Parrillas in the mist

A bad bus journey followed by a night having my face mauled by a savage pack of mosquitoes has left me less than enamored with Montevideo. It may be Uruguay's capital city, but old town Monty feels like the most rundown parts of Buenos Aires. But, the ciudad vieja does hold what must be the BBQ-lovers mecca - the Mercado del Puerto.
This is a covered market a stone's throw from Montevideo's port, now filled with parrillas instead of market stalls. The flagstone floor holds up wooden bars surrounded by stools at the centres of which are the slanting grills over wood burning fires. I take a seat at the coalface, it's a little warm, but I want to see all the action. For those not wanting to singe their eyelashes there are plenty of tables at this particularly upscale parrilla called El Palenque.
I'm buzzing with all the activity, it's a relatively small space and I watch trays of fresh fish being shuttled to workstations. The BBQ-maestro tosses a log into the fire at one end of the grills, this is burned for hours and the embers are chipped away with a scythe-like implement and shuffled underneath the steaks and fish. Nothing escapes the subsequent fire power, whole chickens roast, sausages spit and curl, fish sits up top next to potatoes and a whole charring butternut squash.
This is more than just a steak house and there's plenty of Spanish heritage in the menu. First up, I try a fat and crispy chorizo pimiento - a paprika spicy sausage. Orangey red inside with hunks of mauve fat, this is a traditional Spanish-style sausage. It's grilled within an inch of inedibly-burned and has the warm smokey tones of the grill. I love the way the sausage is dense and firm to cut, it's so much more robust than an English sausage. The meat is less ground, retaining the fibrous quality of fresh cuts of meat. Its picante spices tingle my tongue and lips satisfyingly - I'd be happy to eat five.
I'm still chewing the fat (literally) when my paella dish arrives bursting with yellowed rice and squid. I can pretty much smell the Atlantic from my seat, so I am hoping that's a good nod to the freshness of the squid. It's darker and saucier than its Spanish compadre and heavy with paprika and garlic. It's a little too oily, but the purple rings of squid are soft, not at all rubbery, with a reassuring tentacle count. They]ve used a heavy stock and lots of oil making this quite rich for seafood. It's tasty, though I only manage a plateful rather than the whole paella dish I've been assigned.
Some salted flattened chicken breasts are slapped on the grill as a guitarist starts churning out some Uruguayan country songs. The bar fills up with grey moustacheod, steak-paunched old men. Uruguay may share a lot in cultural-common with its neighbour Argentina, but it´s starting to reveal its identity as the bar joins to chorus the guitarist´s tune.
It might be the Uruguayan Tannat I'm being plied with or the favourable exchange rate (this meal comes in under £15), but I think I might be warming to Montevideo after all.