An Argentine asado is not just any barbecue. When you shop for your meat, the butcher will insist you buy at least 500 grams of meat for each guest, or over a pound per person.
The asador in charge of the grill, or parilla, will build up the fire just right, breaking up the coals once they are red hot to spread them and heat the metal grid evenly. An asado uses most of the cow—from the vacio, cut from the cow’s flank, to the tira de asado, or short ribs, to blood sausage morcilla and greasy chinchulin, or offal, with lemon juice.
When I first arrived in Buenos Aires, I ate asados like a rookie—overwhelmed by each new serving, I failed to realize that there would be many, many more plates to come, each heaped with piles of smoking meat. I filled up on the sliced up chorizo sausage, the juicy molleja, or sweetbreads, and the grilled provoleta cheese, and was stuffed before the potatoes cooked in the coals and the pork bife de chorizo came to the table. After a few meals, I learned to pace myself and leave room for the next course.
After hours of grilling, stoking the coals, and cutting the large slabs of beef and pork, the asador lets the fire die down and comes to the table, usually shirtless and dripping with sweat from the heat of the grill.
“¡Un aplauso para el asador!” someone shouts, every time. And every time we clap, half thank you and half congratulations to the asador who cooked the food.
As a new arrival in Argentina, being invited to a barbecue was special. Being included in asados with new friends and their families made me feel like I belonged in Buenos Aires. Of course, I could always go to a parilla, a barbecue restaurant. But standing in someone’s backyard or on their rooftop terrace, drinking red wine and grilling together, will always mean more than ordering off a menu.
