Por Kilo.

Fellini is a "por kilo" establishment. What this means is that you pay for what you eat. Unlike the churrascarias (Brazilian barbecue joints), you don't eat to your heart's content, but rather to your wallet's. And this doesn't come cheap to Americans where the dollar is low, low, low. At about $35 or so "por kilo" (which is 2.25 pounds), the price adds up quick. That's bad for big America appetites, but perfect for the locals (who are the main clientele), who are Brazilian and, thus, are trying to keep their beach bodies in shape. 


You grab what you want -- salad, hot and cold foods, sushi, ice cream, pastry, whatever and your plate is weighed. The waiters will come to your table and you'll order drinks -- booze, fresh juices and smoothies, cafezinho (espresso) or whatever -- and they add that to your bill. 

There are many por kilos in Rio. They're popular because they're fast and offer variety.  I went to a competitor, a chain called Frontera (there are several in Rio). I couldn't help but compare. Frontera -- BIG. Food -- similar. Desserts -- couldn't hold a spatula to Fellini's. But Fellini has something Frontera doesn't -- exclusivity and intimacy. Fellini is like a por kilo "Cheers" -- it has regulars (like the guy who always comes in and wants his veggies boiled  -- he's dieting) and everybody knows your name. 


 Read the link


Read about Por Kilo restaurants in Rio de Janeiro

Big Fish.

 The same day as the crazy rains, the first big fish came. Hoisted on the shoulders of two big guys, the staff parted to let the fish get by. They laid it on the stainless counter near the sinks. About 60 kilos (more than 130 pounds), this was one massive tuna. Grabbing it by the gills, the gloved hands of helpers became bloody. I was surprised that the tuna's blood was as red as the human kind.

Cleyton was quick to start carving up the sucker. A mere 15-minutes later, the fish was boned and cut into numerous inch-thick steaks. Tonight's grilled fish special. Throughout the next couple of weeks, oceans of fish of several varieties. It doesn't get fresher.

Christ gets a facelift.

When aliens destroy civilization in disaster films, you no doubt see the globe's most famous landmarks fall (or explode) into ruins. The White House, Eiffel Tower, Taj Mahal, the pyramids at Giza and The Statue of Liberty are always the firsts to go. Not to mention Cristo Redentor -- Christ the Redeemer -- the most famous symbol of Rio de Janeiro (and, is THE icon for the world's largest catholic population, here in Brazil).

He stands nearly 130-feet tall, is made of soapstone and concrete and is considered the world's greatest art deco statue. .

Lately, the monument, Christ with arms outstretched as if across Rio de Janeiro, hasn't looked quite like himself. He's covered head to toe in scaffolding, undergoing an enormous $4-million facelift. It seems this septuagenarian has endured winds and rains, with wear-and-tear scarring its exterior (like the rest of us).

Now the worst rains in 40 years have made the trek up the mountain by car (or a little red train), through the Forest of Tijuca, impossible. Only by helicopter can you get close enough to see, well, not see, the statue, with its temporary wrapper of steel, wood and who knows what. I would have been awfully disappointed had I not seen Cristo Redentor up close so many times in the past.

Actually, the statue looks pretty hip, coincidentally Christo-esqe. I wouldn't doubt if Chirsto himself isn't kicking himself for not having thought it first.  

NOTE: Just yesterday, what is being called a "crime of the country"was all over the news. The statue's arms and chest were covered with graffiti. According to my friends Selmo and Sandra, apparently there is some sort of contest in Rio as to how high one can paint graffiti. Among other things, “when the cat’s away, the mice play”  and “where’s Patrcia?" (in Portuguese, of course), were scribbled on the monument.

See the picture I took from my uncle's home -- he lives under the right armpit Cristo Redentor.

Maid in Brazil.

Brazilians eat at home way more often than we do in the States. One reason, is that food made by others is either it's way to expensive for some of the population to afford or it's because so many people have "empregadas" (maids) and "babas" (nannys), who work from early in the morning until the night performing houshold tasks -- cleaning and cooking, and, in the case of babas, helping to take care of the kiddies.

Many of the maids are from the poor north of Brazil. Indeed, many of the laborers in town seem to be northerners. including Francisca, who is 35, lovely and bright as a shiny new Real (Brazilian coin). She spent a couple of evenings teaching me to cook like they do in her hometown, Liseux, Ceara (in Brazil's northeast).

Francisca began working as a baba when she was nine years old, living with a family far away from hers, also in the state of Ceara. When she was 17, with her own baby (her boyfriend, who she called her husband, was killed in a car accident), she moved to the slums of Rio de Janeiro to live and work.

Moqueca de Peixe

Also called “muqueca,” this is a fish (or shrimp) stew customarily prepared in a black clay pot or “panela de barro.” We used a fish called “namorado,” a sea bass, but any firm fleshed, mild fish, such as tilapia, will work wonderfully.

I don’t know why they call this fish “namorado” – which means boyfriend.  In the U.S. we would call this fish sand perch, a type of sea bass – white fleshed and mild. Apparently namorado lives in deep waters with sandy bottoms and is native to the east coast of Brazil.

Moqueca stew is served with a thickened sauce (or a roux) made from some of the fish broth of moqueca and “farinha” – a manioc flour –and with a side of farofa, a mixture of the manioc flour, fried with onion and oil.  Serve it all with cooked, white fluffy rice.

Note: When Dora (cousin Evelyn's hairdresser, who does hair in homes) tasted the moqueca, she closed her eyes, put her thumb and index finger together and ran it across her lips – the uniquely Brazilian gesture signifying “delicious.”)

1 kilo of fish (namorado) without skin and bones, left in large pieces (about 6 inches by 2 inches)

Juice of one lime

Salt to taste

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

4 plum tomatoes, cut in into 1/4-inch dice

1  1/2 cups chopped green peppers

1 cup chopped onions

1 cup tomato sauce

Fresh ground black pepper to taste

200 ml coconut milk (it comes in a jar or can), about 1 3/4 cups

1 Tbsp. dende oil

1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves, garnish

Place fish in a bowl and add the lime juice and salt to taste. Turn the fish several times to coat well.  Set aside.

Place the oil in a large saucepan. Add the tomatoes, green pepper, onions, tomato sauce and salt and pepper to taste. Place the pot over medium-low heat, cover and cook, stirring occasionally, about 20 minutes until the vegetables softened.

Raise the heat to medium-high until the liquid comes to a boil. Arrange the fish in the vegetables and cover the pot. Cook for 10 minute until the fish is just cooked through.  Drizzle the coconut milk over the fish and turn the pot to distribute the milk. Cook 5 minutes more. Adjust salt and pepper and serve hot garnished with cilantro and with rice and pirao and farofa on the side.  Makes 8 servings.

Pirao

It’s kind of a side dish gravy, always served alongside the moqueca (pronounced pee-ra-ohn).

1 1/2 cups broth from moqueca

1/4 cup farinha (manioc flour)

Salt to taste

Bring the broth to a boil over medium-high heat. Slowly, slowly dribble in the farinha, stirring or whisking all the while, until the mixture is thickened (this may be made ahead, though it will become quite thick when it cools – reheat adding more liquid (water or broth) to thin to pouring consistency.  Spoon over the moqueca.

Farofa

3 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

1 tsp. dende oil

1 Tbsp. chopped onion

1 cup farinha, manioc flour

Heat oils in a small skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook until golden. Add the flour and sauté for about 2 minutes. Serve warm as a garnish for the moqueca.

Jeitinho Brasileiro

While driving down the ocean road from Barra da Tijuca to Sao Corado during rush hour, traffic was at a standstill. My young cousin, Marcos, decided to cross the double yellow line and drive on the on-coming traffic side of the road. He called this a "jeitinho brasileiro" (jay-cheen-yo)  the Brazilian "knack" or "way" for lack of a better word.

It seems this jeitinho is used in everything from negotiating parking spaces to admission to crowded nightclubs, as we did at a packed hotspot in Rio's Lapa neighboorhood. My compadres walked past a block-long queue waiting to enter the oh-so-popular Rio Scenarium. They told the bouncers that their American cousin (me) just wanted to just have a look around. 

Once in, our little look-see turned into platefuls of "salgadinhos" (appetizers) and several multi-fruity Caipirinhas, the national cocktail. Three hours of live Samba music and Forro dancing later, we strolled out. It was well past midnight and the line into Scenarium was even longer. 


Only in Brazil. 

Caipirinha

Caipirinha is the national cocktail of Brazil. A loose translation of the name is "hillbilly." Made with a sugar-cane liquor called cachaca (kah-shah-sa), you can substitute vodka if you can't find any brand of cachaca. It's mixed with lime and sugar so it's sweet, tart and boozy.

You can use superfine sugar (like I do) or make a sugar syrup with sugar and a little water (bring to a boil and stir until sugar is dissolved). If you can't find superfine sugar, take regular granulated sugar and process it in the food processor for about a minute).

Today, there are many recipes for caipirinha -- all made with all.  Make it vodka and it's called a Caipirovska. Fun!

For each Caipirinha:
1 lime, quartered
2 tsp. superfine fine sugar
2 ounces cachaca (or your vodka if you can't find cachaca)

Squeeze the lime wedges into a rocks glass (the short one). Place the squeezed wedges into the glass. Pour the sugar over the limes and stir well (muddle or press the sugar into the wedges with a spoon). Fill the glass with crushed ice (or small cubes). Pour the liquor into the glass and stir well. 

Terrible Tuesday

Monday afternoon, the rains began in earnest. I kept wondering throughout the day what was the Portuguese equivalent of "raining cats and dogs" and "raining buckets" (it's "chovendo canivete, by the way; raining pocket-knives or pen knives).


Monday night, we stayed home. Too rainy. Tuesday morning, rain was still falling hard, cousin Evelyn drove me to work. I was worried because it was only my second day of work, I didn't want to be late. The surrounding road, Avenida Neimeyer, was flooded. Of course, we did the stupid thing and drove through the flood. Traffic crawled and the what I could see of the ocean just to our right was fierce.

You have to cross through two mountains between Sao Corado and Leblon. These tunnels burrow through two large hills called "Dois Irmaos," which translates into "two brothers." Partway through, we lost the radio signal. After crossing the second tunnel, we were in Leblon.        


Just outside tunnel #2, a violent waterfall where none existed before. The downpour spewed red earth. in Leblon, large trees were downed, uprooted liked dollhouse landscape. A schoolyard, flooded. The radio only played one tune -- disaster news.



I arrive at Fellini 45-minutes late. 
Inside the kitchen, it was just me and the prep cook. 
Most of the staff don't have cars and rely on  public transport. Few live nearby. 
Black beans and rice were already on the stove, but little else had begun.


We two, prep cook and I, weren't sure if anyone would come to work that day. We discussed -- I'd make salads, he'd prepare meats and hot dishes. 


Frantic phone calls volleyed bac-and-forth betweens owners and the prep guy. Don't make anything, the restaurant may not open today. Then, yes, open. Closed. Open. Open. I cleaned and trimmed a dozen beef tenderloins and about 10-kilos of chicken breasts and thighs.


Slowly most of the crew arrived, each with his own travel story (the majority of Fellini's crew are men). So-and-so waded through thigh-deep water to come in. Buses ran late (some folks never made it in). The city was declared a disaster area and all government offices closed. For many, work was canceled.


By 10 a.m. the kitchen was buzzing. Everyone pitched in to get lunch on the buffet. In an hour and a half, there was food for hundreds ready to go. Owner, Ana, congratulated everyone on the kitchen miracle. Business was especially brisk (somehow).


When it was quitting time, no one was sure how they would actually get home.


I sat with Ana to figure out my strategy. Ana introduced me to Avi (that's his spiritual name), an American from Oregon who's lived in Brazil for 17 years. He decided to brave the rain, and flagged me a taxi (another miracle). I was home in 15 minutes.


Then came the news of the killer landslides.

Na cozinha: hot times in Rio

The first day at a new restaurant is always the same. Apprehension. 


It was raining when cousin Evelyn dropped me off at 8 a.m.. I was escorted into the kitchen, given a black-and-white, houndstooth apron and hair-net thing (not a good look). For the first hour or so, I tried to stay out of the way, while I watched and scribbled in my notebook before I began sticking my fingers into things (not literally -- don't be afraid).

In this kitchen, I am the only woman.


The Fellini kitchen isn't one big room. Rather, it's chopped into the main kitchen (which is hot -- at least 90-degrees F. with stoves, grill, deep fryers and oven at full tilt). There's the dishwashing area (for the restaurant dishes -- pots and pans are watched in the main kitchen), set up as a tight galley. The second floor is more restaurant seating. Upstairs, on the third floor, is a stock area, a mini kitchen with cold storage (no walk-in fridge) another stove and oven set-up, and the appetizer, pasta and desserts kitchen. And air-conditioning. 


I trailed Cleyton (the head chef) all day. Once the actions starts in any kitchen, it doesn't stop until it's finished. Between the hours of 11:30 and 4 p.m., up to 500 people will shuffle through Fellini, each grabbing a white china plate and choosing from more than 60 menu items -- salgadinhos (appetizers), salad bar (bar is such an inadequate word), the sushi station and hot dishes, including, homemade pastas, hot vegetables and sides, grilled meats, fish and chicken and, always, black beans and rice. 

Cleyton is preparing tongue with wine and mushroom sauce (Lingua de Molho Madeira). It's one of the many dishes he will prepare alone. He's quiet and efficient, though there's always some chat and singing going on somewhere in the kitchen. 


From the northeast of Brazil (it seems like most the kitchen help in Rio are from somewhere in the state of Ceara), Cleyton, a long time employee, was groomed (with formal education provided by the Fellini's owners) and is now head daytime chef. 


There's a salad guy, a griller and at least two or more dishwashers/helpers. Again, these are long- time employees (there's not a lot of turnover here), and somehow each gets his job done without colliding into each other in the sweltering, crowded space. 


By day's end, I've helped make crepes with palmito (hearts of palm) filling, chicken with apricots and orange sauce, fried up eggs and queijo qualhado (more about this later), stirred, refilled and tried to be 
useful.) 


RECIPE TO COME

Did I mention...

I mentioned I was staying with a cousin in Brazil, but I didn't elaborate. My heritage is Brazilian. Both of my parents are first generation Brazilian. My mother’s parents emigrated from Poland in the early 1930s and my father’s earlier, from Istanbul around the fall of the Ottoman Empire. 

My father is Caroica -- a Rio de Janeiro native. My mother is Gaucha (pronounced gah-oo-sha), originally from the south of Brazil, from the city of Porto Alegre. She moved to Rio when she was 11. My Parents met and married there and moved to the U.S. where my father continued his internal medicine training. 

My older sister and I were both born in the States. When I was two, my parents returned to Rio for a little more than a year (where my younger sister was born) before moved back to Michigan permanently.

My mother is an artist in so many ways. She paints and writes poetry. She's chic and stylish and her entertaining style is unmatched in both generosity and creativity. Brazilian "toques"(toh-kees), touches, color all she does.

Though my parents have lived in the U.S. for the better part of 50 years, my father is still a Carioca at heart. His "saudades" (sow-da-gees), loosely translated as "nostalgic longing," run deep. When talking about differences in everything from how to make a sandwich to politics, he begins many sentences with, "In Brazil..." In many ways he reminds me of the Gus Portokalos character (the father) in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" when he says, "there are two kinds of people -- Greek people and people who want to be Greek." Substitute "Brazilian" for "Greek" and you get the idea. He truly adores Rio de Janeiro.

Back in the early 1970s, one of my mother's childhood friends called to ask if her daughter could come to Michigan as an exchange student. As I recall, she came for about three months. I was 12. That next summer my older sister and I went to Rio for the summer. Every summer thereafter, until I graduated from high-school, while many of my friends went to Camp Walden, I went to Rio de Janeiro.

I, too, fell in love with Brazil and with my enormous extended family and friends. Since then, every few years or so, I find myself booking a flight to Rio to get my fix. I know what suadade is.

Fellini-esqe

This week I started working at a popular, upscale Leblon restaurant called Fellini. In the food biz for nearly 17 years, this eatery offers a "por quilo" hot and cold buffet. Por quilo (or per kilo) is a popular concept here in Rio. Instead of the typical all-you-can-eat,  prix fixe system, here you fill your plate and pay by weight (the food's, not yours, thank goodness). So, the more you play, the more you pay.

My cousin, Evelyn, hooked me up. We went there for lunch on my first day in Rio (everyone knows Fellini -- it's pretty famous here). Evelyn is acquainted with owners Nelson and Ana, so I emailed some info about me, made my case for world travel cooking, and here I am. I'm doing what is here called an "estagio" -- internship -- working in every area of the place. Starting in the kitchen (daytime shift), moving to desserts, on to appetizers, salads, then to pastas and back.

The name "Fellini" has nothing really to do with the kind of food here. The menu is all over the place -- Staples are Brazilian black beans, rice, forofa (the workhorse of the nation's culinaria). It's served alongside tortellini, curried and fruited rices and pseudo risottos, pan-fried fish of every variety, assorted veggies prepared various ways, a sushi bar, salgadinhos (appetizers) and amazing desserts. And the menu changes daily, so you never know what you're going to see day to day (and, believe me, some people eat there every day).

My first day is in the kitchen ... stay tuned.

Maybe God isn't Brazilian after all.

At least he may not be Carioca (a Rio native). I was all prepared today to begin chatting about all my cooking adventures (I've been dabbling in the kitchen for nearly a week, but only began working for real yesterday).  So far the trip has been amazing...until today.

It's been raining on-and-off for the past several days, but I didn't think much of it. Until today. Last night the rain came down hard and by mid-morning, nearly a foot of rain was dumped on the State of Rio de Janeiro. The average rainfall for the state is about 4-inches for the month of April and about 40+ inches per year. It's still pouring, so who knows how much rain there's been by now.

The city has been declared a disaster area with hundreds of mudslides (I saw several), trees down, electricity off in many areas and more than a hundred dead and more missing.

It's said to be the worst rain disaster in 30-years. Much of the city was closed for the day as people tried to cope with waters. This is the scene from my bedroom window (I'm in a highrise in Sao Corado, not too far away)

Deus e Brasileiro.

God is Brazilian. At least that's what they say here in Brazil.

According to my dear cousin, Evelyn, this is true because Brazilians feel that "Deus torce pelo Brasil," -- God roots for Brazil.  


She says, "Toda vez que acontece fatos como ganhar num jogo de futebol contra outros paises ou em festas alegres como carnaval acredita-se que Deus torce pelo Brasil, portanto ele so pode ser brasileiro." (Whenever something good happens, such as a soccer win against another country, or a happy occasion, such as carinival, it's credited to God's support for Brazil -- this proves that he must be Brazilian). 

Brazil is blessed with many things. It's big (the fifth largest country on the globe), boasts stunning landscapes, an enormous, mountainous coastline plunging toward luxurious beaches, astounding natural resources, a beautiful populace and a mix of cultures that has created some of the most interesting -- and colorful -- personalities in the world.

In and around Brazil's 26 states there is gold ... and  gemstones, granite, limestone, hydro-electic power, 60% of tropical, bio-diverse Amazon rainforest (half the Earth's rainforests are in South America), one of the longest, most powerful rivers in the world (the great Amazon), and countless other natural and man-made treasures -- too many to name. It's the world's ninth largest economy.  And don't forget that Brazil invented Samba, Bossa Nova, the Girl from Ipanema, the string bikini and the planet's largest four-day party, Carnaval.

But Brazil is also a country of extremes, plagued with intense poverty and high crime (they go hand-in-hand). Here, it seems, either you have a maid or you are a maid.

Then there's Rio de Janeiro, the capital of the state of the state of Rio de Janeiro. With a population of more than six-million (nearly 11-million in the metro area), it is the second largest city in Brazil.

Here in Rio de Janeiro, or just plain "Rio", Cariocas (Rio natives) are judged by the "futebol" (soccer) team they back (today my seven-year old cousin asked which was my favorite team -- her's is Flumenense), their love of cafezinho" (espresso), pria (beach) and Carnaval (carnival), and their pride of citizenship in this "cidade maravilhosa" (marevelous city).

Did I mention the food yet? Here is where I come in. As a food writer, cooker and all around foodie, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn to cook, Carioca-style here in Rio. Follow my adventures as I chop, stir, whip and eat my way around the city. Let the calories begin!

Speak Portuguese and think you know about Rio? Take the test at this link.
http://www.reidacocadapreta.com.br/2009/01/05/voce-e-carioca-50-coisas-que-fazem-parte-do-viver-e-ser-carioca-se-voce-vive-no-rj-pelo-menos-uma-faz-parte-da-sua-vida/

Note: photo from pededuca.com.br