The Best Argentine Food in the United States

Beets buried under coals for eight hours is either an act of patience or a personality disorder, and at Francis Mallmann's open-fire Argentine steakhouse inside the Faena Hotel, it reads as both. The room commits fully: leopard-print booths, red cushions, gold on everything. The asado is serious, the proteins are large, and the bar at the far end fills with people dressed for exactly this kind of place.

The open live-fire grill runs the length of the kitchen and puts on a show whether you book a counter seat or not. This Argentine-inflected steakhouse has been an institution on MLK forever, with Greg Denton and Gabrielle Quiñónez Denton behind the flames. The asado is built for at least two people and their ambitions. The chowder, meanwhile, arrives with a smoked marrow bone floating in it, which tells you everything about the kitchen's sense of humor.

Smoke from the wood-fired grill drifts through the long dining room before you've even sat down. R40 is a proper Argentinian parilla in Long Island City, all exposed brick, sleek wood, and trailing greenery, with a patio out back when the weather cooperates. The menu is built for sharing: empanadas stuffed with filet mignon and raisins, skirt steak with chimichurri, and a combination platter of steak, ribs, chorizo, and sweetbreads for the committed.

An Argentine steakhouse in Sandy where the wood-fired grill does most of the talking. The menu reads like a serious commitment to South American beef culture, with Wagyu cuts, house-made sausages, and mixed parilla platters sized for a group who came hungry. Empanadas make a sensible start, and the lamb chops and Kurobuta pork keep things interesting for anyone not there purely for the beef. The rustic décor leans into the theme without apologizing for it.

A covered patio overlooking the San Sebastian River sets the mood at this Argentinian grill, where the menu orbits fire and meat in the way that approach always promises it will. Steaks anchor the menu, from flat iron to porterhouse, but the smoked fish dip makes a convincing case for slowing down before the main event. Citrus olive oil cake closes things out without overshooting into sweetness.

The Argentine parrilla, a communal spread of grilled meats built for two or four, anchors this Latin American and Italian-influenced restaurant on Race Street. Small plates dominate the menu, which pushes sharing over soloing, and the short rib gnocchi has a way of making people forget they ordered it to split. Locally sourced ingredients throughout, with a crowd that seems to have read the room before arriving.

An Argentinian steakhouse in Pittsburgh's Cultural District where the wood-fired grill does the talking and the line outside does the bragging. Proteins come off the fire with a serious char, and the chimichurri and sides hold their own beside them. The Parrillada Mixta platter is the move for the undecided, though regulars tend to land on the flap steak and stop second-guessing themselves.

Black-and-white tile, Argentinian mementos on the walls, and a menu short enough to fit on a napkin: Boludo is a pizza and empanada shop that takes its cues from Buenos Aires. The chef trained in his grandmother's kitchen there before landing in Minneapolis, and the compact menu shows that restraint. The pizza crust has a faint sweetness that plays against the tangy tomato sauce, and the empanadas are dense and crispy-edged. Several locations around the Twin Cities, all doing takeout and delivery.

Gardel is a small Argentine spot in Fox Point where the empanadas and croquetas arrive alongside a bottle of Malbec, and nobody pushes you toward the steak. Brown professors and students fill the cozy room, treating dinner as a cheap flight to Buenos Aires. They run empanada-making nights too, where you'll fold your pastry badly and the friendly staff will lie to you.

Fútbol scarves and pennants cover the walls at this family-run counter spot in a Boulder strip mall, where the empanadas come stuffed with steak and olives or mozzarella and tomato. The choripán with chimichurri is the other reason to go. They pour yerba mate, post soccer match times on Instagram, and the whole thing reads less like a restaurant than someone's living room that happens to sell food.