Despite the modest frontage, the green-and-white awning and terracotta-hued façade of Parrilla Don Julio has become a beacon in world gastronomy. A Buenos Aires — indeed, Argentina — magnet for meat, this neighborhood steakhouse has been drawing me in since 2008, when I lived five blocks away on the same cobbled street, Gurruchaga.

I walked past Don Julio twice a day on my way to take the 152 bus to and from the Herald when the newsroom was located on Azopardo street in Monserrat. One gloomy, rather damp October evening, returning home, a 100-peso bill was burning a hole in my pocket. It was worth around 22 dollars (imagine! Its value in today’s money is AR$85,000), and I was ready to blow it on one protein-heavy dinner.

Back then, Herald staffers were given certain sustenance, anonymous delivery people leaving enormous tupperware boxes filled with milanesas and mashed potato for our supper. But I had tired of veal escalope and was determined to treat myself. And, recently separated, it was a small way of proving to myself that I could go it alone. That evening, at around 11 p.m., I pushed open the wooden doors and asked for a table for one.

The parrilla immediately caught my eye, a focal point that takes centre stage thanks to its unusual position inside the restaurant. Parrillero Pepe Sotelo sprinkled coarse salt on the meat then wound the large metal grill up and down to make best use of the embers’ heat while flipping bife de chorizo steaks and racks of asado de tira (short ribs) to order. Making asado (barbecue) was a hypnotic live show. 

The cozy ambience of friends sharing

Empty wine bottles adorned with grateful, often loving, messages lined the walls. I settled into a classic wooden bistro chair and soaked up the cozy ambience of friends joyfully sharing steaks, wishing I could share this moment with companions of my own. But that thought was secondary: I was ready for my first meal at the restaurant I’d been eyeing up for four months.

After browsing the leather menu, I chose a medium-rare rib-eye, a glass of Malbec and chips. The charming old-school waiter in his black dicky bow tie put me at ease, never once making me feel self-conscious about dining solo (in 2008, I was certainly made to feel self-conscious in other restaurants…). He soon brought out an enormous slab of prime grass-fed Argentine beef that was tender and delicious. The serrated steak knife easily slid through the two-inch-thick steak, and while I’d been to dozens of asados in my time, this particular meat experience was comforting. I dipped the chips into the warm meaty juices and slowly savoured the wine. It was a perfect moment of triumph mixed with pleasure, and I felt like a queen. Needless to say, I would return.

Sixteen years later, the parrilla regularly ranks on various best restaurants and chefs lists, picking up awards and accolades with indecent speed; it was awarded a Michelin star in 2023. The signed bottles are gone, but not too long ago, if you were finishing up a late-night dessert, you’d see staff removing every single one then methodically dusting down the shelves every night. 

Pepe is also long retired, and renowned chef Guido Tassi moved in to up the culinary ante at Don Julio, as well as sister establishment El Preferido de Palermo. And the basement has become one of Argentina’s finest wine cellars, stocking more than 20,000 Argentine vintages that date back to the mid 20th-century. 

Terroir-driven Malbec tastings

The evolution has been notable since Tassi joined the disciplined team, led by owner and sommelier Pablo Rivero. While the waitstaff has always made me feel welcome, hospitality has evolved. Leading sommelier Martín Bruno is wine director and guides diners through terroir-driven Malbec tastings before they start eating in earnest, while Valeria Mesones takes care of the service. 

Don Julio is also family run; for many years Pablo’s mum managed the till, his sister Yamila runs the butcher a few doors down, while son Facundo is learning the ropes on the floor.

Bearing all this in mind, booking a table these days can be an ordeal. Diners start lining up for lunch at 10 a.m., hoping to snag a cancelation. Their patience is rewarded with a glass of sparkling wine and a bite-size empanada. Some call the restaurant a tourist trap with prices beyond what local clients are willing to pay, but I beg to differ. If you can bag a table, you’ll hear a babel of languages — Spanish, English, Portuguese, and others — and a regular clientele has been eating here for 25 years. They, and I, are the late-night diners who take advantage of its opening until 1 a.m., one of few Buenos Aires establishments that serves late into the evening.

I fell for Don Julio — low lighting, striped awning and all — in 2008, and our relationship has flourished. It’s the restaurant where I kickstart my birthday with entraña and all the trimmings, waiters flicking off the lights at midnight to bring out a creme caramel with candles, clapping along to “Que lo cumplas feliz!” (annoyingly, there’s always someone else also celebrating on my day!). It’s the place to share celebrations, introduce a first-timer to the world’s beef capital, or simply the place to eat entraña because I love it. 

An Australian Master of Wine friend wrote to me just yesterday: he’s coming to Argentina to pick up his daughter from a six-month high-school exchange in January and highlighted her main demand — to dine at Don Julio. Duly noted, Ned.

It’s a dining must for visitors because they want to experience Argentina’s traditional asado ritual that’s evolved at the highest level. And whether you agree that a parrilla, the humble beacon that best represents Argentina’s pantry and kitchen, should be voted number one by Latin America’s 50 Best Restaurants — as announced in November at a ceremony in Rio de Janeiro — you can voice your opinion by either booking a table there, or not. Asado is Argentine culture and Don Julio will always be my beefy base, a meat magnet for me, my friends and family.