Brazil: the land of nuts and wax, home to beautiful beaches and many beautiful people, where one of the world's largest statues of Jesus looks out over great wealth and some of the world's worst poverty.
Brazil is unique _ it is the sixth-largest country in population, and the fifth largest in size, and it is the only country in North or South America where the official language is Portuguese.
The Portuguese influence is only part of the country's culinary charms. The indigenous people who were colonized by Portugal in 1500 still leave their mark on some of the food, and so do the many slaves from Africa who were brought in for 200 years to work on the sugar plantations.
It is a history much like our own, and the food that resulted from this forced and often unhappy blending of cultures is wonderful.
I took a tour of the foods of Brazil with help from a friend, who spent her childhood there. I asked what her favorite dishes were, she told me and then I made them.
You can, too. There is a whole world of flavor that awaits.
I began with a true delight, an appetizer called P�o de Queijo. Also known as Brazilian Cheese Bread, these are essentially the Brazilian version of French gougeres, those delectable cheese puffs that are the hit of every party.
P�o de Queijo are the same _ same idea, same cooking method _ with one big difference. Instead of wheat flour, they are made from tapioca flour. Cassava, which is what tapioca comes from, is native to South America and grows easily there.
The tapioca flour makes for a crispier texture on the outside and a subtly different flavor. They are chewier than gougeres, and less hollow, but just as insanely addictive.
They were also somewhat cheesier than the gougeres I typically make, because I used a combination of parmesan and farmer's cheeses. The farmer's cheese adds creaminess, and you may be able to find it in a store, but I just made it myself because it is so easy and I'm a little obsessive. If you can't find it and don't want to make it, just use more parmesan. You won't be disappointed.
For a main course, I made the dish that Brazil is most famous for, churrasco. Churrasco is meat, usually beef, that has been grilled on skewers. It requires no seasoning except a fairly heavy dose of salt just before grilling.
In Brazil they use large, coarse salt called sal grosso, which is larger than kosher salt but smaller than rock. I used a Celtic gray salt that is about the right size, but you can just use kosher salt _ or table salt, for that matter. Don't overthink it.
The cut of meat Brazilians use for churrasco is called picanha, which we know as the top sirloin cap. But just because we have a name for it doesn't mean it is easy to find at a store. I used a sirloin, because the cap is just the top part of the bottom sirloin, if that makes sense. But you could also use skirt steak, as they do in Puerto Rico, flank steak, as they do in Argentina, or tenderloin, as they do in Nicaragua.
I topped mine with chimichurri, the all-pervasive sauce made from parsley, cilantro (in this case), garlic, oregano, red wine vinegar and oil. Nothing goes better on grilled meat, which is why it so frequently accompanies churrasco.
For another entree, I used a recipe that combines the coastal country's love of seafood with its African influences, Vatapa. This is a spicy shrimp stew, made with a surreal amount of onion that is pureed with raw shrimp, flavored with coconut milk and thickened with bread crumbs. Whole shrimp are then cooked into this sauce.
All in all, it's a typical recipe for the tropical regions, until you get to this: It also has peanut butter.
That's the influence of Africa, where a similar dish would have been made with groundnuts. The peanut butter adds a singular flavor, a heady shot of umami that undergirds the entire meal. This is a hearty dish that's remarkably satisfying.
Finally, I made dessert. And I was wowed.
Quindim is just that kind of dish. It is a coconut custard, impossibly rich, that makes you stand up, take notice and pay it your respects. And I'm not even hugely fond of coconut.
The secret is the egg yolks. It requires eight yolks. It serves eight people. The math is not difficult.
Obviously, it is a lovely shade of bright yellow. And there aren't many ingredients beyond the yolks: a lot of coconut, a bit of sugar, a splash of coconut milk, a hunk of butter and just enough vanilla.
They are so rich _ and good _ that portions are intentionally small. Brazilians make them with molds like miniature bundt cakes, but any small ramekins will do. I used a muffin tin, and they came out perfect.
I may never use it to make muffins again.
