Provoleta

A disc of provolone, a screaming hot pan, and ninety seconds where it looks like it is about to become a disaster.

Provoleta is the first thing off the fire at an Argentine asado, before any meat, while people are still standing up with a drink. A thick round of provolone cooked until the outside is a crust and the inside has gone to liquid, scattered with oregano and chili and oil, eaten immediately with bread. The whole thing takes about four minutes and most of that is waiting.

What you need

A disc of provolone, three quarters of an inch to an inch thick and about four inches across. Thinner than that and it collapses before a crust forms. Ask a deli counter to cut it from a whole provolone; pre-sliced will not work.

Dry aged provolone, not a fresh mozzarella-style cheese. In Argentina it is sold specifically for this. A firm provolone piccante from an Italian grocer is the closest thing, and close enough.

A small cast-iron pan, the same size as the cheese or barely bigger. Much bigger and the cheese spreads out into a puddle.

The method

Leave the cheese out for half an hour. Cold cheese cracks and weeps instead of melting evenly.

Get the pan properly hot — over coals, over a burner, under a broiler. Hot enough that a drop of water skitters. No oil in the pan.

Cheese in. Do not touch it. It will spread slightly, hiss, then start releasing oil, and you will be certain it is going wrong. It is not going wrong. Ninety seconds, maybe two minutes, until the underside has set into a dark golden crust that lifts cleanly.

Flip once, with a thin spatula and some conviction. Thirty to sixty seconds on the second side — less than the first, because the cheese is already soft and a long second side is how you end up with soup.

Off the heat. Oregano, chili, a good pour of olive oil while it is still spitting. Para Pizza is exactly that mix and is what an Argentine kitchen would reach for; a spoonful of Ají Molido on top if you want it warmer.

Eat it now. Provoleta does not keep, does not travel from pan to plate well, and is a completely different and much worse thing after five minutes. Bring the bread to the pan.

Where it goes wrong

The pan was not hot enough, so the cheese melted before it crusted and you have a pan of oil. The cheese was too thin. The cheese was fresh rather than aged, so it split. You flipped too early and half of it stayed behind.

All four are the same failure: not enough nerve. It is supposed to look alarming for about a minute.

Variations worth having

Tomato and oregano on top for the last thirty seconds, which is the provoleta a la pizza everyone orders. Rosemary instead of oregano, better if lamb is coming afterwards. A spoonful of chimichurri, which is not traditional and is very good.