Dillo - The Other White Meat

I know. It just keeps coming up.

On Tuesday afternoon I had the opportunity to explore Austin's coolest store. If you find yourself in the capital city, do yourself a favor and set aside about 5 hours to peruse Austin Gift Company.

Over the years, I have been able to find the perfect gifts for people near & dear to me in this wonderland of Willie, wacky and way cool. There's a little bit of everything, and something for everyone. Guaranteed. I only wish I'd have had my camera with me, to show you all of the amazing art.

Note to comic book fans: There are phenomenal sketched fan art coasters that you should check out. I'll be back for some of the Batman, X-men & Wonder Woman pieces.

Sans camera, I asked a buddy to get a snapshot of this awesomeness.

Photo credit: Johnny Bonez

I recently spoke with a Texas gentleman who shared some of the old stories. He told me that people used to eat armadillos here, too. I had no idea!

Late Bloomer

I am a late bloomer, it seems, when it comes to bloomin' buds (and I'm not talking horticulture or British expletives). I'm talking about taste buds. Being an expat changed my palette, and not in the way you'd think.

I've always enjoyed trying new foods. I grew up in Austin, a city where well over a third of my meals were Tex-Mex punctuated by Vietnamese, Italian, and Texas Bar-B-Que, and peppered with Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, Cajun, Brazilian and "Southern" foods.

Pie Chart Coolness

I'd say that my tastes are well-rounded, though some people would beg to differ. People who seem to think that not liking PBJs ...and mayo, coleslaw, stuffing, candied yams, pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, Caesar salad, banana splits, chicken fried steak, breakfast sandwiches or anything chocolaty with peanut butter is downright Un-American.

I understand that I may seem to be building a case against myself (and am probably setting myself up for a round of hate mail), but I also don't like corned beef, meatloaf, dinner rolls, dumplings or gravy, so it's not only "traditional American dishes" that are on my Try Another Day list.

Far Side

True, Thanksgiving Day meals have always been a challenge, but it isn't like I didn't give these things a try for a good decade or so. I think I was about 19 when I started having a taste [teaspoon] of peanut butter, every now and then (which was promptly followed by a tall glass of milk). I only ate mayo with tuna, egg, or potato salads, and opted for mustard when possible.

Then I moved to Goiânia.

We all know the old adage, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," but it appears to apply to taste buds, as well.

It wasn't until I was living in a particular part of the country where everything is pretty much same-same (whether you happen to be at a cookout, restaurant, or relative's house), and things like peanut butter are hard to come by, that I suddenly decided that I really couldn't stand another day without it. And that I inexplicably missed it so badly that I'd eat an entire jar (in a matter of weeks) when I found it.

Then came the mayo urges.

I didn't even know who I was anymore.

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Finally, I found myself turning into more of a mad scientist than cook, concocting strange food mixtures born out of desperation (things that would make any decent cook or food lover cringe).

The horror... the horror...

I don't want you to be naive regarding the culinary purgatory that awaits expats who are not headed to major cultural hubs. Those of you bound for global cities can file this away under, "Whew! Dodged that one."

Those of you moving into the middle of nowhere, or worse, somewhere that for no logical or logistical reason, curiously and unnecessarily resists change like a cat resists bath time, take heed:

There will come a day when you try, against all odds, to recreate a particularly elusive taste from home. Your desperation will be directly linked — not unlike your threshold for weird combos — to just how bland the local stuff is, or how homogeneous the condiment and spice aisles are at local stores.

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While I will neither confirm nor deny certain attempts at recreating gumbo, enchiladas, and/or queso without the aid of anything remotely resembling what was needed, I can tell you that through shared expat stories & recipes, I was able to successfully make sour cream (or as we labeled that kitchen experiment: "Cloud Nine").

Just watch yourself. No one back home needs to know the frightening depths to which you were willing to sink in order to appease your sense of taste. Don't get caught tweaking a bowl of already-prepared salsa with a squirt of ketchup once you are back where these things are not only unheard of, but a crime.

Of course, other things might be tip-offs that you've been shaken to the core. Things like a 180 in your stance on mayo & peanut butter.

Something Strange This Way Brews

Did I ever tell you about that time we ate psychotropic soup?

There is an Amazonian soup that is known as Tacacá (pronounced: "tah-kah-KAH") that is made with broth of a fermented poisonous root base, known as Tucupi (pronounced: too-koo-pee), and incorporates the leaves of a plant called Jambú (pronounced: "zhahm-boo"), which is known (among other things) for medicinal uses and, um, biological pest control applications.

Congratulations! You now know 100% more than we did before we ingested it.

"...yes, some people don't like it."

"Some people say it makes their mouth numb."

"Some people have become a little 'excited' due to the strength of the taste."

"Some people start to scratch their entire bodies, and get agitated."

To which I asked (each time),

"The plant?"

The hostess ignored me explained that it is a traditional plant used in many dishes in the northern region of Brazil, in the Amazonias. My friend noted that I might be "allergic" since she had been "allergic" when she tried a dish made with this plant before.

Although this may seem like an overabundance of information for someone about to partake in a Gargamel-style special, because no one came out and said the words,

"There have been known psychoactive effects, when the medicinal plant is combined with the fermented poisonous root broth"

I was still unclear as to what would unfold.

They didn't mention the fermented poisonous root broth? Nope. Neither the hostess, nor my friend (who is now suspect in my book) thought it would behoove me to have the full picture.

Experimentation is always more fun that way!


We were trying out a new restaurant that had popped up in our neighborhood, in recent months. It seemed like we were always going to eat elsewhere when we saw it, so just days before, we'd made the decision to go try it out the next time we decided to grab a bite.

We did note the curious absence of any kind of hint as to what type of restaurant it was.

You know:

NAME
Culinary Description (Bar-B-Que, Sushi, Vegan, etc.)
Kind of Scene (Restaurant, Grill, Bar & Grill, etc.)

This restaurant simply had a one-word name, which appeared to be a play on the word "rare."

Our friends called, and mentioned that they were just a few blocks away, so we thought it was a perfect opportunity to go check it out. My husband kept saying, "you know, that new restaurant..."

They said they'd meet us there, so it was a date. I was very excited to go.

It was a beautiful restaurant! It was chic, upscale, and romantic, with strategically placed low-lit luminaires that cast a certain glow. By the time we arrived, our friends were already deep in conversation with the owner. We learned that she uses the recipes and ingredients of the Amazonian people of northern Brazil. My friend noted that I might be allergic to a few of the plants that she uses in her dishes.

One drawback in moving to a new country or region, is that one may discover "new allergies" while living there. A pepper that is used, "just for the smell," and a leafy plant that is similar to lettuce (that I'm sure is a distant cousin of the radish) are the two main culprits to which I am allergic; and they use them in almost everything in this region of the country.

There was, however, a hitch to this particular restaurant, in that even after I told her which items I was allergic to... she just ignored me again said that she puts them in all the dishes. That was that. Not only rude, but weird: any other restaurant that I've been to here in Goiânia has offered to withhold the items to which I'm allergic, from their dish.

The much-discussed mystery plant was in the entree that we selected, along with 3 jumbo shrimp in a native broth. To be honest, I just wanted the shrimp. We are [way] inland, so shrimp is a rarity for us.

When the entree arrived, I noticed the strange little tripod cauldron with ornate handles, in which it was ceremoniously served. She explained that this is a "traditional" serving dish, and she would instruct us as to how to proceed.

It was at this point, that I began to wonder about the whole "ritual" of the experience. I also considered that she could just be "show-boatin'," as we say back home.

My husband took the first sip from the urn. He said it was delicious. My friend issued another warning that I should avoid the leaves, and start with the broth to see if there would be any adverse effects. I tried it. It was awesome, and not unlike watered down steak sauce - A.1., to be precise.

My friend wasn't having any, since she's allergic to shrimp. They said that last time her husband ate shrimp and then kissed her on the lips, (in her husband's words) "she swoll up like Angelina Jolie for the rest of the evening." Ha-ha!

After drinking quite a bit, with seemingly no ill effects (I really couldn't get enough of the broth) I decided to try one of the leaves. I chose one of the smallest, just in case.

The initial reaction was of my tongue and mouth going numb, followed by my throat... and about five minutes later, I recognized the psychotropic effects. It was freaky-deaky (and not in a good way), but still low on the freaky scale compared to the no disclaimer policy, prior to being served this far-out fare.



Everyone started talking excitedly at the same time (or maybe it just seemed that way because I was high), all trying to explain the effects of this entree. This includes my friend, who wasn't partaking: she's just naturally caffeinated.

I sat straight up — almost convulsed to attention — and it felt like the bones of my cranium were being expanded. Within minutes, I had a migraine that lasted for about 24 hours. My husband was mildly freaking out, stating that he had "never experimented with drugs, but [was] quite sure this is what mushroom tea must feel like."

Apparently, the more leaves are ingested with the broth, the more intense the chemical reaction. (Read: psychoactive!) It was later that I found out that the leaves are used for their medicinal properties of anesthesia in other areas in the country. I was fortunate, in that I only ate 3 small leaves before I recognized weirdness. My husband, on the other hand, had eaten the equivalent of half a can of cooked spinach. However, I drank a whole lot more broth than he did.

At the point where it felt like my brain was going to explode, we asked for the check and my friend says, "I told you, you might have an allergic reaction." I told her it most definitely wasn't an allergy, so much as it was a psychotropic effect.

Then she says, "Oh... maybe that's why that time I had some, I freaked out and ran out of the restaurant, all the way to my mom's house in the next neighborhood. I thought it was the shrimp."

I wanted to strangle her.

The final results were that the anesthetic properties of the leaves caused my husband to pass out directly, after the short drive home. Four blocks, and he face-planted on our bed, fully clothed: shoes and all.

In my case, however, the stimulating properties of the broth (that happens to contain lethal amounts of hydrogen cyanide, prior to fermenting) caused my heart to nearly beat out of my chest. I went through the motions of jogging, doing flips, possibly the running man, and jumping jacks from a lying position on my bed, for the next 2 hours. This was accentuated with occasional muscle spasms, shouts, and groans for help. That was in addition to the migraine that wouldn't let go - even the next day.

The thing that bugged us was not only the outrageous prices of this restaurant (they charged us 40 bucks for a 16oz soup), but the lack of warning from our friends who had apparently been there, done that.

The restaurant wasn't new. It had just been remodeled.

It was empty, I'm assuming, because others had heard of the curious chow served to the unaware, and steered clear.

All in all, we would like to have been privy to the big picture, so that we could PASS... but, as my friend would concur, where's the fun in that?

At the very least, this event was yet another a testament to the validity of my screen name.

Image found here.

Five Facts for Foreigners - Vol. XI

Pizza. Everybody seems to love it.

Preference is definitely a regional, as well as a very personal thing. Most people have a craving for a certain place when they hear the word. Folks in the U.S. are familiar with terms like New York-style pizza, Chicago-style 'deep-dish' pizza, or in Austin: Mangia Pizza and Conan's. (...and apparently East Side Pies. I'll have to try them when I go home to visit.)

Image found here.

Within the pizza-loving community there are die-hard deep dish devotees, staunch thin crust connoisseurs, and avid hand-tossed aficionados. There are the extra sauce enthusiasts, and those who lean toward light sauce. Deciding on extra cheese or light cheese can make or break personal pizza nirvana. Then there are the toppings... on the top, light, or on the side?

Finding the perfect pie is as much a challenge today as finding a faster trade route to the East Indies was when Columbus sailed the high seas. Pizza lovers are all seeking a rewarding find, and are sometimes even willing to go to great lengths to achieve their personal treasured trifecta: perfect crust, balanced flavor, & some kind of decent price. And once in a while... when we think that we've almost nailed it, we might just let price fly out the window. That's usually a regrettable mistake. Desperation rarely yields anything worth savoring.

After searching high and low, I can tell you that the pizza you seek in Brazil is found in precious few places. I say this as a THESLC (thin crust, extra sauce, light cheese) kind of girl. On a recent vacation, we happened across one of the most divine pizza places ever. After regular disappointment over the past 6 years, I honestly didn't get my hopes up.

We were blown away. The pizza was so amazing, that we each ate a medium—at least three nights that week. It was that good. I must note, that as an extra sauce chick, I didn't even miss it. Would it be possible to improve on perfection? I only entertained the thought for a second.

We seriously considered taking one to go... (on the plane home) but the trip would be too long, and it would get soggy (it's that thin!) so we went home brokenhearted, with bittersweet memories of the best pizza we have tasted in Brazil.

If you are ever in Fortaleza, Teresina, São Luís, or Salvador then you must make it a point to visit Vignoli's. If you live there, we are jealous: BEST. Pizza. Ever.

The topic of toppings could take a year or more to pick through, so I'll focus on the top 5 major differences in pizza toppings here versus national U.S. pizza chains. That should be easy enough.

I'll call this list Top 5 Surprising Finds Listed Under Toppings in Brazil Pizzarias...

1. Corn – Corn! Apparently this is also available on veggie pizzas in local joints around the U.S.




Image found here.


2. Peas – The distant cousins of spinach heard that there was an opening in the pizza biz, and decided to try it out. They are bona fide rock stars in pizza places across Brazil.



Image found here.


3. Prunes (or Peaches) – What is probably the most surprising pizza on the menu is the "Californian," which is comprised of canadian bacon (or smoked turkey), prunes, peaches, pineapple, figs, and/or raisins. I have been waiting for a Californian to weigh in on this. Is this pizza really representative of Cali? (I'm guessing "no" on the prunes part.)



Images found on Google.


4. Sliced, Hard-Boiled Eggs – {insert exclamation of surprise here} I'm sticking to my guns, and still maintain that this is just weird... and stinky... and weird.




Image found here.


5. Tuna – Don't knock it 'til you try it. I'd recommend that you make it at home with lots of minced garlic & za'atar on top, for good measure.

Image found here
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The top 5 pizzas that you will find at pizzarias around Brazil are...

• The Portuguesa – ham, hard-boiled eggs, tomato, black or green olives, and oregano


• The Margherita – fresh basil, oregano, tomato, and black olives


• The Mussarela – Although dictionaries don't recognize this spelling, 95% of pizzerias use it. Variations are mozarela, muçarela, muzarela, or the traditional Italian spelling: mozzarella.


• The Napolitana – palm hearts, tomato, black or green olives, and oregano


• The Calabresa – salami, onions, and black olives

Below is a sample menu from a local pizzaria.

To enlarge, right-click and open in a new window.

Some Things Don't Translate

...in this case I'm referring to good prices, and a certain slogan that assures me I can have things my way. Perhaps that is old school. Have things changed that much in six years? Then again, it could just be good ol' fashioned highway robbery. You be the judge.

Living in a place where you are hard-pressed to find home flavors can drive people to certain lengths (as I alluded to in my previous post). In my case, it drives me to occasionally eating fast food — fast food that is considered chic in a place where it isn't all that common. This can come with a hefty price tag, depending on where you go. On those days where I'd give a portion of my left pinky to taste something reminiscent of home, I think it's worth it.

On those days where I see a blatant disregard for the fact that the minimum monthly wage here is R$600, and someone is trying to charge people R$8.50 for less than (when you factor in ice — I measured it) a 10 oz cup of watered down soda [when you can by a 2.5 liter of coke for R$5-6 at any convenience store] ...I get peeved.

At first, I attributed it to some foreign company that doesn't have a clue about the cost of living here. ...but that can't be right, can it? Of course, how could anyone living here also live with their conscience, if they know that this is grossly overcharging people for a drink [thereby excluding a large portion of the population]? I know I couldn't do it.

All I know is that THIS is not right:

What's wrong with this picture? (Other than the gum that I wadded into this receipt out of disgust before deciding to rant online about it. Sorry about that!)

Please right-click and open in a new window to enlarge.

So if it was that expensive... why did I pay for it, and not stop by a convenience store?

Three reasons:

1. I mistakenly heard a different total (trusty drive-thru intercoms), otherwise I would have amended it before I rounded the building, where my drink was already sticking out of the window. You see, they weren't finished making my burger, and I didn't want any extra "secret" ingredient.


2. Unlike my hometown, convenience stores aren't all that easy to find, and with all of the one way streets in this town, it is actually anything but convenient. I thought about calling them not-quite-convenience stores, but that has a somewhat negative ring to it.


3. I was starving, thirsty, and exhausted enough to not want to walk any extra step that I absosmurfly did not have to.

Although flagrant price gouging could be the norm for the other international fast food chains that are starting to pop up here, the prices are typically much, much less. I'm assuming that's because they want to achieve some measure of succe$$ with the population as a whole.

This is by far the worst case I've seen, yet. Other competitors such as McDonald's and Subway charge less than half of what was charged here (for the same size drink) making it a more affordable option for the masses.

I hope that the powers that be somewhere see this, and reign in their overcharging minions. I suspect they will see an increase in revenue, as more of the everyday people will be able to afford it.

I also suspect that they will need to invest in marketing that informs people that the idea of having a meal here is now more realistic for the average João.

Desperately Seeking...

Living in a place (far from home) where you don't get much of the food you were raised on can be trying, at times. It can be an added stressor, if you are going through a "missing home" phase.

There are three main challenges to finding particular foods or spices. Some can be overcome with time, and some you may just have to work around. (Get creative: think bribery, extreme lengths, etc. Okay. I'm kidding! Kinda...)

The main challenge is availability. Depending on just how far you are from an international hub or port, you might be delightfully surprised with a treasured find, or begin to feel a bit like Coronado in his fruitless search for the Seven Cities of Gold.

I don't remember exactly when I stopped counting how many stores I'd perused in search of chili powder, but I did... It just became a habit of checking the spice aisle, no matter why I was there, or how quick a shopping trip it was supposed to be. I was on chili-powder-seeking-autopilot.

About a year later, it paid off.

Image found here.

The second challenge is the language barrier. This is key, since some spices or foods may sound deceptively similar in two different languages, when they aren't at all. Manjericão [pronounced: "mahn-zheh-rdee-cone"] sounds like a shoo–in for marjoram, not to mention I never even saw manjerona [pronounced: "mahn-zheh-rdoh-nuh"] as it is much harder to find.

...but manjericão is actually basil! I went months without having any basil at home, because I had used it up and "couldn't find any." It was only later that I found out that I had passed on it a hundred times (not knowing it was basil) because I still had marjoram at home. Doh!

Then again, orégano is a direct translation. I love it when that happens!

Image found here.

The remaining challenge in finding flavors from home depends not only on where you are, but the scruples of the people from whom you are buying. Some opportunistic people see an accent as a sort of added tax on your purchase. It may or may not happen to you, but be aware that you run the risk of being ripped off until you get your sea legs and figure out how to barter (or inform them that you aren't a tourist, but a neighbor).

"Eu não sou uma turista, viu?! Eu moro aqui."
I'm not a tourist, got it [see]?! I live here.

...and sometimes, in our search for fabled golden whatevers, we encounter things that are way more cool than things we've previously known.

...and although it may take years or maybe never even happen that we reach our original goal, the unexpected pleasant surprises along the way take the sting out what is "missing," and we learn to not only "live with it," but revel in the bountiful blessings of our new reality.

Yes. I'm still talking food, but apply it as you see fit.

I'm specifically referring to the amazing, out of this world (but not really, since they are the norm in Brazil), delicious giant avocados that regularly rock my world these days.

The typical avocado that is available at any grocery store or farmers' market here in Brazil is about 3-5 times bigger than the Hass avocados that I was accustomed to eating back home. Some local farmers' markets have access to even bigger breeds, and being an avocado lover, I'm on cloud nine.

Sure, I miss Dr Pepper, Big Red gum, jicama, fresh jalapeños, and coffee creamer... but if I left now, I would go crazy missing the humongous avocados that are now a [huge] part of my cuisine.

Here are a few photos of some avocados that my husband brought home from work one day. They were from a tree on a nearby lot. These are the biggest I've seen, yet. I staged them with a few common items for comparison. Sorry for the quality! I still haven't had access to my backed up photos. I grabbed these from my [presently retired] personal blog.

Different angles with a standard measuring tape...



To enlarge pics, right-click and open in a new window.

I know, right!?

I'd wager that these things are so big, that I can list eating them as a legitimate hobby. One thing I haven't seen is an avocado eating contest, but I would love to represent. I'll have to look into that.

Olha Pamonha

This is one of my favorite commercials here. Cracks me up every time. It's for a headache medicine called Neosaldina [pronounced: "nay-yo-sahl-jeen-yuh"], and showcases a colorful pamonha [pronounced: "puh-moin-yuh"] vendor.

The lady buying "Neosa" doesn't quite appreciate Paulo Pamonha's flair (hence the headache medicine), but I love it. I wish our local neighborhood vendors with massive speakers on their vehicles had this much rhythm. I also wish they didn't come by at 8 a.m. on Saturdays.

The most common phrase heard booming from a pamonha vendor's speakers is, "Olha pamonha!" on a loop, as they slo-o-o-owly make their way up & down the streets. Olha [pronounced: "ol'-yuh"] means look.

Look! Pamonha!

Pamonha is a bigger, fatter, more moist version of Texas tamales. Pamonha is either salty, spicy, or sweet,  and can be filled with cheese, sausage, or both. I personally like the sweet version sans filling.

Just so ya know, saying "olha pamonha" around these parts can be rude [when there's no pamonha in sight]. Pamonha is also a derogatory slang term for a person that has cinched their belt a bit too tight, and implies that it is because they are overweight. See the instructional video below at 0:48 for a glimpse of some bulging pamonha.

There's also a variation on pamonha called pamonha assado that something akin to cornbread. The flavor can vary, depending on the chef & recipe. Assado [pronounced: "ah-sah-doh"] means "baked." Here is a how-to video with a homemade recipe for pamonha assado.

Still can't get Paulo's catchy tune out of your head? Here's a clip of the song. You're welcome.

This Little Piggy Went To The Market

Here's something we don't see every day back home: an open-air butcher shop.


I'm still trying to get a shot of the truck that makes the rounds of the closing butcher shops on Saturday afternoons. It is loaded with all of the discarded bones (including residual hunks of meat, still attached to the bone) that are sent to be ground into feed for...

...wait for it...

...cattle.

I've asked a few of the ranchers I know here if that's not how Mad Cow Disease started, but received no real answers. When I know, you'll know. Or, if you have any insight into this practice, please share in the comment section below.

(To enlarge pic, right-click and open in a new window.)

I Heart Palm Hearts

The palm heart is a staple in Brazilian cuisine. It is added to a variety of dishes, and is even a popular pizza topping. Up until yesterday, I thought that I'd seen every way to eat it: on pizza, in salads, in stroganoff, on a veggie tray... the list is endless. However, I'd never seen it prepared in the trunk, on the grill. It was awesome!

There are three main varieties that are used in this region. The hearts of the açaí, pupunha, and guariroba palm trees are the most common types of palm hearts found here in the Central-West ("centro-oeste") region of Brazil.

The heart of the açaí [pronounced: "ah-sigh-ee"] palm is the most popular. It is sold canned & preserved, and is used for most dishes that call for palm hearts or "palmito" [pronounced "pawl-mee-toe"]. The name "açaí" comes the native Tupi language, and means "the fruit that cries."

Açaí, the most common palm heart available in Brazil.

You may be familiar with the fruit of the açaí palm, which was recently touted as a miracle weight loss fruit in the U.S. (which it is most definitely not). The fruit is commonly known in Brazil as a fruit high in calories, which gave people here a good chuckle, after they heard how it was being promoted for weight loss elsewhere. It's along the same lines as in the movie Mean Girls, when Cady turns Regina on to the secret "weight loss" bars... {*wink, wink*}

The pupunha [pronounced: "poo-poo-nyuh"] palm is the only type of palm heart that is grilled while still in the trunk, or stem. The name originated in the Tupi language, but the meaning is unknown.

Pupunha palm heart fresh off the grill.

After grilling it, the stem is split, and the now soft heart is seasoned with a little butter and salt. Words cannot describe how good it is. It has an almost nutty flavor that, combined with butter, is irresistible. (Yum-yum-yummy!) It wasn't just me. Last night, after tasting the first one, our normally reserved and well-mannered group suddenly resembled the seagulls in Finding Nemo: "Mine, mine, mine..." There were all sorts of claims to the rights of the last piece, but in the end, the birthday boy had the final say.

Sorry, it's a little dark! The flash wasn't cooperating on this one.

The guariroba [pronounced: "goo-wah-rdee-rdoh-buh"] palm is considered the "palmito of the Cerrado," [pronounced: "seh-hah-doh"] which is the tropical savannah ecoregion that encompasses the Centro-West region of Brazil. Guariroba is grown in the states of Goiás, Mato Grosso, Mato Grosso do Sul, Minas Gerais, Tocantins, and in the nation's capital, the Federal District.

Like açaí and pupunha, the name guariroba originated in the Tupi language, and means "the bitter one." Guariroba is quite bitter, and the heart is typically served a bit bigger. I'm guessing that it has to mature longer, as young or "still green" fruits and plants tend to be more bitter than at ideal maturity. Too young, I'd imagine it would be too bitter to eat ― bitter beer face would have nothing on the bitter Guariroba face.

The increasing demand for Guariroba in other regions of Brazil has become, like anything with short supply & high demand, something that people are willing to obtain illegally. Here is a photo from the Federal Police in Minas Gerais, who seized 9 trunks of illegally harvested Guariroba palms.

According to the Portuguese Wikipedia page on palm hearts there is an additional type of palm heart that is harvested from the "Palmeira Real," or "Real Palm Tree." I've asked around, and no one in this region has heard of this palm tree being used for this purpose.

Are there other types of palm hearts that you are aware of in other regions of Brazil, or elsewhere? Let us know in the comments!

For more images of palm hearts, go to the Brazilian Google site (www.google.com.br) and do a Google Image (Imagens) search for "palmito."

To enlarge pics, right-click and open in a new window.

Allergies Abroad

It's thrilling to travel to new places, try new foods, and experience other cultures. Where the food is concerned, it can either be an exhilarating experience or excruciating, depending on your personal taste...

sense of adventure...

...and allergies.

One aspect of going to another country that should be taken into consideration is that you've had X number of years to figure out if you have any allergies in your native environment, and if so, how severe they may be.

Of course, several of my 30-something friends back home are only now discovering allergies like wheat and gluten, so I guess you never really know. Just consider that as a part of the adventure when traveling.

Oooh! Perhaps this leafy thing will close my throat.

Bets?

I honestly didn't have too many allergies back home in Texas. Mold has always been my nemesis, but as far as food went there were only three things that I was sensitive to, and two of those were man-made "flavors" (liquid smoke & "raspberry" flavoring) so it wasn't too hard to avoid them. I thought that I could eat pretty much anything. I was, by all accounts, immune to the dreaded, seasonal "Cedar Fever" (that everyone else seemed to suffer from) in Central Texas.

When I moved to Brazil, my whole world was turned upside down. (Wonderland, or o país das maravilhas, will do that to you.) I was perpetually ill for the first 9 months. After the 6-month mark, I determined to track down the culprits, and discovered that I am allergic to blooming (no, I'm not using an Aussie expletive) Mango trees, and a family of peppers that is used in almost every dish in this state (which also happens to be quite tasty).

What?!

I come from the land of peppers.

I bleed Chipotle sauce.

I'm that person that orders jalapeño slices on my Whataburger, and jalapeños on the side when I get a pizza, so that I can stack up a bunch on each slice. (Mmmm... Yummy!) I like my Phở [pronounced: "fuh," and said with a hint of a question mark] with a good blast of Sriracha sauce, and take my salsa hot or medium, not mild.

What I've learned is that in Texas, we mainly eat the Capsicum annuum and Capsicum frutescens families of peppers. Here in Goiás, the most common families of peppers are the Capsicum chinense and the Capsicum baccatum. It truly is a shame that I cannot partake.

Interestingly enough, the Capsicum chinense family includes one that I ate back home with no problem. The Habanero is one (which any Texan is familiar with) of many varieties of this family. As is my lot in life, in this particular region, it is actually hard to find a Habanero. C'est la vie!

Habanero closeup by Ryan Bushby (HighInBC on wikipedia)

The most common peppers, or pimentas [pronounced: "Pih-men-tuh," and not to be confused with Pimentos] in this region are the following:

1. The "Pimenta-de-Cheiro" [directly translates to, "The Pepper That Smells," and is pronounced: "jee Shay-rdoh"] is, hands down, the most popular Capsicum chinense pepper in this region. It looks similar to a banana pepper, has a very strong smell and flavor, but no heat to speak of.




Pimenta-de-cheiro
photo found amid a great collection of Brazilian sights on Flickr

2. The "Pimenta-de-Bode" ["The Goat Pepper"] is another pepper in the C. chinense family that not only has a strong smell and flavor, but adds a little kick to the cuisine. I haven't been able to find out why exactly the Pimenta-de-Bode [pronounced: "jee Boh-jee"] is referring to a goat.
   
   Think that would be an easy one, huh? Is it from the shape of the pepper? Does it, at any point in its stages of growth, resemble two little horns? Do goats like to eat these particular peppers? Does one need the digestive system of a goat to survive the experience? Will it 'put hair on your 'chin'? If I ever find out, you'll be the first to know.




Pimenta-de-Bode
by Adilson Lopes Garcia
via Flickr

3. The "Pimenta-Chora-Menino" [pronounced: "Shore-rduh Meh-nee-no," and roughly translates to, "The 'Cry, Boy, Cry' Pepper" or "The 'Makes-All-The-Boys-Cry' Pepper" ...There's no direct translation.) is hot — but it's sneaky. The heat from this little pepper of the C. chinense family ambushes you only after you've committed to ingesting it.



Pimenta-Chora-Menino
source

4. The Pimenta Biquinho [pronounced: "bee-keen-yo"] aka Pimenta de Bico (or "Beaker," as I like to call it) is another pepper in the C. chinense family that has become quite popular here. There are two types: one that has no heat, whatsoever, and another that can be a little spicy. It is actually from another region in the Americas, but was bred to flourish in this soil, which it has. These "beak peppers" are the new rage in Brazilian culinary circles.




Pimenta-Biquinho
source

5. The "Pimenta-de-Cumari" [pronounced: "Coo-mah-rdee"] is a small, bright, yellow pepper of the Capsicum baccatum family that has a very strong smell, as well as a bit of a kick to it. The word Cumari comes from the native Tupí language, and means "pleasurable taste."




Pimenta-de-Cumari
source

6. The "Pimenta-Dedo-de-Moça" [pronounced: "Deh-doh jee Mose-uh" and translates to, "The Lady's Finger"] is another pepper from the C. baccatum family that is about 4-5 inches long, and more mild than most, with a delicious flavor. They are most often seen preserved, but are used under the name calabresa when dried. This is not to be confused with the "Crushed Red Pepper" flakes that are known as "calabresa" in Europe and the United States, according to Portuguese page of wikipedia on C. baccatum peppers.




Pimenta-Dedo-de-Moça
by Mats Pettersson via Imageshack

Unfortunately for me, the "Americana alérgica," (allergic American woman) I'm allergic to the first five, and they are a part of everyday cuisine here in Goiás. They are added to almost everything! People in this region add these peppers to most dishes, including white rice. The most popular version of rice incorporates pimenta-de-cheiro with garlic.

Snack bars, or lanchonetes, usually have an assortment of snacks (all chock-full of pimenta-de-cheiro) that I now know I cannot eat, aside from a pizza slice or "misto" (grilled sandwich made with a slice of cheese, ham, and possibly a slice of tomato).

There have been some restaurants that actually refused to serve a dish without pimenta-de-cheiro because it is their signature style. In this case, I have a granola bar on standby, and only order a drink. It's been quite an adjustment. To compound the issue, allergies are seen a bit differently here, than back in The States. More on that soon!

If you are one of the fortunate ones who isn't allergic to these peppers, you'll be on a hot, spicy, and/or flavorful cloud nine. If not, bring an extra granola bar. Saúde! (Cheers!)

Stick an EpiPen in me — I'm done.

Attune to Prunes

Remember the 5 things you might think of when you hear the word Brazil? Now you can add another aspect: prunes.

I'm not sure why prunes are so reviled in American culture, or so revered in Brazilian culture. Perhaps if prunes had the marketing that the California Raisins did, it would be a different story in the U.S. today.

Coming from a place where a good portion of people aren't even aware that prunes are dried plums - to somewhere that has prune yogurt, ice cream and cake has been a real adjustment. Pretty much anything that we have in the U.S. that would be available in cinnamon flavor, is available in Brazil in prune flavor. Prune-flavored gum would not shock me. I don't know if it exists, but I’m sure it is only a matter of time.

Prunes are added to otherwise normal food here, too... I'm talking chicken dishes, pizza... I may have even chanced upon prunes in lasagna once. I can't talk about it, though. It pushed me over the edge.

The "olho-de-sogra" or "mother-in-law's eye" is a popular treat at Brazilian parties. It is made with prunes and coconut filling, garnished with a clove. It truly looks like a plate of eyes staring at you. The symbolism of your mother-in-law... watching you... from every angle... is both horrifying and hilarious. Oh, and it's a bunch of prunes. More prunes...

Don't get me wrong: I think prunes (by themselves) are a healthy dried fruit snack, not just for old people or toddlers as seen by the American culture, and not to be used in place of salt or sugar as it seems to be, in the Brazilian culture. They have their place, and I’m hoping it is found between the two extremes of American and Brazilian cultures...

Anyone from anywhere else have a good example of a happy medium? I'd love to hear it.

All images found on Google