Buenos Aires Grill
We're always reading about, hearing about, or seeing on TV things that happen to other people. Now, we know intellectually, that these things could just as easily happen to any one of else...well, except for the fact that it doesn't, ever, happen to any one of us. That is, until now.
E and I bought a Groupon some months back to an Argentinian BBQ joint that we had never heard of before, the Buenos Aires Grill. To be honest, the only reason we bought the Groupon is because we had eaten at a local Brazilian BBQ restaurant, Ipanema, and simply loved it. Guys dressed in black looking like some version of a Latin mafia bringing around big skewers of various flavors of meat to your table and slicing pieces off with a very sharp knife, what's there not to like? So, when Groupon advertised a deal for the Buenos Aires Grill, we were all over it. It turns out, however, that Brazilian and Argentinian BBQ are not the same thing. Who knew?
Buenos Aires Grill is in the heart of downtown Seattle, just around the corner from the Whiskey Bar. It has a separate bar area and a good combination of two-tops and tables for larger parties. The waiter had originally wanted to seat us in the front right by the front door, but we passed because it was getting chilly. It was the middle of July but, you know, summer decided not to visit this year. We were instead seated in the back right next to a very tall man sitting by himself. I made special note of how his knees were pressed tightly against the bottom of the table.
E and I began with a glass of Pinot Noir and dug into the bread that was brought us. It was very focaccia-like, chewy with a nice fluffiness to it. I am no connoisseur of bread and other carb forward foods, but E is, and she assures me that it was very tasty. The two dips were very interesting and like nothing we've ever had before. One was a herby deal and the other some onion, bell pepper and celery mix. In the end, we just preferred the bread by itself.
As we munched on our bread, we overheard our tall neighbor next to us struggle while ordering his meal. He spoke in a heavy accent and very obviously had a difficult time expressing himself. It went something like this:
Tall Guy: I want big steak.
Waiter: A 12 ounce or 15 ounce steak?
Tall Guy: (Gesturing in the universal way for something large) Big steak.
Waiter: Well, our Buenos Aires cut of the New York steak is the biggest at 32 ounces. It's about the size of a small football.
Tall Guy: (Gesturing again but with a bit more frustration) Yah, yah, big steak.
Our neighbor then sat back, wiped his brow, and sipped on his beer.
E ordered filet mignon medallions and I ordered a NY strip steak. With our beefy dinners, we knew that we needed something heavier and bolder than the Pinot we had been drinking so we each got a Malbec. Our dinners came and they were wonderful. Each had its own lovely sauce and some beautifully grilled veg. The Malbec was a great complement to it and we happily tucked into our dinner.
We couldn't help but notice when our tall neighbor received his meal because it was the size of my head, which is not insubstantial. It came on this very, very large sizzling plate and the waiter seriously wasn't kidding when he had warned that it was as large as a small football. We of course had to start chatting with the man because, damn, who can stay silent in the face of so much beef? We learned that his name was Claudio and that he was from Croatia. He worked on a cargo ship that had just pulled into Seattle that day that had originally departed from China. His ship was Indonesian and had an Indonesian cook whose fare was "garbage." As a result, he sought something different for dinner and wandered into the Buenos Aires Grill.
We chatted a bit more and helped him Google directions to the closest Army/Navy surplus store. When the waiter came by to pack up our leftovers and drop off the check, Claudio told the waiter to "put it together." At first, we thought he meant for us to take his leftovers, of which there was a shockingly small amount given the size of his steak. To our enormous surprise, however, he wanted to pay for our bill in addition to his own. We were flabbergasted and protested but he insisted. We kind of just sat there with our mouths open thanking him all the way out the door. E and I couldn't stop talking about what happened for the rest of the night, and I think we're still experiencing a high from the evening. We have vowed to pay in forward, though maybe the spirit won't strike while we're in a steakhouse?
Thanks again, Claudio!
E and I bought a Groupon some months back to an Argentinian BBQ joint that we had never heard of before, the Buenos Aires Grill. To be honest, the only reason we bought the Groupon is because we had eaten at a local Brazilian BBQ restaurant, Ipanema, and simply loved it. Guys dressed in black looking like some version of a Latin mafia bringing around big skewers of various flavors of meat to your table and slicing pieces off with a very sharp knife, what's there not to like? So, when Groupon advertised a deal for the Buenos Aires Grill, we were all over it. It turns out, however, that Brazilian and Argentinian BBQ are not the same thing. Who knew?
Buenos Aires Grill is in the heart of downtown Seattle, just around the corner from the Whiskey Bar. It has a separate bar area and a good combination of two-tops and tables for larger parties. The waiter had originally wanted to seat us in the front right by the front door, but we passed because it was getting chilly. It was the middle of July but, you know, summer decided not to visit this year. We were instead seated in the back right next to a very tall man sitting by himself. I made special note of how his knees were pressed tightly against the bottom of the table.
E and I began with a glass of Pinot Noir and dug into the bread that was brought us. It was very focaccia-like, chewy with a nice fluffiness to it. I am no connoisseur of bread and other carb forward foods, but E is, and she assures me that it was very tasty. The two dips were very interesting and like nothing we've ever had before. One was a herby deal and the other some onion, bell pepper and celery mix. In the end, we just preferred the bread by itself.
As we munched on our bread, we overheard our tall neighbor next to us struggle while ordering his meal. He spoke in a heavy accent and very obviously had a difficult time expressing himself. It went something like this:
Tall Guy: I want big steak.
Waiter: A 12 ounce or 15 ounce steak?
Tall Guy: (Gesturing in the universal way for something large) Big steak.
Waiter: Well, our Buenos Aires cut of the New York steak is the biggest at 32 ounces. It's about the size of a small football.
Tall Guy: (Gesturing again but with a bit more frustration) Yah, yah, big steak.
Our neighbor then sat back, wiped his brow, and sipped on his beer.
E ordered filet mignon medallions and I ordered a NY strip steak. With our beefy dinners, we knew that we needed something heavier and bolder than the Pinot we had been drinking so we each got a Malbec. Our dinners came and they were wonderful. Each had its own lovely sauce and some beautifully grilled veg. The Malbec was a great complement to it and we happily tucked into our dinner.
We couldn't help but notice when our tall neighbor received his meal because it was the size of my head, which is not insubstantial. It came on this very, very large sizzling plate and the waiter seriously wasn't kidding when he had warned that it was as large as a small football. We of course had to start chatting with the man because, damn, who can stay silent in the face of so much beef? We learned that his name was Claudio and that he was from Croatia. He worked on a cargo ship that had just pulled into Seattle that day that had originally departed from China. His ship was Indonesian and had an Indonesian cook whose fare was "garbage." As a result, he sought something different for dinner and wandered into the Buenos Aires Grill.
We chatted a bit more and helped him Google directions to the closest Army/Navy surplus store. When the waiter came by to pack up our leftovers and drop off the check, Claudio told the waiter to "put it together." At first, we thought he meant for us to take his leftovers, of which there was a shockingly small amount given the size of his steak. To our enormous surprise, however, he wanted to pay for our bill in addition to his own. We were flabbergasted and protested but he insisted. We kind of just sat there with our mouths open thanking him all the way out the door. E and I couldn't stop talking about what happened for the rest of the night, and I think we're still experiencing a high from the evening. We have vowed to pay in forward, though maybe the spirit won't strike while we're in a steakhouse?
Thanks again, Claudio!
posted by E-Rae | 6:53 PM
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