First, get your Argentinian beef; then keep it the best side of obscenely bloody

My friend Martin, who is without doubt the most food-obsessed person I know, e-mailed me recently to say that he had managed to locate a source of the Argentinian cut of beef known as picanha, or "rump cap". I had never heard of this dubious-sounding delicacy, but Martin assured me that, in South America, there is no more highly prized cut of meat. The picanha cost £11.99 per kilo. To save on delivery costs, Martin explained, it made sense for him to buy in bulk. Did I want to reserve some? I was hardly going to turn down the chance to try the most highly prized cut of beef from the country reputed to have the best beef in the world. Nor, given the weakness of the Argentinian peso, did it seem possible that I could fail to get a bargain.

A fortnight later, I travelled up to Martin's flat in north London where, from his fridge, he produced seven or eight vacuum-sealed packs, which he proceeded to lay out on his sitting-room floor. Each was roughly ten inches long, six inches wide and a mere two inches thick; the whole of one side was covered with an impressive coating of fat. In Britain, Martin explained, the picanha is not detached from the main portion of the rump, which means that when you buy, say, a rump steak, you may get a bit of picanha mixed in, but what you'll mostly get is bog-standard rump meat. Martin put the two pieces I'd selected on a pair of kitchen scales and, after a swift calculation, named his price. I wrote out a cheque, and made my way back to south London feeling as if I'd just taken part in a contraband deal.

In Argentina, the picanha is skewered, roasted over an open fire and regularly basted with brine during cooking. It didn't seem possible to replicate this in my kitchen, so I opted for the more convenient - if less authentic - route of oven roasting. My main concern was not to cook the picanha for too long; it would be a pity, after all, to serve the best beef in the world well done. After 25 minutes in a 180-degree (gas mark five) oven, I tested the centre with a knife and, feeling it not to be totally cold, decided that this was enough.

As it happened, the timing couldn't have been better. The meat was just on the right side of that elusive boundary between perfect and obscenely bloody. Apart from its unbelievable tenderness, the most striking thing about it was the fat, which poured off it in vast quantities during cooking and which, spooned over the thinly cut slices, was much, much better than any gravy. At a top London butcher, you can pay twice as much for beef only half this good. I know where I'll be purchasing my beef in future - from Fraser Harris Foods of Etchingham, East Sussex (tel: 01580 819 672).

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