Uruguay is far from Canada. But El Charrua Sports Bar, north of the 401, at the outer reaches of the Centre of the Universe, seemed farther still. My friend and I arrived at a dumpy strip mall that it turned out was slated for demolition in a week. But we were in luck, as our Uruguayan-flagged hole in the wall was still open for business.

El Charrua, I’m certain, is Spanish for “man-cave”. The exterior pavement was festooned with cigarette butts, and the interior featured a map of the small country bordering Argentina and Brazil, framed football jerseys, and furnishings straight out of church basement. Until I was proven wrong later on when a couple of ladies entered with their husbands, I was certain no woman had ever seen the inside of this bar. 

We were clearly strangers there, and got strange looks from the dozen patrons when we entered. Once we explained our quest, however, the proprietor affably recommended the steaks that came with salad and fresh bread. Very basic, but good, especially the savoury house chimichurri sauce.

The game playing on the screen was the Argentinian Superclásico featuring arch rivals Boca Juniors and River Plate. We were treated to a muttered “Fue penal’!” from one of the tables as a River player was brought down inside the penalty area without the referee pointing to the spot. Boca scored first, but River equalized with a stunning gol hermano from a free kick that curled over the wall. “Juaaaan RRRRRomaaaan RRRRiquelllllmmeeeeee!” yelled the GOLTV announcer, along with a gush of other hispanic superlatives praising the scorer. And, naturalmente, when River scored late in the second half for the win, “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!”