and the stress of the entire experience had thankfully begun to wash away.

Then came the first course, the appetizer. Mollejas, or sweetbread in English. An interesting name, considering the mollejas are neither sweet nor made from bread. Rather, they are a crispy, semi-tough delicacy made from a calf or lamb’s organs. The thymus gland and pancreas, to be specific. And they are simply delicious.

After we had devoured all the mollejas, the platters began arriving. Soon, I would consume more meat in one sitting than any other moment in my life. First came two types of sausages: chorizo, pork, and mocilla, blood sausage. Then came vacío, flank steak; entraña, skirt steak; asado de costillar, beef ribs; bife ancho, rib-eye steak; and lomo, tenderloin. The vegetables were served as a side, each slightly charred, bursting with flavor.

As in any true mind-blowing culinary experience, words simply cannot do the taste justice. Each cut was ruby-red rare and incredibly juicy. But what was really striking for a novice griller like myself was the minimal amount of seasoning the chef gaucho had deployed. The steaks were merely sprinkled with salt and pepper; no complicated herb blend, no excess of oil, not even a sliver of butter. Yet with each bite, it was as if I were tasting steak for the first time.

Once we were sufficiently stuffed, we migrated back to the fire. More glass bottles of homemade wine were passed around, and one gaucho pulled out a guitar. Nestled high up in the Northwestern Andes of the Mendoza Region in Argentina, the stars were bright as they glimmered down on us. Friends, old and new, swayed together around the fire, basking in the soft melodies of the Argentine folk songs.

I still dream of that night, my first authentic asado experience. I hear the snapping of the charcoal fire. I feel warmth in my body from the homemade malbec. I am buoyed by the heartening guitar melodies. And I smile at the contentment from delectable meal we enjoyed, everything cooked by hand. By a veteran gaucho chef’s seasoned and experienced hands.

*****

I consider sharing a meal with others one of the greatest gifts of life. Even though I couldn’t carry much of a conversation with the gauchos that night in Mendoza, we shared an experience that I still treasurer to this day. And they taught me more about the art of grilling than they’ll ever truly know.

The first major principle I took away from my asado experience is that, when it comes to seasoning steak, less is more. Sure, I like to experiment with exotic spices from time to time, but I’ve come to realize that often nothing can beat simple salt and pepper on a beautiful cut of beef. As long as one cooks said beef perfectly, of course.

The second principle is that the best barbeques (how asado translates to English) are shared with a large group. They incorporate a multitude of meats, so that each guest can sample (or gorge, in my case) on different cuts.

The third principle, and arguably the most important: when it comes to creating an exceptional culinary experience, be it an asado or a five-course tasting meal, the food is only one element. The company, atmosphere, libations; all these other aspects besides what one actually eats combine together to create magic that can sweet one into an entirely different dimension. Stresses and anxieties, such as riding a horse for the first time up a mountain, can simply melt away.

I have striven to incorporate these principles in the meals I have cooked for friends and family at home. And while I haven’t started the ambitious adventure of trying to make my own wine, I have simplified my seasoning in lieu of putting more effort in creating a dining experience built around friendship and conversation, environments constructed for comfort, and nights that my guests will remember long after they have ended.