| rev:text
| - I've been eyeing this place for a while, by which I mean smelling it.
You can smell the smoke rolling off of a place such as this from blocks away. It's the same reason why you never see an ad for Cinnabon. If you get people by the nose, their ass will follow promptly.
I was pleased upon entering to see a clean, and well decorated place. I dread walking into a new place, and seeing that perhaps someone can cook, but be clueless as to how to make a guest feel welcome. The sun was bursting through the windows onto saffron-colored walls and butcher block counters. A giant rosemary plant sat in the window. Every detail was in place.
Prices for sandwiches looked little steep, but what landed in front of me was the size of my 4th grade lunchbox, so no worries there. I was still in a daze looking at the sandwich on a giant piece of ciabatta bread, when our host was directing us to choose from sauces on the center table to garnish our lunch. Ajo, Pimenton, Cebolla and Chimi Churri, or to you, Anglo, este es roasted garlic, roasted red pepper, roasted sweet onion, and the tradtional sauce of many South American barbecue styles. What Chimi Churri means depends greatly on where you happen to be standing. Some places use a bit of oregano, others some cilantro. All of them center on fresh parsley, olive oil, a bit of garlic and red wine vinegar. These all sat in tasteful jars with sample cups to portion out. It was hard to not get carried away, to be candid.
My sandwich was big enough I chose to cut it in half, and try the pimenton on one half, the ajo on the other. The ajo is thoroughly grilled, so the flavor almost has a savory nuttiness to it, instead of the pungent sulphur blast that we often associate with garlic. The pimenton was even better, grilling having mellowed the sweetness of the red pepper, balanced with a pleasing combo of herbs, oil, and vinegar.
Let's get something out of the way here, Pittsburgh. Corn on the cob is not to be boiled. As they do south of the border, and also at Gaucho, the ears are placed directly on the grill. Soaked in water first, and grilled with the husk still on, it arrived in a bit of tinfoil, the husk charred black. Peeled back, and used as a handle, there is no need for the Midwestern American plastic corn cob holders. Throw those ridiculous things in the recycle bin, please. Corn originates from Meso-America. Trust me, our neighbors to the south know exactly what they're doing. The husk protects the corn from scorching, and it steams in it's own skin, acquiring that important smoky flavor. The carmelized flavors of the cebolla sauce were a perfect compliment.
I am almost afraid to tout this place so highly, in that it may become too busy to get some of the awesome grub they're putting out.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)
![[cxml]](/fct/images/cxml_doc.png)
![[csv]](/fct/images/csv_doc.png)
![[text]](/fct/images/ntriples_doc.png)
![[turtle]](/fct/images/n3turtle_doc.png)
![[ld+json]](/fct/images/jsonld_doc.png)
![[rdf+json]](/fct/images/json_doc.png)
![[rdf+xml]](/fct/images/xml_doc.png)
![[atom+xml]](/fct/images/atom_doc.png)
![[html]](/fct/images/html_doc.png)