Grilled Chimichurri Skirt Steak is the kind of dish that lodges itself in your memory after one bite. Mine arrived on a paper plate in a covered market in Buenos Aires, handed to me by a vendor whose name I never quite caught and whose Spanish moved faster than my brain could follow.
He saw me staring at the parrilla behind his counter and waved me over with a tong in one hand and a glass jar of something bright green in the other. That was four years ago. I have been chasing the taste of that first bite ever since.
The Stall in Mercado de San Telmo
San Telmo on a Sunday is a kind of beautiful chaos. Tango buskers, antiques on folding tables, the smell of woodsmoke pulling you off the main aisle and into the covered hall.
His stall was small. A blackened parrilla, a chalkboard with three things written on it, and a wooden bench where two old men were eating in silence. He pointed at the entraña on the grate, then at me, then at a stool. I sat.
We did not share much language. He had maybe ten English words and I had maybe thirty Spanish ones. But he understood that I wanted to learn.
He poured a little vinegar into his palm and tipped it into a glass jar of chopped parsley. He tapped the dried oregano like he was scolding it. He held up a clove of garlic and shook his head at the food processor that lived under his counter, like the appliance had personally offended him.
When the steak came off the fire, he rested it on a worn wooden board, sliced it across the grain with one confident pull of the knife, and spooned the chimichurri over the top with the patience of someone who has done this ten thousand times. Then he handed me a plate and watched me eat.
What Makes Grilled Chimichurri Skirt Steak Different
I used to think chimichurri was a kind of pesto with vinegar in it. Standing at that stall, I learned how wrong I was.
Real Argentine chimichurri is hand-chopped. The parsley stays distinct, the garlic stays in tiny chunks, and the oregano gets bloomed in a little warm water before it ever sees oil. It is a finishing sauce, not a marinade. The steak gets coarse salt and nothing else. The asador trusts the beef.
The cut matters too. Entraña is the outside skirt, the diaphragm muscle, and it has this deep, almost mineral beefiness that takes a hard sear and gives back a thin crust over a rosy middle. It is one of the prized stars of the asado, the weekend grilling ritual that anchors Argentine and Uruguayan family life.
The vendor wrote the name of the cut on the back of my receipt before I left. Entraña. He underlined it twice.
What I Used
- Outside skirt steak, about two pounds, silver skin peeled off
- Coarse salt, the kind that crackles between your fingers
- A big handful of packed flat-leaf parsley, no cilantro
- Six garlic cloves, minced by hand
- Dried oregano, bloomed in warm water
- Red pepper flakes, ají molido if you can find it
- Olive oil and red wine vinegar
- Fine sea salt for the sauce
Cooking It on a Slow Friday
I made this the first Friday I had a whole evening to myself after months of running around. I lit the chimney in the late afternoon, dragged the speaker out to the patio, and put on a mix of Mercedes Sosa, a little Gardel, then some Spinetta to keep me honest.
While the coals worked themselves into a glowing bed, I poured a glass of malbec and put out a small plate of olives and shaved manchego. The chimichurri had been sitting on the counter since the night before, garlic mellowed, oregano soft, oil sliding around the edges of the jar.
I waited until the fire felt mean. You know it is ready when you cannot hold a hand over the grate for more than two seconds. I salted the steaks heavy, pressed the grains in, and laid them across the bars.
Two minutes. Flip. Two more. The fat hissed onto the coals and a curl of smoke came up that smelled like every Sunday I have ever wanted to belong to.
I let the steak rest on a board for a full seven minutes. Sliced it against the grain into short ribbons. Spooned the chimichurri over the warm pile and watched it sink into the pink. Ate the first piece standing up, alone in my own kitchen, completely happy.
Notes and Small Twists
Make the chimichurri the day before if you can. The garlic softens, the oregano blooms, and the whole thing tastes more like itself.
If you cannot find outside skirt, ask a real butcher for entraña and they will know what you want. Flank steak works in a pinch but the texture is firmer and less generous. Skip cilantro entirely. It is not traditional in Argentina and it pulls the sauce in the wrong direction.
I sometimes add a tiny splash more vinegar at the end if my parsley was extra mild. And once, on a hot night, I added a single small shallot, minced very fine. The vendor would probably scold me. I did it anyway.
The Part I Did Not Expect
What surprised me, both at that stall and on my patio years later, was how quiet a meal like this becomes. There is no fussing. The salt is just salt. The sauce is herbs and acid. The fire does most of the talking.
I think about that vendor more than I should. He did not teach me with words. He taught me with patience and with the assumption that I would figure it out.
Every time I light a chimney now, I think of his chalkboard and his quiet little nod when I finished the plate. If you make this once, you will keep making it. That is the whole secret, and I hope your kitchen smells like a Sunday somewhere very far away tonight.
Chimichurri Skirt Steak
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Make the chimichurri at least 2 hours before grilling. Place the dried oregano and red pepper flakes in a small bowl with the warm water and let them bloom for 5 minutes.
- Hand-chop the parsley leaves on a cutting board until fine but still distinct. Do not use a food processor.
- Mince the garlic by hand into small pieces, not a paste.
- In a glass jar or bowl, combine the chopped parsley, minced garlic, bloomed oregano and pepper flakes with their soaking water, fine sea salt, red wine vinegar, and olive oil. Stir to combine.
- Cover the chimichurri and let it sit at room temperature for at least 2 hours so the flavors meld. Stir before serving.
- About 30 minutes before grilling, pull the skirt steaks from the refrigerator and let them come to room temperature on the counter.
- Peel away any remaining silver-skin membrane from the outside of the steaks so they do not curl on the grill.
- Light a full chimney of hardwood lump charcoal. When the coals are glowing red and lightly ashed over, spread them in an even, deep bed under the grate. The fire should feel uncomfortable to hold a hand over for more than 2 seconds, around 500 F or hotter.
- Season the skirt steaks generously on both sides with the coarse salt just before placing them on the grill. Press the salt lightly into the meat.
- Lay the steaks across the hot grate and grill for 2 to 4 minutes per side, undisturbed, until a dark crust forms and the interior is medium-rare to medium. Skirt steak is thin and cooks fast.
- Transfer the steaks to a clean cutting board and rest, uncovered, for 5 to 7 minutes.
- Slice the rested steak against the grain into short strips about half an inch wide. The grain on skirt runs across the width, so cut perpendicular to those fibers.
- Arrange the slices on a warm platter and spoon a generous amount of chimichurri over the top, with extra served on the side in the jar.