Biggest mistake I’ve made here so far: going to the grocery store late on a Sunday morning. I thought people would be at home, or at church, or sitting in lawn chairs in their yards drinking mate. But now that I have witnessed not only the chaos of shopping for an asado but the event itself, I understand why I picked the worst day possible to conquer my fear of the meat counter. The inordinate amount of time I spent waiting in line to pay for my groceries allowed me to take careful inventory of each cart’s contents. Carts overflowing, stacked with the asado basics: mountains of rolls, bags of oranges, soda, red red wine, meat. The meat! Argentines are to cuts of beef as Eskimos are to snow—the varied terminology from subtle differences could fill a book.