The dirty little secret about most steakhouses is that there is no secret. It’s not risotto, its grilled meat. There are no complicated preparations, no skillful mixing of complex ingredients. It’s a simple thing done well and everyone knows this. If you go to a high-end market, spend enough money on a good cut, and have even some experience in grilling, you can generally produce a steak rivaling what you’ll get at many steakhouses. Your sides might not be as good, and the ambience of a fine restaurant won’t be there, but the steak itself will be in the range of what you’re served at most places. Most places. What you get at a truly special steakhouse is some indefinable, but transcendent, elevation of that basic grilled meat art form.
When the lunar module landed on the moon, Walter Cronkite didn’t say anything. He just took off his glasses, rubbed his hands together, and shook his head, incredulous to what he had just experienced. He didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. He was aware enough of the moment to realize there was nothing he could add.
So, no. I’m not going to do the whole “restaurant review” thing. I’m not going to use all those adjectives and try to transport the reader. I landed on the culinary moon and I’m taking a cue from Walter.
Next time you’re in the southern hemisphere, go to El Boliche de Alberto in Bariloche, Argentina.
That is all.
