It was a steak as big as my head

No lie. I sat and stared at it. It stared right back at me. Immediately, I knew this steak meant business. Meaty, bloody, tasty business that would leave me disdainful of all other steaks I’ve had in my life....

Well you’ll probably want a bit of background and who am I to deny? Let’s set the scene, I am sitting in La Cabrera - often referred to as Argentina’s best steakhouse, or parilla (no easy task as there’s one everywhere you turn). There are ten of us at the table – and though the buzzing sound of chit chat and laughter had been quite prominent a few seconds before, the silence hung over each and every person. The kind of silence that comes about because you have so much to say that it’s not even worth saying anything, that saying nothing is actually the nearest thing you can get to coming close to expressing what you are feeling. Scene set? Moving on.



“That’s the biggest steak I’ve ever seen in my life”. The silence was broken by Mike, and everyone quickly chimed in with some form of agreement. But then it was quiet again, the only noise the sloshing of the wine into the equally gluttinous-sized glasses as the waiter worked his way down the table and as people divvied the steaks in two and began to take in the true meaning of an Argentinean asado. I almost didn’t want to eat it in case it turned out to be a disappointment – no chance. The first taste was exquisite, the second taste was sublime. The third, fourth and fifth disappeared in a haze of steak-infused haze that I can only vaguely recall with a shiver down my spine and a smile on my face.


It's a rubbish picture but you get the point when that's HALF the steak...

Although there were sauces and chips and pumpkin and many, many accompaniments, all I was concerned about was the steak. Screw papas fritas, how good can chips be? And sauces? Who needs sauce? I grudgingly conceded to some pumpkin as an effort at a balanced meal (a poor one you needn’t point out) but, really, it was like having one of Cinderella’s ugly sisters on stage at the same time as Marilyn Monroe – the contrast is so great that the ugly sister suddenly appears to be a sub-human ork-like animal when really she is just an unfortunate looking lass with a few warts. In fact, if you’d seen her on her own, you wouldn’t have thought she was that bad at all.

The only other thing I was really paying attention to was the glass of Argentinean Malbec gracing my hand in between each steakfested mouthful. Whoever first decided that red wine and a good (great!) steak went hand in hand really deserves a page in history.



Rewind a few hours. I’d been told that there was a steakhouse so good that people queued for hours outside to get a seat and a bite and I’d laughed. How good could one steak be? It’s the middle of Argentinean winter and therefore fairly nippy outside. I’d obviously be game, because I’m a curious soul who’s always wanting to put these things to the test but the rest of the city? Especially when you can walk right into any steakhouse and pretty much guarantee a decent if not mindblowing feed?

Well if I hadn’t been so busy eating my steak, I’d have been eating my words. In the end ten of us went to the restaurant, which meant a very long wait outside, in the cold. But you know what, it wasn’t so bad. We had heaters (good), free slices of chorizo (good good), champagne (err excellent) and a whole lot of conversation.



By the time they found us a table someone slyly suggested that we stay for one more on the house, but we figured we might as well see what the fuss was about. And now I know, and now you know and I will never laugh at the idea of waiting outside a restaurant again.

Aussie Rules

It has been a long time (when hasn’t it) since the last blog. Bad blogger blah blah,won’t happen next time (probably will), let’s get over the excuses and get down to business. Business being Australia.

Now I must admit I was a little bit perplexed when it came to the Australia blog post. I know that Aussie food is delicious and healthy and has a whole range of influences from all over Asia, but on the whole, you know (don’t shoot me), I was beginning to think “It’s nothing we’ve not seen in England....” In fact. I was thinking of not doing an Aussie blog post so I could hide my mixed feelings from you all and pretend that I didn’t go at all and therefore didn’t need to write a blog post on it.

When I arrived, I saw how wrong and snooty I’d been. Anyone who’s watched an episode of Masterchef Down Under or whatever they’ve called it (curiously addictive) will see that Australia has a lot to teach the world about food . But I was still a little baffled about what to do for the blog. Until Tijana, saviour that she is, came up with the world’s most fantastic idea. I should go and test my skills in a commercial kitchen, namely the one at Lurleen’s – one of Brisbane’s top restaurants. She knew a friend of a friend who could get me a work experience day there...

Of course, I said yes without a moment’s thought, me! Working in a kitchen! With real chefs, in fact someone who has been named one of Australia’s top chefs (Andrew Mirosch). Get out of here. I hero-worship chefs in a way that most teenagers look up to high-pitched squeaky-clean pop stars, that is to say unashamedly and wholeheartedly.

But, as the day drew closer, I began to get a bit nervous. It was all very well and good saying I wanted to work in the country’s top kitchens, but why on earth would they want me? My talents in the kitchen so far haven’t extended to catering for over 200 at breakfast, and 400 for lunch and dinner. And I was going in on a Sunday! One of their busiest days! Truth be told, I was rather cacking it. They have ridiculously sharp knives, what if in my state of nerves I chopped a finger off? Or screwed up an important dish.

Finally, it was time to put my worries aside and do the deed. Although the restaurant is in Brisbane, it’s a good half an hour outside of the city, based on the Sirromet Winery estate. Brisbane’s not quite Australia’s Hunter Valley, but if you are looking to try something different, Sirromet is turning out some pretty impressive and tasty tipples – and the grounds are filled with wallabies hopping around and a few koalas thrown in for extra measure – perfect for a Sunday afternoon’s meandering after a wine tasting session and lunch in the restaurant.

By the time I stepped into the kitchen, I was pretty calm. Dressed up in my chef whites (if I’m honest, not the best look I’ve ever sported. I bore a disheartening resemblance to a kitchen roll), I’d barely got through the introductions before I was put through my paces. I’d worried about Mirosch being some kind of shouty tyrant who would chew me up and spit me out in pieces but he was friendly, albeit a bit distracted by the ever increasing numbers of patrons sitting at the tables (who goes for Sunday breakfast at 9am out of the city? People’s dedication to the food cause never ceases to amaze me).

After establishing that this was my first time in a commercial kitchen, Mirosch put me under the capable hands of his sous chef who set me to work..... plucking herbs.Even my enthusiasm wilted when I was faced with what I can only describe as a mountain of parsley which would require my deft fingers and undivided attention for the near future. Soon enough though, I was caught in the rhythm of the work and chatting to the other chefs about working at Lurleen’s – surprised at how all of them seem to remain calm under the constant pressure and orders flying around the kitchen.


Hanging around the dessert section...

For the next few hours, I watched as they served up breakfast after breakfast, chopping, chatting, arranging and occasionally swearing if it went a little awry, without even batting an eyelid. It was impressive. More impressive was the huge pile presented to me at the end of the rush “here’s some breakfast for you” Mirosch smiled. I’ve always been a lover of the full English fry up but delicious as it was, this one defeated me. It might have been the best English breakfast I’ve tasted though, which was very disconcerting as I’d always thought it was one of the (many) things we did rather well.

Soon after, I’d finished picking the mountain of parsley and set to work on making a salsa verde under the eagle eye of the chef next to me. It was depressing how quickly the parsley I’d spent ages preparing was gobbled up by the food processor, but the final product was well worth it – tangy and with just the right amount of kick to it.

“So, how do you feel about doing something with fire?” Err, bloody amazing. Turns out it was frying the straw potatoes for lunch until they were just the right colour but I was proud when they were declared perfect, and sent out to the diners who had ordered them. Yay.

The rest of the day passed like that; odd jobs here and there – nothing too hard. I chopped stuff and didn’t chop my finger off, made guacamole (very naaaayce), washed veg, and took some pictures when I could.



By the time it was over I was knackered, the heat was incredible and I was sweaty, dishevelled and my feet ached, but it was definitely worth it. Especially when I got out just in time for a sparkling wine on the grass, a walk around the grounds and a bit of sunbaking in the afternoon sun...