I have a glandular problem: I like eating them.
This is a recent discovery, sort of, and it came amid a veritable orgy of Argentine asado delivered to the date-night table atop a delicately smoking brasero.
Amid the reckless, romantic tabletop — cluttered with bread plates, rumpled napkins, half-consumed glasses of malbec from Mendoza’s Uco Valley — came chicken and chorizo and flavorful medium-rare vacío, a beautiful flank primal cut, in thick slices. There were sausages, pork and some of the best morcilla I have enjoyed, all of it sizzling in a come-hither whisper.
There in the meat-laden mix, mollejas de tira — beef sweetbreads.
What are they? I almost don’t want to say, because they are so uniquely rich and delicious, so positively tender and un-gamey, I’d rather describe it as the sweetest, creamiest “steak” you might have.
The meat — mild, with a pupil-dilating hit of offal-wild — almost literally melts in one’s mouth, as if the gorgeous offspring of filet and foie gras.
Sweetbreads (Don’t even Google it! Just eat them! Love them!) might be the finest item in the mix. And the Parrillada for Two at Choo Choo Churros is a $78 mix that’s rave-worthy. (In last week’s piece, brunch for one was $70.)
I’m no different from anyone else when it comes to figuring out where I’m going to have dinner. I read. I surf the Web. I spot random venues while driving around town. And I ask friends, with whose help I sometimes I hit a bull’s-eye.
I wound up at Choo Choo Churros after a conversation with a co-worker whose mom is from Argentina. She loves the place, and so does my friend, who dined there quite recently with his mother, his girlfriend and his girlfriend’s father.
Mom- and girlfriend’s dad-worthy? Alrighty then, game on. The fact that the place has been open for more than 20 years was a pretty nice indicator, as well, but what was with the name?
Turns out that when Argentina natives Oscar and Marina Lagos bought the place in 2007, theirs was a burgeoning business that begun its life years earlier as a modest churro cart. Over time, they transformed the building, a former Latin fast-food joint, into what it is today — a casual, cozy place where date night can comfortably coexist alongside a family dinner. But they kept the whimsical name.
On our visit, a little girl, perhaps 3, flitted about, an occasionally noisy butterfly liberated from her highchair, returning to papi every so often for a thick, golden steak fry. A boys-night-out crew, six bros downing cerveza with their steak, occupied the opposite end. Just behind them, tucked in the corner, a guitarist sang in Spanish, his voice a lovely tenor.
We were the sole English-only customers in the place. Our server, apologetic, let us know hers wasn’t the best. I bridged the gap with even-worse Spanish. We managed beautifully, laughing as we went. It only served to enhance the experience.
Our food — starting with the provoleta, showed up at a relaxed South American pace. This, too, was just fine. We were in about as much a rush as the long, lazy pull of this creamy griddled cheese — a filling appetizer in advance of all that meat, but a fun one for sharing.
Outside, a large, enclosed patio (pets welcome, per the website) held several large family groups. Diners of all ages tucked in. It’s rustic but charming.
We dined inside to dodge the humidity and over a couple of hours, entirely unrushed but never untended, we supped, sipped and snickered at our wee neighbor (who often scowled in return, but seemed to enjoy the attention) and in part, considered those sweetbreads.
The name is only semi-deceptive.
These are the thymus glands or pancreas of the animal — prized by many chefs for their mildness and, yes, sweetness. You’ll find them wine-braised or bathed in rich sauces on many menus and they often find themselves in terrines, but in Argentina, mollejas face the organ music head-on. With the grill.
It’s a more calorie-friendly dish this way, and like its neighbors on the brasero, its richness can be countered considerably by the housemade chimichurri, bright and green and garlicky.
“You ate brains?!” a friend asked, aghast when I told her about the dinner.
Lots of folks confuse sweetbreads for brains, it turns out. And when I reflect on dessert, I almost wish they had been — for I could have used the extra smarts.
By meal’s end, peak meat (and cheese, and wine … remind me to call my doctor…) had been reached. Music and chatter were lively and immersive in the intimate space. I didn’t yet know the origins of Choo Choo Churros’ name and the thought didn’t even occur.
So, let the record show that, yes, I went to an Argentinean place with “churro” right in the name … and ordered flan.
Womp. Womp. Womp.
The fresh-made churros — along with surprising attention to vegetarian and non-beef dishes — spinach empanadas, Milanesa de pollo, homemade ravioli and more, nice options for you carnivorous lurkers with less enthused dining partners — will give me a solid excuse to return.
For actual sweetbreads, this time. Not metaphorical.
If you go: 5810 Lake Underhill Road in Orlando, 407-382-6001; argentiniansteak.com
Want to reach out? Find me on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram @amydroo or on the OSFoodie Instagram account @orlando.foodie. Email: amthompson@orlandosentinel.com. For more fun, join the Let’s Eat, Orlando Facebook group or follow @fun.things.orlando on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.
