Goya sits on the banks of the Paraná River, and the water shapes everything on the plate here. Surubí, dorado, and boga are the stars of nearly every serious meal in town — grilled whole over quebracho wood, served with nothing more than a squeeze of lemon and a pile of yuca frita. At the family-run parrillas along the costanera, you'll find fishermen and families sharing the same plastic tables, which is always a good sign.

The city's mercado municipal on Avenida San Martín is where Goya really shows its hand. Vendors arrive before dawn with fresh river catch, homemade chipá, and dense, sticky arrope de tuna — a fig-cactus syrup locals drizzle over almost everything. The tortilla de campo, a thick cornmeal flatbread cooked on a clay griddle, is the kind of humble thing you'll find yourself thinking about weeks after you've left. Pick one up warm, wrapped in paper, for almost nothing.

For something more structured, head to one of the modest comedores tucked into the residential streets away from the waterfront. Locro appears on winter menus with near-religious devotion — a slow-cooked stew of corn, squash, and fatty cuts of pork that tastes like the interior of Argentina in a single bowl. Wash it down with a locally produced tereré blend from a vendor on the plaza, and you'll understand exactly why Correntino food inspires such fierce, quiet loyalty among the people who grew up eating it.