A few days ago I opened up to you guys (very bravely I think) and told you about a couple of the insects I fear. Today I want to redress the balance a little and tell you about an insect that I am just dying to eat meet. It goes by the name Tanajura and with no further ado let’s take a look at one:
Tanajura – a flying leaf-cutter ant with an enlarged, erm, abdomen.
I know, it’s not exactly pretty is it? But, as I just hinted, my interest is not entirely entomological.
My first brush with Guaraná was at the tender age of 14. A new product was being hyped on the shelves of my local newsagents – Guarana Gum. Apparently this magical green bubble gum would give me an energy ‘buzz’ and there was definitely an implication that perhaps this exotic ingredient from the Amazon might have some kind of narcotic effect. As far as I was concerned this stuff was called “Ger-RAH-ner” and one try was enough to convince me that it was a big disappointment.
Fast forward 20 years and Guaraná is now an everyday soft drink (or refrigerante as they say in Portuguese) and I have learned that it is properly pronounced: gwah-ra-NAH. The drink is very sweet, tasting a bit like bubblegum. The active ingredient of the drink comes from the fruit of a climbing plant native to the Amazon basin. Guaraná fruit have high levels of caffeine (twice that of coffee) and as such can stimulate memory and alertness. There have also been studies that suggest a it may suppress appetite as well as antioxidant, antibacterial and (you guessed it!) aphrodisiac effects.
So that is Guaraná. And this is Guaraná Jesus:
This is Guaraná Jesus. An unusual name for a drink that has an interesting history.
Regular Eat Rio readers will know that I have a bit of a bus obsession. It’s a cheap way to get around town and entertainment (in the form of people watching) is never far away. I’ve collected my favourite bus adventures/stories in a single post from way back. Well this morning I witnessed some more extraordinary behaviour – I was a little late on my way to work, so the bus was fairly empty, but there was a girl sitting on her own in the seat in front of me.
I got myself settled down and comfortable and then glanced up to witness the most extraordinary behaviour.
She was hair twirling, though I think perhaps there should be some other name for it when you attain this level of skill and complexity.
I’ve had some interesting insect encounters recently. A couple of days ago, a barata (cockroach) flew in threw an open window and started running around our house. I found this pretty distressing as I have a deep-seated fear of cockroaches anyway – the realisation that they can fly in at any moment was not a happy one. Then, last night, a cigarra (cicada) flew in. Cicadas are those things you hear chirruping or buzzing in trees at night and, for your information, they are the size of a small bird. It went careering around the living room making a freaky clicking noise as it smashed into the floor, ceiling, walls, lights. It was exciting, but not in a good way (I am using that famous British trait of extreme understatement there).
I have no problem with these guys in the same way that I have no problem with say, helicopters. As long as they stay out of my house, they’re alright by me.
In most circumstances, when one of these beasts comes into our house, I invite my Brazilian wife to deal with them (I usually make this invitation whilst shrieking like a frightened child from the room furthest from our uninvited guest). The way I see it, they are native to her country and so she is naturally best-placed to deal with them. To me they are like terrifying aliens. If we ever move to England, I will be more than happy to return the favour and deal with any hedgehogs, badgers or harvestmice that wander in.
The wild animals of Britain. Terrifying aren’t they? Nonetheless, if necessary I will step up and bravely escort them from the premises.
I was wandering through a market yesterday when I saw Rapadura for sale. I’m not 100% sure what the best translation of rapadura is – originally I thought I could just call it ‘raw sugar’, but now I’m not so sure. Well, as the saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words and I’m sure you’d rather just look at the picture:
Raw sugar? Solid Muscovado? I don't know! Hard brown block of unrefined sugar seems a bit verbose. Let's just stick with rapadura shall we?
So you can see, it’s a solid block of unrefined sugar. This stuff was originally developed in the 16th century in either the Azores or the Canary Islands (thanks Wikipedia) as a way of conveniently transporting small amounts of sugar in hot, humid climates. It is made by crushing sugar cane and then boiling down the juice until it reaches a consistency that can be molded into blocks. But there is more to it than that.