Milion spreads across three floors, the garden and the terrace of a somewhat palatial residence dating from 1913. From what I read, the two kids who inherited it, penniless, decided in 1999 to turn it into a hip bar & restaurant, and did a pretty good job at it. And after driving past the closed-even-though-it-said-open-online 467 on Tacuari, and going on a bit of an operatic odyssey with a crazy, musical BA cabbie, it provided us with a very enjoyable dining experience from 11 at night until 1:30 in the morning. And a pretty spectacular hangover at that. Note to self: don’t stay out late boozing if your in-laws are arriving early the next day, especially if you’ve already polished off a bottle of white over a late lunch.
The entryway is marked by a large wooden carriage door (you’ll easily find it by the giant psychedelic fluorescent jellyfish in the shop window to the left) which leads to either the garden way out back, or to the stairs to the upper floors. Nobody picked up the phone, and the waiters & bar staff we encountered seemed a bit, uh, confused as to exactly what we wanted (a table and a drink at the bar while we waited for our table) but once it was cleared up that I’d better directly tell the barkeep exactly what kind of a martini I wanted (don’t you dare pollute good vodka with vermouth any more than you have to) and that we needed to pick up our drinks ourselves, things sorta worked themselves out. Our waiter in the end was nice and friendly, but you can tell it’s sort of an “in” place.
Apparently they project indie movies against the back courtyard walls, and rent out the white salons on the top floor for artsy events, and the atmosphere on the balcony out back was really really cool. We were there on a warm summer night and man, this is what I imagine by living the good life in South America.
They screwed up my order (salmon is not the same as tuna, but in all fairness, it was indicated as “fish of the day” on my menu and “atún” on Karin’s, and I do occasionally forget that, good life or not, this is South America. After all that, it was good salmon. And I got to rib the poor waiter over it all the way through to dessert.
I guess the way to deal with places like this is to do what we did, i.e. walk in like you own the joint and don’t take no for an answer. Confuse them and keep them confused and you’ll have a great evening. The starters (langoustine carpaccio and some sort of baked salmon mousse) were excellent, and while I’ve had better food than the main courses here, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Except that it was the wrong fish, but hey, even Millionaires aren’t perfect.
Milion
Parana 1048
+56 11 4815 9925
p.s.: speaking of the 647, I’m actually kinda glad it was closed. As I read while leafing through a copy of TimeOut Buenos Aires during an important business meeting, it turns out it’s a couple of British “wide boys” (their words — apparently it means “dudes with a bunch of cash”, although in my neighborhood, a wide boy is something entirely different) who tried to put together something exclusive, super-upscale, VIP, did I mention exclusive (the article did, about 8 times, very fawningly, won’t someone please give them a membership so they’ll stop?)
To be honest, the English seem to have a thing about making themselves feel important by excluding other people from their treehouse club. I’ve seen enough of this “exclusive” juenile limey snob shit in London for one continent, nevermind for el mundo nuevo. Maybe Karin’s right, and I shouldn’t go off on a place before having seen it, but if a restaurant owner lets himself be quoted about how “not just anyone can join”, my republican sentiments go storming off in a huff. Not a place that would want my money, and not one that I really feel any need to give it to.
So if 647′s closed, or they’re being elite and hiding, or won’t let you in the door, go to a place where the facade doesn’t look like Ricky the Ferret is selling boosted TVs out the back door. Try Milion instead; they’re nice people.
