There's this scene in Netflix's El Eternauta where Juan Salvo and his friends are sitting around playing Truco on what turns out to be their last normal evening before the world goes sideways. It's one of those perfectly mundane moments that hits different when you know what's coming—four guys around a table, cards in hand, talking trash and calling each other's bluffs while radioactive snow starts falling outside.
If you've never watched El Eternauta, go fix that immediately. The show's based on Héctor Germán Oesterheld's legendary comic from the 1950s, and both the original and the adaptation nail that sense of ordinary people facing extraordinary circumstances. But if you have, you probably remember that scene and wondered: what exactly are they playing? How does this game work that seems so central to Argentine culture that the writers made it the backdrop for humanity's final moments of normalcy?
Truco is Argentina's national card game, and it's simultaneously the most straightforward and most psychologically brutal thing you've never played. I spent way too much time figuring this out after watching that show, and honestly? I'm still not sure I fully get all the cultural nuances, but I can at least explain how not to embarrass yourself if you ever find yourself at a table.
The Cards and Their Weird Hierarchy
First things first: you need a Spanish deck, which is just a regular deck with the 8s, 9s, and 10s removed. Each player gets three cards. You're trying to win two out of three rounds to take the hand. Games go to 30 points (though you can play shorter games to 15). Simple enough.
Except the card rankings make absolutely no sense if you're used to normal games. The highest card is the Ace of Swords (Spades), called "el macho." Then comes the Ace of Clubs ("la hembra"), then the Seven of Swords ("el siete bravo"), then the Seven of Clubs. These four cards beat everything else and they're not even close.
Below that it gets weirder:
- All the Threes beat everything except those four special cards
- Then all the Twos
- Then the remaining Aces (Cups and Coins - these are called "anchos falsos")
- Then the face cards (Kings, Jacks), then other Sevens, Sixes, Fives, Fours
I asked an Argentine friend why this hierarchy exists and he just shrugged and said "porque sĂ" (because yes). That's apparently a legitimate answer in Truco.
How You Actually Play
Let's say you get dealt a King of Cups, Seven of Swords, and Five of Coins. You've got one of the big four, so you're not completely screwed.
Your opponent plays first—throws down a Three of Swords. You could use your Seven of Swords to beat it, but maybe you want to save that nuclear option. So you toss the Five and lose this round. No big deal.
Second round, they play a Jack. You drop your King and win. 1-1.
Third round is where it gets interesting. They play some random Ace (not one of the special ones). You smile, drop your Seven of Swords, and win the hand.
But here's the thing—at any point during this whole process, either of you could have said "Truco!" and everything changes.
The Betting Chaos
"Truco!" means "I think I'm going to win this hand and I want it to be worth more points." Normal hands are worth 1 point. Truco makes it worth 2. Your opponent can either fold immediately (give you 1 point), accept the challenge by saying "Quiero" (I want it), or raise you.
The escalation goes:
- "Retruco!" raises it to 3 points
- "Vale cuatro!" makes it worth 4
But here's the key: you have to say "Quiero" first before you can raise. So if someone calls Truco, you say "Quiero Retruco!" The person who accepted the last bet gets to decide whether to raise again. It's like a very specific poker betting structure that everyone takes seriously.
You could be sitting there with decent cards, opponent calls Truco, you think they're bluffing so you call "Quiero Retruco," they go "Quiero Vale cuatro," and now you're staring at a 4-point hand wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.
And unlike Envido, you can call Truco at any point during the hand—middle of the second round, right before the final card, whenever you feel like applying pressure.
Envido: Because One Betting System Wasn't Enough
Before you play any cards, there's this whole other betting system called Envido that's based on how many points your cards are worth. You add up cards of the same suit (numbered cards at face value, face cards worth zero), and if you have two cards of the same suit you add 20.
So Seven of Swords plus Five of Swords equals 32 points (20 + 7 + 5). King of Cups plus Three of Cups equals 23 (20 + 0 + 3). If all your cards are different suits, you just count your highest card. Maximum possible is 33 (Ace + Seven + 20 of the same suit).
The betting goes:
- Envido: 2 points
- Real Envido: 3 points
- Falta Envido: however many points the leading team needs to win
Here's the catch: Envido can only happen at the very beginning, before anyone plays their first card. Miss that window and you're stuck with just the regular Truco betting.
And here's where it gets psychological—you have to declare your Envido total out loud if someone calls it. The person with the highest total wins. But if you know you can't win, you can just say "son buenas" (they're good) instead of revealing your actual number. Smart players use this to hide information about their cards before the main game starts.
When It All Goes Wrong (Or Right)
Picture this: You're dealt Ace of Swords, Three of Coins, Jack of Cups. That's the best card in the game plus a strong Three.
Your opponent immediately calls "Envido!"
Your Envido total is just 3 (the Three of Coins, since your other cards are different suits). Terrible. But you've got "el macho" burning a hole in your hand for the actual card-playing part.
Do you:
- Accept the Envido bet and definitely lose 2 points but set up for Truco later?
- Fold the Envido immediately and save yourself points?
- Call Real Envido and bluff that you've got a monster hand?
The smart play is probably folding, but I've learned that "smart" and "fun" aren't always the same thing in Truco. Plus, if you win the hand decisively with that Ace of Swords, the psychological impact might be worth the Envido points you lose.
This is the kind of decision you make in about three seconds while everyone watches your face for tells.
The Part Nobody Warns You About
The rules are just the framework. The real game is reading people and managing information.
When someone calls Truco immediately after looking at their cards, what does that mean? Could be amazing cards, could be trash cards and they're hoping you fold, could be they're testing your reaction to see what you're holding.
You make these decisions based on incomplete information while everyone's watching your face for tells. And you have maybe five seconds to decide before people start getting impatient.
I thought I was decent at reading people until I played Truco with some guys from Buenos Aires. Turns out there's a whole level of psychological warfare I didn't even know existed. One guy convinced me to fold what would have been a winning hand just by the way he said "Quiero" (I accept). Not louder, not softer, just... different. I still don't know what I heard in his voice, but it worked.
Why Bother Learning This
Look, I'm not going to tell you Truco will change your life or make you a better person. But it's one of those games that forces you to get good at making decisions with incomplete information while someone's actively trying to mess with your head. Those are useful skills.
Plus, if you ever find yourself in Argentina, knowing Truco is like having a key to the culture. I've watched strangers become friends over a game that started with mutual trash-talking and ended with everyone sharing stories and phone numbers.
And honestly? In our world of algorithmic matchmaking and digital everything, there's something refreshing about a game that requires you to look someone in the eye and decide if they're lying to your face.
The rules I've explained here will get you started, but don't expect to be good immediately. I've been playing for two years and I still get absolutely destroyed by anyone who grew up with the game. There's a level of cultural knowledge—when to bluff, how to read micro-expressions, what trash talk crosses the line—that only comes from experience.
But that's part of the fun. Every game teaches you something new about both the cards and the people you're playing with. It's a great excuse to hang out with friends and an awesome way to kill time, like if you're waiting for the asado to be done or stuck somewhere with nothing but a deck of cards and too much wine.
I've played in kitchen tables that turned into philosophical debates about life, on camping trips where we used bottle caps as score markers, and in bars where the loser had to buy the next round. The game scales to whatever situation you throw it into, which is probably why it survived this long as a cultural institution.