Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [127]
Even the ubiquitous beach vendors respect the laid-back mood, pushing their jewelry, sunglasses, press-on tattoos, pareos, and other goods only when someone shows interest. The four of us pass on everything except the charcoal-grilled cheese, sold by guys who lug around a hibachi loaded with glowing coals and a small ice chest holding thick slices of a Halloumi-like cheese on a stick. They sear the outside of the cheese over the fire and serve it warm, with an herb coating or a hot sauce if you wish. “Now this is what people are meant to eat,” Mary tells Bill.
After our first outing on the beach, a short tree-lined block from the hotel, we take a taxi to the top of the town. The view from Corcovado Hill, towering 2,300 feet above the coast, astounds us and everyone around us—except maybe the ones trying to take in everything through the lens of a video recorder—and confirms our impression that Rio enjoys the most spectacular natural setting of any city we’ve ever visited. Though other mountains block part of the perspective to the south, you can see all of the striking Guanabara Bay, the Centro, Sugar Loaf Mountain, the principal beaches, dozens of residential areas, including some of the favela slums, and of course, rising another one hundred feet above you, Brazil’s most famous postcard image, the art deco statue of Christ spreading his arms wide to embrace the faithful. Even the ride up and down thrills our crew, winding around the humpback contour that gives the peak its name through the world’s largest urban forest, the Tijuca National Park, an immense jungle that makes New York’s Central Park seem like a suburban backyard.
When we return from the heights, we ask our cabdriver to drop us at the main market square in our Ipanema neighborhood, Praça General Osório. During most of the week it functions as a full-blown food market—offering everything from luscious tropical fruit to whole chickens, complete with their blood in a bag—then on Sundays becomes the scene of the Feira Hippie (yes, Hippie Fair). Our quartet finds a trove of oddball treasures in the stalls, but not a single identifiable hippie. Mary and Jan pick up some belts, jewelry, and Christmas gifts, while we browse seriously with less success through several tables of handmade crafts.
In the end, the two of us lay out money only at a lunch and sweets booth operated by Baianas (ladies from the state of Bahia, our next stop in Brazil), who enjoy fame across the country for their great street food. To check whether they’re offering the real thing or a big-city imitation, at first we just share one of the signature black-eyed pea fritters called acarajé. After frying the cake in dendê, a red palm oil, the cooks split it and give us a choice of toppings. Cheryl chooses for us the fiery red chile paste vatapá (a puree of shrimp, bread, nuts, and coconut milk) and caruru (stewed-down okra and shrimp sometimes compared to gumbo). Glory be, it’s heavenly. Cheryl rushes off to get Mary and Jan, drags them back, and all of us dig in with gusto, ordering more acarajés, coconut patties, flan, and an unusual banana pudding with layers of cake and meringue.
Too bad the Baianas are not in the kitchens at the two churrascaria restaurants we try, both of which could use a little help with the food preparation. A Brazilian institution exported in recent years to other parts of the world, including the United States, a churrascaria specializes in meats served rodizio-style at the table by a parade of waiters carrying cuts of beef, pork, lamb, chicken, and sausage on large metal cooking spits. For a starter course, diners graze an extensive buffet, usually including a variety of salads, sushi, and fish dishes, supplemented by starchy sides—such as empanadas and pão de queijo (tasty mozzarella-like cheese balls)—brought directly to the table. After guests are stuffed with meat and signal that by turning a card in front of them to the “não, obrigado