Nellu Mazilu

Photo: Nellu Mazilu

My dubious relationship with beef started when I was really little. (We were in our old house in Pennsylvania so I had to be four-years old or younger.) I tried to smuggle chunks of stew meat to the bathroom in a napkin so I could toss it and wouldn’t have to eat it. I think I successfully did it once or twice when I got caught and my parents asked me to show them what I had in my napkin. (My big sister remembers this moment clearly as the first time I got in trouble.)

Over the years, I ate beef when my mom made it for dinner. Although, I used to try to trade my beef for one of my sibling’s vegetables.

But when I went to college, I decided enough was enough. I wasn’t going to eat steak unless my life depended upon it.

Then we arrived in Buenos Aires, a place known for its beef and its parrilla (grills). So I decided to give up on my decade long strike against steak and go for it. I mean, it smells good. How bad could it be?

With the help of our guesthouse host, we carefully chose the parrilla La Dorita, a restaurant frequented by locals (for that authentic Argentinian meat). After sitting down at our table at about 10pm, I ordered a half a sirloin cooked bien cocido or well done. (Sorry guys, undercooked meat is a whole other step in my eating evolution…baby steps).

When it came, I dug right in. Here’s the video proof:

And you’ll be proud of me. I could only finish about half the steak but we took the rest home and we both ate it for leftovers.

Oh and La Dorita also served wine straight from the barrel into these ceramic penguins, which didn’t hurt my steak eating bravery.

Why penguins? We didn’t get the full back story on that one, but the wine was wonderfully aerated.

~ Molly

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