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Asado

Gail Williams

Asado's grilled corn with chipotle butter is all sweetness and spice.
Asado's grilled corn with chipotle butter is all sweetness and spice.Supplied

South American$$

Well, bang me on the head and call me a Num Nut! Stupidity, in food reviewing as well as in politics, is anything but a handicap. It's a prerequisite for the job.

There's no better way to test a system than to throw random stumbling blocks in the way of good management.

"Oh, didn't I let you know we are now a party of five, sorry we only booked for two?" "Can I have a doggy bag for that?" "Can I have the salmon dish without the salmon?" Oh, silly me – now, let's see how they deal with that one.

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Firing up: Asado's coal-fired parilla barbecue.
Firing up: Asado's coal-fired parilla barbecue.Supplied

Which is how, after a rush of blood to the head, I invited my virtuous vegetarian mate, Lisa, to Claremont's latest fashionable restaurant offering, Asado.

Now, anyone with a smidgeon of Spanish will know that an "asado" is an Argentinian coal barbecue used to cook meats long and slowly to tender juiciness. The literal translation is "gathering of friends" and it's usually around a barbecue in a celebration of seared meat.

Argentinians like nothing better than to lick lamb short ribs together, to suck on a communal bone marrow and to let the chimichurri run down their chins while they chew on barbecuing's holy grail – the pink-in-the-middle rump cap.

Barbecued rump steak with chimichurri.
Barbecued rump steak with chimichurri.Supplied
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The idea was seized upon by a group of well-known Perth hospitality heavyweights including winemaker Rob Bates-Smith, whose company Jed Wine Merchants has been making wine in Argentina since 2006. And it's a great formula – Argentinian wines and a menu which pays homage to beautiful cuts – often the ones we see as secondary -- of meat.

But Asado's open kitchen – with its hallowed centrepiece, a charcoal parilla (barbecue) where hefty slabs of skirt steak are seared to smokey brilliance – is hardly a vegetarian paradise. Even their welcome blackboard out the front warns that "no animal is safe".

My carnivore-centric mind didn't twig until we were approaching the restaurant and got a beautiful whiff of charcoal wafting up St Quentin Avenue.

As the mouth watered like one of Pavlov's dogs, the brain suddenly kicked in.

"Oh bugger, poor Lisa!" I said to rump-loving Raelene. "She's gonna starve in there!"

As if. We walked into the busy 120-seater to find Lisa sitting there as happy as a bunny in an organic veggie patch.

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"There's guacamole, ceviche, corn cobs and cheese, plenty of cheese," she enthused. "And the desserts, burnt banana, lemon curd and chocolate brulee, sound exquisite."

Getting her chops around burstingly fresh and sweet corn cobs she proved meatlovers don't have a patent on messy. Or fun. Her chin was soon smeared lasciviously with a smokin' hot chipotle butter.

Not to be outdone, Rump-lover Rails and I began gnawing our way backwards and forwards, ignoring the corn in our teeth and getting our fingers covered in butter.

Then there was more vego fun in scooping up dollops of pea green guacamole with crisp tortilla chips, squirting it with lime and downing jalapenos while swigging from Walsh & Sons Semillon chardonnay like Burke & Wills on ink.

Then there was the ceviche, tangy little coils of king lime-marinated kingfish, offering an excellent insight into the philosophy of the cheffing lineup – led by former Rockpool man, Corey Tang.

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It's all high-end product and expert skills, but plated up casually. Cherry tomatoes, avocado slices and lime wedges were scattered randomly around to let the diner make up their own flavour combos.

As pretty as it was, Rump-lover Rails and I still needed meat. Meat that shows you what those eye teeth were meant for.

It came as four slices of rump, charred around the edges, oozing juices in the middle. Rails and I looked at each other, paused for a second and then, our two forks swooped in like two seagulls after the same chip.

That's when the fun really began. We carved off chunks and tasted the meat on its own, just to revel in the simple, meaty flavour – no marinade. We doused bits in chimmichurri so we could luxuriate in the textural contrast of  meat and the soft, slurry of garlicky coriander, parsley and vinegar.

Lisa then watched in amazement as we moved to lamb short ribs – using our fingers to dip them into mint yoghurt, and licking them like lollipops devouring the meat in one decadent bite.

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The decadence continued with a chocolate brulee – another nod to South America with the hint of chilli and dulce de leche in the jar topped with candied hazelnuts. Biting through it all to offer a balanced flavour was a nicely acidic lemon curd with two piped meringues and a cleansing lemon thyme sorbet to provide a sensational finish to a memorable, fun-filled meal.

And though we failed to lure Lisa over to the dark side, she loved it. And along with all the sensible animal libertarian reasons for not eating beef, she also throws in quotes from Shakesepeare to the mix.

He said, "I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit." He was definitely not a Num Nut.

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