A chivito is an Uruguayan sandwich that could give a Philadelphia cheese steak a run for its money -- that is, if you're talking about potential to become a fast-food classic. And if you're talking about size, a chivito could leave a Philly in the dust, along with the rest of Pennsylvania.
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305-864-5566. Open Monday through Thursday noon to 11:00 p.m., Friday and Saturday noon to 1:00 a.m., Sunday noon to midnight.
6987 Collins Ave, Miami Beach
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The name translates as "little goat," but the sandwich has nothing at all to do with goat meat. Reportedly it was invented some 40 years ago by Punta del Este restaurateur Antonio Carbonaro. During a blackout a customer who ordered goat was given beef and ham instead -- but in the darkness couldn't tell the difference. The customer loved it, and a legend was born.
When served open-faced (to allow individualized garnishing at the table, common at family-style Uruguayan banquets but not the practice at El Rey del Chivito), chivitos can include almost anything from corn and peas to pickled eggplant and fried onion rings. But the basic chivitoCanadiense contains steak -- various cuts, usually pounded -- plus ham, cheese, fried eggs, roasted red peppers, tomato, lettuce, and mayonnaise. It's served between two halves of a big toasted baguette. To counteract any possible health-food taint from the romaine lettuce and tomatoes (which were truly ripe, something even most upscale restaurants can't seem to manage), El Rey's Canadiense comes with a hefty order of delectably greasy French fries. No wonder it's also known as "heart attack on a plate."
It's also possible to get a chicken chivito, according to the menu. But this wasn't available on either of two visits. In fact none of the menu's chicken dishes were. Neither were several sausage specials. But the beef was so beautifully done that the lack of other listed meat options was only a minor annoyance. The Canadiense's steak slice, skillfully pounded to retain just enough interesting chewiness, was well done but ideally tender, neither mushy like many pounded steaks nor, like many thin palomillas, shoe leather. The same was true of El Rey's churrasco. While the tenderized flank steak came medium rather than rare as ordered, it arrived dripping with juices that soaked into the mountain of fries underneath. There was no chimichurri, but the steak itself was flavorful enough that the herb dip wasn't missed. And there were, at least, a few lemon wedges to cut the fat.
Diners at El Rey, however, did not seem overly concerned with fat content. Observing other tables, the most popular dishes, aside from chivitos, were huge platters of fried eggs and ham (on top of fries); hot dogs topped with mozzarella, ham, and bacon; and the Milanesa Napolitana "Rey," a breaded, deep-fried steak with ham, cheese, and fried eggs, all atop fries.
Some dishes come with simple lettuce, tomato, and onion salads, also available à la carte. And there's a starter of palmitos con salsa golf, but the hearts of palm are those soggy canned numbers, not crisp fresh ones; and the salsa golf, or pink sauce, is just ketchup-spiked mayonnaise. Otherwise salads are basically starch assortments, like the Rusa, described as "garden" but consisting of mayo-dressed potatoes, carrots, and peas.
Still, everything was very tasty and very low-priced. On the entire menu, only the $10.90 Milanesa Napolitana broke double digits. El Rey del Chivito was packed, even though it is newly opened, received no media hype, and is hidden behind construction scaffolding. The people have spoken.
