The Perfect Meal…
Does such a thing exist, the perfect meal? Is it reserved two months ahead in a Napa or New York restauraunt? Is it a poorly reheated can of chili and white bread eaten after 10 hours of hiking, with the cold wind and rain being held back by a thin layer of plastic sheeting, supported by your non-fork hand?
These are all great options, anticipation, hunger, environment—all play a role in the perfect meal. It cannot be predicted when the elements combine and one experiences such a meal.
One such perfect meal occurred yesterday (May 16) in one of the northern most parts of Argentina in Igazu, not far, only about 10km from the famous Igazu falls and the borders of Brazil and Paraguay.
The day had begun early in Buenos Aires with my cell phone alarm ringing at 5:30am and subsequently a wake up call a few minutes later. A remiso (a kind of taxi) was waiting at 6am to take us to the domestic airport which sits on the river plates right by the downtown of Buenos Aires.
The flight to Igazu is only and hour and forty minutes, but the changes from Buenos Aires are astonishing. Igazu is a rainforest, a sub-tropical one, where over four-hundred species live in a protected national park, the second earliest such park created in Argentina.
The falls of Igazu in no way resemble Niagara Falls in Ontario. There are no wax museums sitting inches from the fall. Instead, the town had queues of over a hundred cars (literally) at the YPF for gas (it was apparently the cheapest in town).
Dinner in Argentina begins late by American standards, usually at 9 or 10pm. Following a six hour walking tour of the Falls my family had taken to napping and I indulged with a Quilemes cerveza by the pool of our hotel before also joining the late afternoon/evening napping craze.
Waking up at 9pm, dinner was now in order and it was suggested to head downstairs to the hotel restaurant. I countered this with a suggestion to take a 5 peso (just under $2) taxi ride into town, about a 10 minute drive away and to try our luck with a restaurant in town. A remiso was called and we headed into town, past the gas queues and a few restaurants. The driver suggested a restaurant and we accepted his choice, despite his familiarity with the staff there. Walking into El quinto we past through first a patio room, followed by another large room, arriving finally to a main room with a local band of 3 playing and the wine selections prominently displayed on the wall closest to us.
Like many Argentine spots this restaurant sported a Parilla (coal fired bbq grill), which I intended to test. However, first wine was to be selected and following a recommendation, a Trezeras de las Andes Reserva Malbec was chosen. The wine was opened and poured into the oversize glasses revealing a subtle, yet bold red that was not sweet, with its tannins in check. It sipped smoothly even without the later to join beef.
Dinner for me was Beef de Lomo, beef loin and it was cooked medium rare, unlike the unfortunately often overcooked Argentine beef, the only possible complaint one can launch against the countries beef.
Gin was once described to me in college as running through a pine forest with your mouth open. Argentine beef, and specifically this steak, are similar except the pine is replaced by the grass of the pampas, presenting a gamey, yet has a softness and mildness that yields easily. The argentine beef has a taste that is starkly absent from the feed lot steer we are so accustomed to here. The flavor is not pungent, but following a turn over the carbon (coal) the meat reaches a state of flavor and texture that is subline—it invokes everything stereotypical of the gauchos and the pampas at once and also rejects it, with a refined edge that lingers above.
The beef and wine take center stage although occasionally a stray potato or bite of salad, or a taste of the salsa chimichurri enter the mix. The beef and wine dance, not a tango, but instead something more primitive, bouncing and stomping on each other in my mouth. The flavors amplifying one another and striving for center stage. They are not subtle, they are friends, and they merge into one golden palate.
Was this the perfect meal? Maybe, its hard to know. At the time and place it was a sublime experience that makes one appreciate the senses of taste, smell and sight that we have at least in the short run.
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