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Home , Argentine cuisine

PLEASE, PIE FOR ME,

A through Los Angeles in search of authentic Argentine fare.

By Amy Morton

When my trip to was postponed, I initially pined and fretted—pined for the city’s European sophistication, rich culture, and pulsing nightlife, and fretted that the favorable exchange rates would evaporate before I got there. Then I decided to be more proactive. I could at least transport my buds right away, couldn’t I?

Beyond the ubiquitous Gaucho Grill chain—with seven locations throughout Los Angeles County—most Angelinos don’t have the foggiest about where to go for Argentine . I was one of them. Sure, I prided myself on knowing what a gaucho was, at least. That would be a fabled breed of Argentine cowboys with a knack for meats. But the time had come to graduate to the next level. Where do Los Angeles gauchos go?

My first stop was Grill, a friendly, no-frills, BYOB establishment in a Hollywood strip mall with bright blue walls and butcher paper covering the tables, perhaps to put your mind immediately on mouth-watering , the cornerstone of . -owner Mariano Cordero waited on us and answered a pressing question right off the bat. I had seen the it phrased “Argentine” , but also “Argentinian” or “Argentinean” food. Which term was correct? “All of them,” he said, and according to Webster’s Dictionary, he’s right

That stumbling block removed, I could now focus my , quite possibly the world’s most perfect quick bite. Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, empanadas are the exalted hot pockets of South America—a deep-fried pie stuffed with a variety of savory fillings. At Patagonia Grill, Mariano’s mother makes the empanadas herself. The spinach , “the best one” according to Mariano, was plump and round like a dumpling with a creamy filling, while the chicken empanada was a zesty half moon. We also tried the appetizer, a bubbling skillet of melted provolone cheese topped with and other herbs. A must for cheese lovers.

Next up was the special for the night, the grilled skirt with red peppers. I confess I may have played it safe. As red meat is a staple of the Argentine diet, few parts of the bovine anatomy are wasted. , or edible glands, come to mind in particular, as they’re often included in the country’s , parrilla, a carnivorous cavalcade of steaks, , and organ meats. Call me chicken, but I’m not there yet. Finishing things off on a sweet note, I delighted in the dulce du leche crepe, drizzled with thick, rich caramel and checkered with patches of crunchy caramelized sugar.

A few days later, I headed to Culver City to seek out the doyenne of empanadas in LA. Since 1985, Empanada’s Place has specialized in traditional, homemade Argentine turnovers in a whopping sixteen varieties (eight meat, eight ), each with its own unique shape. Unusual choices include Pepperoni, Lemon Herb Ground Beef, Ricotta, and . Seeing that I was overwhelmed, the fellow at the counter inquired, “First time?” He then produced a large, crescent-shaped empanada to illustrate the size— almost double that of Patagonia Grill. “One for a , two for a ,” he said.

Gamely, I ordered three empanadas, thinking I’d eat one there and take the other two home. It seems most people choose to do the latter. Even the sign above the cheery blue-and-white striped awning reads, “Argentine Food To Go.” Sitting at one of the 10 round, glass-topped tables in the tiny storefront, I reflected on the feminine touches: the lacy white curtains, the long white and blue tablecloths, the white benches and tree boxes outside carefully trimmed in blue. Undoubtedly, there was a woman in charge here.

Lulled by instrumental Argentine music, I was startled to look down from the tango posters and banners for Club Athletico Boca Juniors to find a massive turnover deep- fried to a bright orange color. The Spicy Beef Empanada, stuffed with chopped beef, peas, carrots, and potatoes, even had a ruffled edge to match the curtains. Piping hot, I had to be careful to not to burn the roof of my mouth. But it was decadently rich, and bursting with spicy seasoning. A nearly-clear tomato condiment added moistness.

Leaving with my to-go items, the car filled with the tantalizing aroma, and I was in trouble. Within a few blocks, I’d dug into the Potato and Cheese Empanada, which oozed Russell brown potatoes, onions, tomatoes, cilantro, and mozzarella cheese. With tapered ends like fish tails, this one will give definitely me cravings. Later, I tried the braided-edge Criolla pie, the “most typical Argentine empanada.” It’s a strange combination of savory and sweet, given the surprising addition of plump raisins to the beef, green onions, and egg mixture. But by the last bite, I’m a convert.

Fittingly, my final destination brought everything together into the complete package, including the missing ingredient. Ambience. A Saturday night at Lala’s Argentine Grill on Melrose is a boisterous affair. Open till midnight, the tables are packed, the patio is shrouded in cigarette smoke, and the jazzy Latin music keeps everything jumping. The décor is equally upbeat, with red-orange sponge painted walls, faux crackled red tabletops, and rainbow colored sheet metal ceilings. The final touch is a series of colorful paintings with images of wine bottles and underworld characters.

Inspired by the festive mood, I ordered a , a light Argentine beer, and a spinach and onion empanada to start. Unlike the creamier version at Patagonia Grill, this oblong empanada is simple and restrained, emphasizing the fresh, seasoned spinach instead of filler. It also healthier and less fried than the turnovers at Empanada’s Grill. For the entrée, I almost ordered the steak, a thinly cut breaded steak reflective of Argentina’s Italian heritage. But I shied away from the notion of breading. Similar to a parilla, Lala’s also offers a Plato Mixto of assorted meats for two people to split.

Instead I compared skirt steaks with the Entraña de Ajo (skirt steak with garlic) and was rewarded with a staggering amount of sautéed garlic, so much so that I may have killed a few vampires. Daunted by the oversized platter of steak, , and mashed potatoes, I slowly cut into the juicy, medium-rare meat with my equally oversized steak knife, engraved with the word “Gaucho.” It made me feel dangerous. The meat was piquant and garlicky, and the mashed potatoes were light and fluffy. (You can also order them with carrots, interestingly.) No question, Lala’s wins the battle of the skirt steak.

Although I couldn’t finish my platter—the leftovers were a full meal themselves—I had to at least try Lala’s twist on the dulce du leche crepe dessert: the panqueque de banana con . Like my entrée, the dessert was massively portioned—not one but two warm crepes stuffed with ripe bananas, drenched in caramel, and topped with whipped cream. Heavenly. Next time I’ll try to force myself to order the traditional chilled flan instead, but I don’t know if I can, when the crepes are this addictive.

Exiting Lala’s into the gloomy night, the din of the crowd faded, and soon I could no longer hear the music and the brio. But the taste of Buenos Aires was seared in my palate.