Occasionally, I’ll eat something that slithers into my psyche the way a dysfunctional crush does, and the only way to stop daydreaming about it is to eat it again. And then sometimes again. This was the case with the polenta at Corrientes 348, which opened this past June in the space that previously housed Stephan Pyles’ iconic namesake restaurant.
Last month, a colleague and I walked across the street to the Argentinian steakhouse for lunch. We ordered a handful of items; steak, sautéed broccolini, beef-filled empanadas, and crispy polenta. We were mid-conversation when a procession of platters whirled towards us by way of three servers—each with a pair of tongs in hand. We sat back as rare prime strip loin and glistening spears of broccolini landed on the plates in front of us. Even though we requested half-orders of everything, it was a lot of food. Easily enough to have fed two more people. And we aren’t light eaters.
We were pleased with everything that passed our lips. Especially considering this was a casual mid-week lunch. But the crispy polenta was something special. The dish comes two ways: topped with shredded parmesan cheese or sprinkled with fresh garlic and parsley. I recommend both.
“We sell a lot of it,” says Alda Boiani, one of four Corrientes 348 owners. “People like it…they come in and order it time and again.”
The side is straightforward and made using only four ingredients: yellow corn, salt, water, and corn oil. “It’s a very simple dish,” says Boiani. “But you have to stir it for hours.” It’s also important that the wedges of mushy cornmeal are the same size, so that they fry evenly.
This is the first U.S. location of Corrientes 348, but the recipe is the same as the restaurant’s Brazilian outposts. And according to Boiani, the dish is incredibly popular down there, too.
My colleague and I brought our leftovers back to the office, and even lukewarm, the polenta was the first to vanish from the stack of to-go containers. I’ve had the dish once more since then, but still find myself craving it. Maybe it’s love, after all.
