True Pepper

I wouldn’t say that I didn’t like Brazilian food when I first got here, but it did take a little time to get to know it well enough that I could appreciate the difference between, for example, good farofa and bad farofa – at first they all just taste like weird, dry powder. After a while you get a feel for it and you start to understand why some places have people spilling out onto the street while others stand empty. 


One criticism you could level at mainstream Brazilian food is that it can be a little bland and stodgy. I’ve learned to love rice, beans and farofa but there are times when I long for a lamb bhuna or a Thai green curry. 

 

Indian food. Sigh - que saudade…

 


Well a great way to zing things up a little while you’re in Brazil is to get busy with the chilli. Brazilians love to add it to many of their favourite petiscos (finger-food snacks like coxinha) and also to all the ‘rice and bean’ type dishes. 


I’m no expert on chillis, but I get the impression that many of the varieties that they use here in Brazil are the same as those used in many other places around the world – they just have different names. If there are any chilli experts reading this then what I’d really like is a chart which lists each variety and the various names they have around the world (be sure to include Scoville levels and have it on my desk by Monday). 


In the meantime, I’ll tell you about the chillis I’ve encountered here. One of my favourite varieties has to be Dedos de Moça (girl’s fingers). This is a great ‘utility chilli’ – powerful, fiery heat, deep red colour and the size of (can you guess?) a girl’s finger. Though a rather fat fingered girl now that I think about it. 

Dedos de Moça – when they grow up they want to be Okra… (image)

Next up is the Malagueta. I have my suspicions that this is what we call a Bird’s Eye chilli back home. They are very small and hot as hell! Ter cuidado! 


The two other chillis I have discovered here have been a real revelation. They are pimenta cheiro and pimenta biquinho. Cheiro means “smell” and this is a bit of a hint – they have a strong, fragrant flavour, but almost no heat at all! And the biquinhos are even better – these tiny, cherry-like chillis taste amazing but again, have almost no kick. 

Feisty little Malaguetas and the cherry-like Biquinhos. Infuse these two in oil for a couple of months and you’ll have something that adds an extra dimension to your rice and beans. 



Here in Brazil most bars and restaurants make their own chilli oil, but weirdly enough you usually have to ask for it. And even when you do put in a request for Pimenta, they often bring you a bottle of Tabasco. You then have to say “Tem pimenta verdade?” (do you have real chilli?). They will disappear and then return with a small pot or bottle of the good stuff. They make you work for it, but take it from me, it’s worth the effort!

4 replies
  1. The Gritty Poet
    The Gritty Poet says:

    When it comes to asking for the house concoction I usually go with Pimenta Caseira. If the place is a bit more upscale I vocab splurge and ask for Pimenta Artesanal. Again, just how I roll, being the man of many Pimentas that I am.
    I have turned completely anti-coxinha by the way. Those things are artery cloggers and deserve a hate group. The rodoviária Coxinha, queen of cloggers (I picture Coxinhas to be female for some reason), should be targeted by special forces.

    Reply
  2. Alan Twelve
    Alan Twelve says:

    Even though we're obsessed with the curry in the UK, it's really quite difficult to buy decent chillies. Or, more accurately, it's difficult to buy any sort of decent variety of chillies. I'd love to get some tasty mild ones to roast in salt for snacking, but since the options here tend to be 'chillies', rather than any specific variety, it's difficult to be sure that they won't be too hot too eat (the voice of painful experience…).

    I should grow my own, really.

    Reply
  3. Tom Le Mesurier
    Tom Le Mesurier says:

    Ah yes, I remember that – just generic "Chillies". It's like when the label just says "Red Wine", you know you're not going to be getting anything special. I should count myself lucky.

    I guess there must be some stalls round the East End but you'd have to go searching…

    Reply

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