I am not sure if you have to be Argentinian born to take your place as an “asador”, but judging from what we have seen in this culture of meat, there is no higher honour or calling.

We have recently partaken twice in this sacred ritual – in a private home, and in a restaurant.

In the first instance, we were invited for an asado in Pilar, a gated community about an hour’s drive from downtown Buenos Aires, at the home of a cousin of Tom’s. When we were here 9 years ago, Tom’s uncle was the asador. When he sold his home in the country, the sacred skewer was passed down to his son-in-law, Martin.

Asado is a technique for cooking meat on a grill or open fire. This isn’t a gas barbecue – the techniques that Canadian males use in the backyard to incinerate a piece of meat would horrify a true asador.

The grill is a permanent structure, built with a large grill that can be raised or lowered. A small stack of wood is gently turned into a glowing pile of coals, some distance from the grill. When the charcoal is ready, the grilling starts.

An asador will present his guests with a sequence of meats and sausages over the course of an afternoon. There is a numbing selection. First are the sausages: chorizo, blood sausage, chinchulines (intestines), and sweetbreads. Ribs are then served, followed by beef in differing cuts, goat, (maybe chicken), or maybe some lamb.

The meat for an asado is not marinated – a bit of salt is permitted, but none of the endless varieties of ‘smoked-flavor’ sauces that we North Americans use.

The distance from the coals is controlled so that the meats cook slowly; it usually takes around 2 hours to cook an asado. The coals are not placed directly under the meats so that drippings don’t cause grease flare-ups and smoke – that would spoil the flavor of the meats.

Thick slices of cheese, grilled to perfection, have an honourary place in this list of starter meats. Tom suggested that cheese could be counted as a vegetable, but ummm, no.

So you get the idea – it is about meat.

Martin and Valeria laid out a lovely table in their backyard. There was bread, so we had something to nibble on while things were cooking. There was also a small salad – put on the table like flowers for background colour. It was an incidental, a diversion to why we were really there.

There was something otherworldly and wonderful for a North American urbanite, sitting around a table for a good portion of Sunday afternoon chatting, watching the coals, and nibbling on the asado offerings as each became ready in their turn.

Wine is a necessary part of the digestion process. Martin offered a procession of different wines to his guests over the afternoon – Malbecs, Cabernets, and other lovely Argentine grapes.  We had a lovely time.

And then there is the restaurant version, with the “parilla libre” taking a good idea to excess. It’s basically an all-you-can-eat party.

Coming home from an evening Tango lesson, we dashed into what we believed to be an elegant Italian restaurant seconds ahead of a violent thunderstorm. There were no menus presented, we quickly realized by the procession of dignified servers, each bearing a sturdy skewer impaling a significant quantity of meat, that we were in an all-you-can-eat, ‘parilla libre’ asador.

We had nice steaks in Mendoza, and even a ‘mixed parilla’ – a platter of different meats and sausages to be shared at the table. But this was the real thing – carnivore heaven.

Having come this close to mecca, Tom would have used his very substantial steak knife against me if I suggested leaving, so we settled in. (Try not to visualize Homer Simpson in a donut shop.) The restaurant had a lovely salad bar with some seafood, so I was happy too.

Tom stuffed himself. And even after he ate what must have been enough for 3 people, he was trying his best not to insult any server by turning down what ever was offered. (Just a taste, a small slice, a nibble, yes please, oh yes, must try that too…)

As if offering up a penance, he only had a fruit salad for dessert.

It had been late when we arrived, and it was 1:00 AM by the time the check arrived. If you had suggested that it was a little heavy for a late dinner, the restaurant crowd would have been shocked – this is a sacred contract. The asador cooks until everyone is full and the grill is empty. Your job is to eat and enjoy.

Twice in a week though is tough, even for Tom.