I would just never cut it as a gaucho. While the notion of life as an enigmatic loner, wandering the Pampas of Argentina with only a sturdy knife and a trusty steed for company, may have a romantic frisson, in reality I'm useless on horseback, have no aptitude for cattle ranching and don't look attractive in the traditional loon pants known as bombachas.

In one of the gaucho's traditional skills, however, I do have a fighting chance: preparing a good steak. Like any meat-eating male with a bag of briquettes and a penchant for scorching cocktail sausages, I'm keen to flex my barbecue muscles come the first hint of summer. Now, thanks to a trip to Buenos Airesand a crash course in the art ofthe grill at a legendary steakhouse,I can hold my head up high as a bone fide grillmaster.