Brazil

 

Children say the darndest things.  They also live in the darndest places.  That’s why I write this from São Paulo, Brazil, third largest city in the world and a place not at the top of my “see before I die” list. 

Like everywhere else, it has its plusses and minuses.  On the downside, the language is impossible to pronounce (at least for me), the city is huge and overwhelming, and it’s a long, long trip from home.  On the plus side, our son Seth is living here.  That trumps everything.

Twenty-four hours into our visit, I am no longer overwhelmed.  I am getting to know his neighborhood and the little café next door where this morning, my huge glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice was about a dollar.  We’ve walked into the center of the city and visited the municipal market full of, among other things, exotic fruits that I could never learn to pronounce, but happily tasted.  At lunch near the market, I had a plateful of food from the buffet.  The farofa, a grain-like Brazilian staple made from yuca flour and butter, was my favorite.  It has a pleasing nutty flavor, and I’d be happy to have it be a staple in my home too.

São Paulo is for foodies.  Dinner at Mani our first night was off-the-charts wonderful.  It would take a food critic to do it justice.  I recommend the falsos tortéis de pupunha e abóbora.