La Cascada, Escazú ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
The Most Biased Review I'll Ever Write — And I Don't Care
Some restaurants feed the stomach. La Cascada feeds something deeper.
I’ve been coming here since 1982. I was just a kid when this place became etched in my memory forever—the smell of charcoal and grilled meat, the sizzle of meat on the grill, the distinctive sound of this kitchen, which doesn’t sound like any other kitchen in Costa Rica. More than forty years later, I walk in and feel as if I never left.
I always sit at Table 1. Always. That’s where I used to sit with my dad, who died sixteen years ago. No one tells me to sit there. I just do it. Some habits aren’t just habits—they’re rituals.
Beto is still here. Alberto—who shares my name—is the last waiter from the old guard, the one who remembers when this place was at its best. When he brings the food, he’s not just a waiter. He’s living history. He’s proof that some things—the good ones—last.
A Place That Died and Came Back to Life
Don Guillermo built something special here. The original owner, the patriarch of La Cascada, is no longer with us—and a few years ago, the building followed suit. It was torn down, remodeled, and changed hands. For anyone who loves a restaurant the way I love this one, that news breaks your heart.
But here's what happened next: they did it right.
The new management has kept the spirit alive. The recipes are similar—not identical, nothing is after forty years—but close enough that when that churrasco arrives at the table, something inside you recognizes it. The atmosphere is still there. The warmth is still there. Beto is still there. Some things can survive a demolition if the people taking over truly care. These people care.
Don Guillermo would approve. I think.
What I Ate
The National Churrasco, 300 grams —and if you come here and order anything else, I’m honestly sorry. This is Costa Rican beef done right. No gimmicks, no fancy sauces trying to hide anything. Just meat, fire, and decades of knowing exactly what they’re doing.
It comes with a baked potato that does the job perfectly, plantains in syrup —sweet, tender, caramelized—that provide that essential contrast to the meat, and beans that taste like Grandma made them, because frankly, she probably did. And then there are the handmade tortillas. Hot. Fresh. The kind that make you realize that everything you’ve been eating out of a bag your whole life was a lie.
Plan to spend between ₡15,000 and ₡20,000. For this quality, this story, and this experience—it’s a steal.
The Environment
Familiar. Warm. Nostalgic in the best possible way—not the fake kind of nostalgia, not the manufactured vintage aesthetic of some new place trying to look old. La Cascada *IS* old. It earned every year on those walls.
This is one of Costa Rica’s oldest and most classic steakhouses. There’s no flashy neon sign screaming for your attention. There’s no Instagram-worthy moment staged just for you. Just good food, honest service, and the quiet dignity of a place that refused to fade away even as everything around it changed.
Am I biased?
Completely. Without shame. Without apology.
I’m biased because my dad sat at Table 1 with me. I’m biased because Beto has been serving this dish longer than some of my readers have been alive. I’m biased because when I take that first bite of churrasco, I’m eight years old again, and the world is simple and good.
But here's the thing about being biased—sometimes it just means you recognize something real when you see it.
The Waterfall died and came back. So did my love for her.
Come on over. Sit wherever you like. But Table 1 is mine. 🤘
La Cascada · Escazú, Costa Rica · New management, same spirit · Ask for Beto
La Cascada, Calle 108, Palermo, San Rafael, Escazú, San José, San José Province, 10203, Costa Rica