The Peruvian, Buenos Aires, Argentina

If you find yourself in staying Kilca Guesthouse in the Montserrat neighborhood of Buenos Aires, you’re already doing well for yourself. You’re walking distance to the famed neighborhood of San Telmo, the seediness of Avenida Indepedencia and a great pool hall incorrectly spelled Mouling Rouge — you’re in for a treat. If, however, you’ve gone the safer route and simply chosen to drink liters of Quilmes on the sidewalk of Bar Yrigoyen while looking at the National Congress building, you’re still doing all right.

But now that you’re in this neighborhood, you’re having a late dinner at The Peruvian. It’s important to note, there is nothing Peruvian about this place. Not the food, or the owners, nothing. The name simply stuck when someone walked into Kilca and called it that based on the darker skin of the owners, diminutive height of the servers and slow Spanish more reminiscent of Peru than the haughty castellano of the Porteños that live in Buenos Aires.

It’s not an insult: The restaurant is called San Rafael and is on Saenz Pena between Belgrano and Venezuela (streets). It’s lovely, I don’t know that it’s open all night but they’ve never asked us to leave even when the birds come out, but it never hurts when you go in with a group of 15 that are easily accommodated. Table-made sangria is the order of the night —glass bottles of soda water, ice buckets and $3 bottles of Carcasonne wine.

The food is average and Argentine. So, it’s average twice if not talking about steak. Milanesas, empanadas and a mixed menu, but it’s 3 a.m., you’ve been drinking and you need something. Often you’ve got your fill and think you’re leaving, a fleet of taxis arrives outside. The drivers all open their trunks, pull out varied instruments and the improvised Tuesday night 3 a.m. jam session of Salta folk music has begun.

Don’t try to find it online. It’s there, sign says San Rafael but it’s the Peruvian.