Let’s be real: Argentine steak without chimichurri is like a hug without a squeeze. Their house-made version is herb-green, garlicky, and just the right amount of zing. I slathered it on everything—the steak, the potatoes, even my napkin (kidding—but only because they might charge extra).
I asked Carlos for the recipe, and he laughed like I’d asked for the secret to happiness. “That’s classified,” he said. “But I can tell you it has parsley, garlic, and love.” Fair enough—I’ll just buy extra on my next visit.
