I settle in with some friends at Codina’s table on a Saturday night at the end of my trip, and a meat feast appears: first, riñones (grilled kidneys) and molleja (sweetbreads), served in delicate slivers; next, veal and lamb chinchulines (intestines) with the consistency of al dente pasta. Then the main courses arrive. My entraña, from the diaphragm of a steer, has a rich taste that seems a hybrid of offal and steak. We share the asado de tira (short rib) and bife de chorizo (shell steak), which has been called Argentina’s unofficial national dish. Of course, there are the requisite green salads and fried potatoes. The wine is a stellar Argentine syrah.
At the table, which grows more crowded as friends of Codina stop by, we share tales of asados—barbecues—and unrequited loves. As the night winds down, I ask why asados always seem to be run by male cooks. A debate ensues. The men come up with explanations based on everything from testosterone levels and machismo to the supposed stoicism required to put up with the smoke. But it’s the women who make the most convincing argument: This is the one meal simple enough to entrust to men with otherwise suspect cooking skills.
This remark leads one of the guests, Dr. Roberto “Cacho” Paladino, physician to renowned soccer players and boxers, to begin rambling about one or another of his psychological theories. Before he can get too far, though, I point out that sitting across from him are two of the country’s leading experts on psychology. Momentarily embarrassed, Paladino turns to Codina, our host, and berates him for not having let him know beforehand who his audience would be.
“Me mandas crudo!” says the doctor, adding yet another entry to my growing lexicon of Argentine beef culture: “You serve me up rare!”
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