Eat the Match: Argentina vs Algeria

Asado and couscous — two countries, two fires, one table that has no business being this good.

Group Stage · Kansas City · June 16, 2026 · Gusto

Argentina and Algeria have met once in a World Cup. It was 1982. Algeria won 2-1 in one of the tournament's great upsets and became the first African nation to beat a former world champion. Argentina recovered, reached the final, and lost to Italy. Algeria did not advance from the group. The result stood.

Tonight they meet again at Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas City.

I am making asado and couscous, because I have been waiting for an excuse to put both of these things on the same table and the World Cup has provided one.

The Argentine asado is not a recipe. It is a practice, a tradition, an afternoon, a set of unspoken understandings about fire and beef and time that Argentines inherit rather than learn. I am going to give you a version of it that does not require a parrilla or a wood fire or a four-hour afternoon in Buenos Aires — but I am not going to pretend what we are doing is the same thing. What we are doing is a respectful approximation.

The Algerian couscous is a specific thing. Not couscous the grain poured from a box and microwaved. Couscous the dish — hand-rolled semolina, steamed three times over a spiced lamb and vegetable broth until each grain is light and separate and has absorbed exactly what it needs.

The Argentine side — asado-style short ribs.

The asado begins with the fire. The wood is lit early — charcoal in a pinch, but wood if you can manage it, lit two hours before the meat goes on. The Argentine gaucho waits for the fire to settle into embers, never flames, because it is the embers that give even, consistent heat. Flames give you char. Embers give you cooking.

The cuts of asado are specific: tira de asado (short ribs cut thin across the bone), vacío (flank), matambre (thin rolled flank), achuras (offal — kidneys, sweetbreads, blood sausage). The seasoning is salt. Sea salt, applied liberally, directly to the meat, before it goes on the grill. Nothing else — no marinade, no rub, no sauce. The Argentine position on sauce is that if you need sauce, the meat is insufficient. The meat at a proper asado is not insufficient.

What I am giving you today is tira de asado — short ribs cut across the bone, thin, which produces the cross-section of bone you may have seen in Argentine restaurants. They are cooked low and slow over indirect heat, fat-side up, until the fat renders and the collagen begins to break down, and then flipped briefly to char. The result is beef that has given up everything unnecessary and kept only what matters.

If you do not have a grill: a heavy cast-iron pan and an oven will produce something respectable. I am not going to pretend it is the same. It is not the same. But it is worth doing.

Ingredients

Method

  1. Make the chimichurri at least 2 hours ahead — overnight is better. Combine all ingredients and stir. Taste. The vinegar should be assertive, the garlic present, the herbs abundant. This is a living sauce — it improves as the flavors marry. Do not put it in a blender. It is a rough sauce. Rough is the point.
  2. Season the short ribs generously with sea salt and cracked pepper on both sides. Let them sit at room temperature for 45 minutes. Cold meat on a hot grill is the enemy of even cooking.
  3. Grill method: prepare your grill for indirect heat — coals on one side, meat on the other. Cook fat-side up over indirect heat for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until the fat is rendered and the ribs are tender when pierced. In the last 10 minutes, move them directly over the coals and char briefly, fat-side down first, then flipping. The fat will flare. This is expected. Manage it.
  4. Oven method: heat the oven to 160°C (320°F). Place the ribs on a wire rack over a roasting tray. Roast for 1.5 to 2 hours until deeply colored and tender. Finish under a hot grill (broiler) for 4 minutes to char the surface.
  5. Rest for 10 minutes. Serve with chimichurri alongside — not over the meat. The chimichurri is a condiment, not a sauce. It accompanies. It does not smother.

On the chimichurri: Chimichurri is parsley, garlic, vinegar, oil, and oregano. It is not a vehicle for creativity. The version with sun-dried tomatoes, the version with roasted peppers, the version with mango — these are other things. They are not chimichurri. Make the correct one.

The Algerian side — couscous with braised lamb.

Algerian couscous is not the 10-minute couscous from a box. I am not saying that to be difficult. I am saying it because the dish called couscous — the one served at weddings, at family lunches, at the Friday table across North Africa — is a different thing entirely from pre-cooked semolina soaked in boiling water.

Traditional couscous grains are hand-rolled from fine semolina, moistened, and steamed three times over the broth they will eventually be served with. Each steaming — each couscoussière pass — dries the grains slightly, separates them, and lets them expand without clumping. By the third steam, the grains are light, individual, and have absorbed the aromas of everything cooking below them in the pot.

I understand that the couscoussière (a traditional double-pot steamer) is not a piece of equipment most people own. A colander lined with cheesecloth set over a pot of simmering broth is an acceptable improvisation. What is not acceptable is skipping the steaming entirely. Boiled or soaked couscous has a different texture, a heavier character, and none of the lightness that makes the dish what it is.

Ingredients

Method

  1. Brown the lamb. Season the pieces with salt and pepper. In a large heavy pot or couscoussière base, heat the olive oil over high heat. Brown the lamb pieces in batches — deeply colored on all sides, 3 to 4 minutes per side. Do not crowd the pot. Remove and set aside.
  2. In the same pot over medium heat, cook the onion until soft, about 8 minutes. Add the garlic, then all the spices, and stir for 60 seconds until fragrant. Add the tomato paste and stir for 1 minute. Add the crushed tomatoes, stock, and the tied coriander bunch. Return the lamb to the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a steady simmer. Cover and cook for 1 hour.
  3. Add the carrots and turnips (they need the most time). After 20 minutes, add the zucchini and squash. After another 15 minutes, add the chickpeas. The total braise time from this point is about 40 minutes — the lamb should be falling-tender and the vegetables yielding.
  4. While the lamb braises, prepare the couscous. Place the dry couscous in a wide, shallow bowl. Combine the warm salted water with the olive oil. Pour over the couscous, stir once, then spread evenly and leave for 5 minutes. The grains will begin to swell.
  5. Break up any clumps with your fingertips — work quickly and lightly. Place the couscous in a colander lined with dampened cheesecloth (or in the top of a couscoussière). Set it over the simmering broth pot — the steam from below will rise through the grains. Steam uncovered for 15 minutes. The couscous should look dry on top when it is ready. Return it to the bowl.
  6. Moisten with a ladleful of warm broth (about 150ml). Work the broth in with your fingertips, breaking up clumps. Steam a second time for 10 minutes. Return to the bowl, moisten again with another ladle of broth. Steam a third time for 8 minutes. The couscous is now done — each grain separate, light, and saturated with the flavor of the broth.
  7. To serve: mound the couscous on a large platter. Arrange the lamb pieces and vegetables over the top. Ladle broth generously over everything and serve the remaining broth in a bowl alongside for people to add as they eat.
Argentina tends its fire for four hours. Algeria tends its pot for three. Both arrive at the same place: something that could not have been rushed.

Two traditions of patience — expressed through completely different fires.

The Argentine asado and the Algerian couscous have one thing in common that no recipe can manufacture: time. The asado requires low, patient heat over embers — rushing it produces a tough, charred exterior over a cold interior. The couscous requires three steamings over a slowly evolving broth — skipping any of them produces a dense, clumped grain that has absorbed nothing. Both dishes are built on the understanding that the ingredient will give you what you want, but only when you give it the time it needs. This is not a culinary philosophy. It is physics. The collagen in the lamb shoulder does not break down at high heat quickly. The starch in the couscous grain does not swell and dry correctly in a single steam. The fat in the short rib does not render in twenty minutes. Everything in both of these dishes takes as long as it takes. This is not a problem. It is the character of the dish.