Argentina’s Sándwich de Milanesa

For a long time, Argentina has been among the world’s top consumers of beef per capita. Figures vary by source and by year, but Argentina, along with its neighbors Uruguay, Paraguay, and Brazil, along with the United States, are among the nations with the largest appetites for beef. It is no surprise, then, that in the late 19th and early 20th century, when Italian immigrants came to Argentina, their cuisine adapted itself to the local tastes–the breaded cutlet so common to the Italian table became the beef or veal milanesa, a thin tenderized steak of sirloin or top round, soaked in a seasoned egg mixture, coated in bread crumbs, and pan-fried or deep fried until golden brown.

Of course such a thing is not unique to South America. The Southern US has its chicken-fried steak, and Austria has its Wiener Schnitzel. Wiener Schnitzel, a breaded fried veal steak, is said by some to have been brought to Austria from Italy by Joseph Radetzky von Radetz in the early-to-mid 19th Century. He called it cotoletto milanesa. So clearly this term was known before the Italians came to Argentina. But the Argentine palate shuns fish and chicken, and hews to red meat–asado, Argentine barbecue; chorizo, a pork sausage; morcilla, their take on blood sausage; mollejas, Argentine sweetbreads. A breaded beef cutlet fit right in.

While asado may be the national dish, though, milanesa is what’s on most Argentine plates day in and day out. Whether served with a fried egg or three on top, the variant called Milanesa Napolitan with ham, tomato sauce, and melted mozzarella cheese, or simply plain with mashed potatoes on the side and a squeeze of lemon on top, milanesa is a common meal in restaurants and at home. 

And sometimes in sandwiches. Argentine and Uruguayan markets, stadium vendors, take-out shops, and many other food-related businesses will sell made-to-order Sándwiches de milanesa, served in baguette-like long bread rolls, with lettuce, tomato, onion, and a sauce, perhaps as simple as mayonnaise, perhaps something more like a remoulade. When I found that Bodega Sur, a sister restaurant to the Argentine steakhouse Tango Sur, served Milanesa (and would make a sandwich of it if requested), they served it with something like a salsa golf.

We ordered this to go, after a mildly frustrating search of Chicago’s North and Northwest sides for a place that served a Sándwich de milanesa. We’d started our search far North on Lincoln Avenue at an Argentine Steakhouse called Evita, which listed a sandwich called Alta Milanga on their menu, a veal Milanesa on Viennese bread. It being Saturday, I did not think to call ahead, but when we arrived we found that they were not open. The hours listed for Saturdays on the storefront showed an unknown-to-me set of symbols in place of the opening time.

My mistake not calling ahead. We proceeded to an Argentine deli on Cicero called Buenos Aires Liquors and Deli. There we found delicious empanadas and pasteles, but no Sándwiches de milanesa. While we were checking out, I got in a conversation with the owner, who suggested Bodega Sur to me. He also explained the reason that Evita had not been open. It is a kosher restaurant–they are closed on Fridays and do not open until after sunset on Saturday. Among the many different groups of immigrants who have settled in Argentina over the years, a large number of Jews from Russia, from Turkey, and from northern Africa migrated there during the latter half of the 19th century. Argentina has the largest Jewish population in South America, and thus Evita is a Kosher Jewish Argentine steakhouse. I’d hoped to get back there sometime this month, but the stars have not aligned as yet. Some day.

Bodega Sur was open, though, and though we had difficulty finding a place to park–Wrigleyville is jam-packed with people and cars even in November–we took the sandwich to go and shared it on our drive home.

Bodega Sur’s Milanesa was a beautifully breaded and fried, simply seasoned, tender cutlet of beef, served on a demibaguette with melted cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, onion, and yes, a pinkish sauce that brought to mind salsa golf. I was given the option of mashed potatoes or fries on the side–fries are more portable, and theirs were quite good, even as they grew colder during the car ride. 

These were not fancy panko bread crumbs but fine, seasoned with a bit of dried herbs and adhering well to the meat. The sandwich was not anything surprising and yet it was perfect. The bread was soft and slightly crusty, the cheese was mild and nutty, perhaps a Swiss cheese. The sauce was not liberally applied but was tangy and dressed the lettuce well. We wanted more. We also knew we could do as well at home.

My normal inclination when breading a piece of flattened meat with bread crumbs would be to use the 3 bowl method–dredge with seasoned flour, dip in egg wash, then coat with bread crumbs. However, the videos I watched of home cooks preparing Milanesa in Argentina showed a slightly different process. I only understand a little Spanish, but you’ll see what I mean about 4:50 into this video.

This was not universal, but among the home cooks more often than not, the flattened steak was dipped directly into an egg wash heavily seasoned with garlic and parsley, then coated with plain bread crumbs. The garlic and parsley seasoning is reminiscent of chimichurri, the great Argentine sauce and marinade for steaks, so this resonated with me. 

The bread crumb coating covers it up, but the seasonings in the egg wash did stick to the meat, continuing to flavor it as I pan fried the Milanesas in a little oil.

I find it difficult to cook and take photos at the same time, so these pictures haven’t turned out great, but the fact that I was using so little oil caused some recessed parts of the steak to not cook as well. I had to flip them a few times, adding oil during each turn.

For bread, I was using roughly eight inch sections of Damato’s extra-long baguettes, split in half, buttered and toasted, with melted provolone cheese. These sirloin tip steaks were far too big but cut in half, each of them doubled up almost perfectly to cover the bread. 

For my sauce, I combined some mayonnaise with the aforementioned chimichurri sauce so well-loved in Argentina.

I used shredded Romaine lettuce–this was early in the month, before the latest bad news about Romaine came out. Luckily we suffered no adverse effects.

Sliced tomato was next, seasoned with salt and pepper.

And finally the star of the show, our Milanesa.

Don’t worry, I remembered to put in some thinly-sliced red onion before assembling. 

Again, this was not a revolutionary sandwich. It’s a breaded steak sandwich with fairly typical sandwich toppings. But it’s nice–I chose great bread to serve it on, the steak was seasoned very well, and the chimichurri mayonnaise complemented those seasonings very well. The lettuce and onion provided a little crunch and pungence, and the tomatoes were quite good for early November.

I don’t think it’s the kind of sandwich people are going to write songs and poems about, unless they’re the kind of songs about ordinary people and the things they enjoy. I don’t mean ordinary in a negative way. This sandwich is a simple happiness, uncomplicated, the hamburger of Argentina. Sure, we make fancy hamburgers sometimes, and I’m sure in Argentina they make fancy Milanesa as well. But we don’t have to, and neither do they.

People often ask me what my favorite sandwich is. It’s a difficult question to answer, since I’ve tried so many at this point, but I’ve settled on an answer that people seem to enjoy. I tell them my favorite sandwich is the one in front of me. For a time, this was my favorite sandwich.