If you order a "parilla" in Buenos Aires you get a platter of every piece of the cow and it's been grilled and heaped into a mountain of carne. I call it "Meat for a Week."
It's been an interesting week ... I looked at a little house in a good neighborhood with it's own patio and "parilla" which is an Argentine outdoor grill.
The owners of the house took me out for lunch at a little restaurant with a proprietor right out of central casting ... a portly Argentine with a big mustache and the master of his universe, which is his hole-in-the-wall parilla restaurant. But oh the food, the grilled chicken was the best meal I've had here, and the Malbec wine? It makes you forget you have no place to live.
Buenos Aires smells like this: woodsmoke from the parillas, dog piss and exhaust fumes.
It's spring here and the Jacuranda trees are in bloom, a fushia profusion in the midst of the city cement.
Miz Boom Boom
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