August 24 – August 30, 2026

Monday:              Pork Tenderloin Salad (Arugula, Feta, Pecans, Tomato, Cucumber, Onion) with Crostini (Toppings:  Sardine Salad, Caprese Salad, Avocado)

Tuesday:              Chickpea and Kale Soup with Grilled Cheese Sandwiches

Wednesday:       Capresse Salad with Grilled Bratwurst

Thursday:            Dumpling Tomato Salad with Chili Crisp Vinaigrette

Friday:                 Gruyere Omelet with Tomatoes and Parmesan

Saturday:            White Pizzas with Prosciutto and Arugula

Sunday:               Picanha Steaks with Potato Salad and Ratatouille

On the Pampas

There are, so far as I know, five countries in the world that have cowboys or their equivalent.  The United States has cowboys who look like either the Marlboro Man, John Wayne, Clint Eastwood or the bad guy.  Australians and Canadians look much the same but have even funnier accents than the American cowboys.  The Mexicans look like the Americans but with huge, drooping mustaches and sombreros instead of Stetsons.  Ah, but the Brazilians and Argentinians, now those fellows look like their own – and nobody else’s – idea of a cowboy.  These superb riders wear blindingly white shirts and pants, natty black scarves around their collars and berets that roll forward to peak over their foreheads or rigid, smaller hats that resemble the headgear of Gene Hackman’s character (Popeye was his nickname) in The French connection. 

But, honestly, I don’t really care how Argentinians and Brazilians dress,* what I care about is the superb quality of their beef and the amazing skill with which it is butchered and cooked.  A few years ago, I walked into The Fat Butcher shop in Lawrenceville behind a statuesque woman with two borzois and her husband.  She left to walk the borzois while I listened to the husband explain how he would cook the cut of meat he was picking up from the butcher – a picanha steak.  The husband, a Brazilian, showed me pictures of the custom grill he had built on his estate in Sewickley – a contraption with wheels to raise and lower various grill surfaces, a grill to die for.

*The girl from Ipanema and her string bikini, excepted, oh, and the lady with the borzois.

And then, just two weeks ago, at Willie’s smokehouse, the clerk asked me if I wanted three picanha steaks that someone had forgotten to pick up.  He gave me a reduced price and I grilled those steaks and we have been on a cowboy dining trip ever since at Casa, excuse me, Hacienda Stewart.

The picanha vies with the Delmonico for my personal favorite.  It’s a bit more tender than a Delmonico – almost like a filet mignon but with a ton of beefy flavor which the poor filet couldn’t muster if you put it on testosterone therapy for a year.

Here is what they look like, uncooked:

The picanha steak is easy to cook – no need for a recipe.

Get a grill really hot on one side, you’ll want a cooler side to move the steaks to, in case the fat of the picanha starts a conflagration.  Season the picanhas with salt and pepper and make sure that the grill is clean and oiled and cook those babies about three minutes on a side and another two minutes or so resting on the fat cap.  The picanha resembles a diminutive strip steak with a thick fatcap on the convex side.  You might want to score the fat before cooking – you definitely want to salt it.  It’s up to your diners whether they want to eat some of the fat (I suggest they do) or cut it off.

Este bife está excelente.  Bom apetite

I’m assured by a friend that the two sentences above mean, “This steak is great.  Have a good meal,” and not “Esther is fine, now that she’s taking Osteo-Biflex.”  And, “ That’s disgusting.”  But my friend wasn’t wearing a white shirt or a beret and has never ridden a horse, so I’m not sure.

NOTE:  I’m trying to catch up, having taking much of August off from posting to the blog.  By the end of next week, we should be current.