Brazilians know how to eat


damn.. look at that pink
damn.. look at that pink

Random Observation/Comment #93: Brazilians know how to eat their beef.  This hypothesis was confirmed when I met a Brazilian family Upstate that buys their own cow from a farm, and owns three freezers to keep her fresh for 6 months of eating.  When the mother said, “I went to a farm to buy the meat in this soup,” I thought her “farm” was a Upstate saying for grocery store.  When I asked how often she went, I realized she must have had 250 pounds of moo left in her freezers.  I opened it pretending to find a drink just to make sure – Impressive.

My arm started to look like a proper sacrifice for my stomach pains.  This odd glaze fell over my eyes as I pictured recipes over everyone’s body parts.  People’s names blended into new dishes: Rodrigo soufflé, Mia Tenderloin, Richie Shish kebab.  Even inanimate objects morphed themselves into savory meats.  I imagined swimming in a pool of gravy and mashed potatoes.  I think that would be like quick sand.  The gravy pits would probably explode and form gaps that suck you into its bottomless pit of deliciousness.  What would be the worst thing to happen would be if it was made from that crappy boxed mashed potatoes garbage and gravy without gravy master.  I would probably cry.  Surrounded by a mashed potato lava quick sand pit of doom doesn’t sound very appealing to me unless there are Idaho potatoes and garlic involved.

Needless to say, I had skimped on lunch knowing that dinner would be a feast.  I think I ate an onigiri and drank a 1.5 liter of Aquarius to pass the day. I shopped around the area to ease my appetite.   It’s weird how that type of distraction can keep me full through the day.  I might need to start getting help for shopping.  Shopping alone is the first sign of a problem.  I think I just need someone to pull into the jeans obsession and I’ll be okay.  Two people shopping is not an addiction – that’s a Saturday.

The Brazilian buffet was called “EternA” and it reminded me of the “Master Grill” in Flushing.  There’s a normal buffet of mediocre foods, but the main course of meats come from the guys with the large knives and skewers.  A little salt-shaker-looking contraption has green painted on one side and red painted on another.  Always keep it green.  Keep the meats coming!  Friends with smaller stomachs should sit around me.  The rule is: Continue asking for more even if you’re not going to eat it because either me or Richie will certainly take that off your plate.

I think the main things I ate that night was red meat and cherry tomatoes.  I took pictures pointing to the part of the happy cow I was about to devour.  I felt so barbaric, yet the tender cuts relinquished any morsel of guilt.  The meat was already killed, butchered, marinated, grilled, and served on my plate in perfectly pink slices.  Wouldn’t I be offending the sacrifice by not, at least, enjoying this orgasmic taste to its fullest extent?  I think I would have had an erection, but my stomach was too full to maintain the blood flow.

Before you completely stuff your face and fall into a food comatose state, be sure to stay awake and leave room for the best part: Toasted cinnamon pineapple.  I didn’t even think it was possible to enjoy something so much when I’m on the verge of breaking my belt buckle.  I think it was analogous to seeing baby Jesus with your taste buds.  I can’t explain it any better than that.  I’m not even going to try.  What a good dinner.

~See Lemons Carnivorous

orgasmic
orgasmic

 

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