El Gaucho

When the sun comes out in Chelsea the locals, by whom I mean the wealthy Ferrari-driving-oversized-shades-wearing French, Swiss and Italian ex pats, queue around the block for a seat at El Gaucho or the fabulous pizzeria next door. On an almost weekly basis, dressed in obligatory white jeans and hiding behind fake tan I try to blend in with the other thinner more glamorous diners. El Gaucho has become such a regular addition to our weekends mainly because it is one of the only places we can all agree on. The boys think eating steak is manly and the girls are secretly following a modified version of Atkins. The wine list is limited and cheap forcing our more extravagant friends to stay under control and they don't stop serving lunch at an irritatingly early 2.30pm meaning the late risers amongst us can still come. Oh, and we have no vegetarian friends.
Bread, olives and The Best Bit, otherwise know as Chirichiri, are brought to the table when you sit down. You will need to ask for more of these, not just because they are good, but because on hot days when they are busy it can take ages to get your steak. Main choices are limited to steak, steak kebabs and char grilled chicken but this is fine because that is the point of the restaurant. Steak sizes vary arbitrarily and requests for rare, medium or well done are infrequently observed (expect a medium rare steak on all occasions) but the beef is from good quality Argentine cattle. Sit in the passageway to watch the entertaining catwalk show which rolls by, sometimes complete with Paris Hilton-esk dogs. A pleasant way to spend an afternoon, although be warned that many a Sunday lunch has turned into a Sunday session we have paid for on Monday morning.