You’ll join locals on a Mendoza rooftop for an asado barbecue cooking class—with empanada-making, plenty of Malbec wine, smoky meats grilled over wood fire, and a final Fernet & Coke toast as city lights glow below. Expect laughter, new friends around the table, and flavors you’ll remember long after you leave Argentina.
Yes—a vegetarian option is available if you ask when booking.
The central location is easily reached by Uber or public transport.
Yes—the experience includes tasting local Mendoza wines throughout dinner.
If weather is bad, dinner moves indoors to the living room downstairs.
Yes—infants can attend but must sit on an adult’s lap during dinner.
You’ll need to climb two flights of stairs to reach the rooftop terrace.
Yes—public transportation options are available close to the location.
You’ll make empanadas together; enjoy chorizo, morcilla (blood sausage), pork matambre, beef cuts; plus sauces, bread, dessert and drinks.
Your evening includes hands-on empanada making with your host in central Mendoza, generous pours of local Malbec wine throughout dinner, grilled meats like chorizo and matambre cooked over wood fire on a rooftop terrace (or indoors if needed), plus beer, water, bread with sauces—and finishes with Fernet & Coke before dessert.
I’ll never forget that first step onto the terrace in Mendoza—two flights up, a bit out of breath (I blame the altitude), and suddenly there’s this wide view: city lights flickering below, Andes just catching the last bit of sun. Our host, Martín, waved us over like we were old friends. The air smelled like wood smoke and something rich—meat already sizzling somewhere out of sight. I’d expected good food but didn’t realize how much the setting would matter. It felt like being let in on a secret.
We started with empanadas—Martín handed me dough and showed me how to pinch the edges just so. Mine looked pretty lopsided; he grinned and said they’d taste fine anyway. There was laughter from the others around the table (someone else had managed to split theirs open entirely). While we waited for the coals to be ready for the asado, we nibbled on those empanadas, still warm, washing them down with Malbec that tasted deeper than anything I’d tried at home. The wine kept coming—nobody seemed in a hurry.
When Martín finally brought out the chorizo and morcilla (I hesitated at first—blood sausage isn’t my usual thing), he explained each cut and why it mattered. The meat was smoky and tender; I swear I can still remember that first bite of matambre. There was bread for soaking up juices, little bowls of sauces, even beer if you wanted to switch things up. At some point someone asked about Fernet & Coke—Martín laughed and said it’s basically required here before dessert.
By then it was dark and cooler outside, but nobody wanted to move indoors. We toasted with Fernet (it’s weirdly herbal but grows on you) and swapped stories until late. I keep thinking about that night—the way everyone relaxed into themselves after a few glasses, how easy it was to talk even if you barely knew each other before dinner. It wasn’t really about recipes or technique; it was more like being welcomed into someone’s life for an evening—and yeah, maybe eating too much meat.
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