That is so wrong!

One of the things I enjoyed most about travelling was meeting people from all over the world. Granted there weren’t many Somalians climbing the mountains down in Patagonia, but even so, I still found myself meeting and getting to know people of nationalities I’d never previously encountered. And through these people I was introduced to all kinds of new music, films, books, phrases, etc.

I now know that a “yoke” to an Irishman translates roughly as “thingamy” as in “Pass me that yoke there will you?”. That Fahhhhn! is a rude word in Swedish. That Mexicans sprinkle a little salt into their Corona.

You want salt with that? I hated it at first, then found I loved it. But as soon as I left Mexico it was disgusting again…

Of course these differences in culture, taste and tradition led to many disagreements and debates, though perhaps ‘debate’ is giving these conversations too much credit as they rarely surpassed the repetition of the phrase “That is so wrong!”.

Well I have been in Brazil for more than a year now and I have a couple of items I would like to raise.

Chilled Red Wine
That’s right, here in Brazil, red wine comes cold! And I am not talking about a slightly lower than room temperature Pinot Noir here. I am talking straight from the fridge, condensation misting up the surface of the bottle as it hits the balmy Brazilian heat. I actually had a rather embarrassed host once apologise to me that the wine (red) wasn’t very cold yet as it had only just been put in the fridge. All I could say was “Not a problem”. Of course, when it’s 40+ degrees Celsius (104 F), a warm glass of some gutsy red probably wouldn’t be top of anyone’s wish-list (not something we northern Europeans have to worry about too often). But I think it will be a few more years at least before I’m serving red wine in an ice bucket.

Mmmm, refreshing… And here is why I’m wrong: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/02/dining/02pour.html

Sweet Avocado Cream Dessert
Avocados here in Brazil are great. Unlike those little rock-hard specimens that are flown into Europe, take a week to ripen and then rapidly transmogrify into brown sludge, the avocados here can be as big as a rugby ball and stay ripe and buttery for days. I remember the first avocado I bought here. I picked it up in a local market and proudly brought it back to my girlfriend’s house with visions of a spicy, tangy guacamole. The next day I got back from work, armed with chillies, garlic, onions and coriander (cilantro). But my prized avocado had gone! I eventually found a pale green substance in a bowl in the fridge and assumed that someone had made what looked like the dullest guacamole on earth – where were all the other ingredients that make it so yummy? On tasting it I got the shock of my life. Ingredients had been added but not those that I had expected. Instead it had been puréed and mixed with condensed milk and sugar. Now that is so wrong.

“Mum, what’s for pudding?”

OK, I’ve been laying into a few Brazilian culinary oddities, but like I said, the differences are what make travelling interesting. And I feel confident that my Brazilian friends and family will be quick to respond. I think it best to go for a pre-emptive strike:

Warm Beer
The British drink warm beer. We love it. We absolutely never drink our beer cold. I have been told this so many times now that even I’m starting to believe it! I’m not a beer expert, but as I understand it, ales and stouts are served at room temperature, lagers are served chilled. But these are just details – beer temperature is very important to Brazilians (it must be very C-O-L-D – more on this in the next post) and the idea of warm beer freaks them out. And I’ve got to say, I’m becoming a bit of a convert here. I used to think nothing of finishing off a beer that had got warm, but now I discard it and get a cold one. Life it too short for luke-warm lager.

Brazilian: You English drink warm beer don’t you? Me: Well no actually, not always… Brazilian: Yes you do. Me: OK, you’re right, we do.

Marmite
After travelling for a few months I found myself pining for Marmite. By the time I got to Brazil, Marmite had achieved almost god-like status. My girlfriend was puzzled – what was this magical foodstuff that I was constantly scanning delicatessen and speciality food store shelves for? Trying to describe it was tricky. The best I could do was: “it’s like a dark brown, salty honey” – sounds horrible right? Nonetheless, she was almost as excited as me when a parcel arrived from home. I ripped open the packaging to find a precious jar of the brown stuff and we both went to the kitchen to make toast.

Food of the gods

Let’s just say she really hates it. All those Marmite clichés are true. I love it, she hates it. And to be honest, I don’t blame her – it is kind of horrible, but having been raised on the stuff, I can’t help but find it delicious. And as well as being very good for you, I also find it works as a great sandwich protector – hungry Brazilians suddenly lose their appetite when they discover there is an extra layer of magic between the ham and the cheese.