Churrasco - Brazilian Barbecue

Since arriving in Southern Brazil, I have had the gastronomical pleasure of attending and partaking in several Churrascos, the traditional Brazilian Barbecue. A little bit of research was conducted to try and understand a little more about this centuries-old tradition of Brazil. I realize as I read article after article that there is much more to read and so much more to experience (eat).

In Brazil (Brasil), churrasco (pronounced shoo-hass-co), is the term for a barbecue. Its roots go back centuries to the 1500’s when local cowboys (gauchos) imported beef into Southern Brazil from Cape Verde, a former Portuguese colony off of the west coast of Africa. Beef was a staple food among the cowboys, who each sported their own churrasco knife. The popularity of the Brazilian barbecue has spread throughout the world where delicious foods are served in restaurants known as churrascarias. The smell of wood burning in the back kitchen gives the restaurants an authentic touch. There are dozens located throughout the Los Angeles area; San Diego and Phoenix with catchy Portuguese names such as Rey do Gado (King of the Cow), Fogo e Brasa (fire and ember) and many others.

Here in Southern Brazil, it is not uncommon to find a churrasqueira (barbecue pit) built into the backyard patios of homes or even incorporated into the modern kitchens of newer or remodeled homes. One thing is for sure, these barbecues rely only on charcoal and wood. Gas-fueled barbecues are considered sacrilegious around these parts. It was explained to me that the preparation of wood into hot embers or coals plays an important part of a churrasco social gathering. The wood typically takes a couple of hours to prepare during which time guests can mingle and tip a few cold beers back (cerveja) or try a cool caipirinha, the national drink of Brazil. A caipirinha (pronounced ky-peer-een-ya) is typically made from Cachaça (Brasil’s native liquor made from sugar cane), fresh-smashed lime, sugar and two ice cubes. There are also a number of varieties consisting of wine and fruit or sometimes a concoction involving vodka. Brazilian beverages may sometimes consist only of fruit cocktails with no alcohol, such as fruit punches, Swiss lemonade, and the blackcow. Sometimes these drinks come available in alcoholic versions, called batidas. These alcoholic cocktails vary in exotic flavors ranging from peanuts, coconuts, oranges, apples, pineapples, strawberries and peaches, to papaya, bananas and mango. Other cocktails have creative names such as passion fruit, puma's milk, fruit cocktail, and angel's pee.

Many Brazilian "churrasqueiras" do not have grills, only the skewers above the glowing embers. The meat may alternatively be cooked on large metal or wood skewers resting on a support or stuck into the ground and roasted with the embers of charcoal (wood may also be used). The Brazilian barbecue has evolved into a fanciful meal, accompanied by a variety of salads (including the ever so popular vinaigrette made from lime juice, diced tomatoes, onions, red and green bell peppers, olive oil and vinegar or Brazilian Potato Salad – also called Mayonnaise), dipping sauces, peppers of every color (beware: the smaller the spicier), size and degree of spiciness. The most common meats prepared include Brazilian sausage, different cuts of beef including the famous picanha, pork tenderloin and chicken – all typically seasoned with coarse salt. Fruit is also cooked over the coals and served as a tasty side dish. The smoky, sweet flavor of pineapple tastes great alongside a slice of salted beef.

Once we arrive at a churrasco, we start with caipirinhas, the Brazilian version of the appetizer. These are small cuttings of meats served with toothpicks. Something to note here in Brazil. It is not too common to see one eating with fingers, so try to pick up your food with a toothpick or fork.

After trying tiny servings of several types of meat, we are ordered by our gracious hosts to grab a plate and serve ourselves. If you pass a dish without taking some of it, it is quickly suggested by several onlookers that you have to try it. As a newcomer here in Brazil, the folks go out of their way to make sure that you do not miss anything. I have to say that these folks truly are genuinely nice people. It is easy to feel comfortable in new surroundings, with new people and new foods. As my glass of beer is emptied, I am always met by a smiling Brazilian holding a fresh bottle of Brahma and you guessed it. I never say “no.”

English Pronunciation - Simple Past

Hey Everyone.

Professor Phil here writing from my office in beautiful Pouso Alegre.

As I have been teaching English for the past ten months in Brasil, one of the things that I have noticed among Brasilian English speakers is the pronunciation of the "e" in the "ed" endings of verbs. In most cases, the "ed" will be silent in the past tense and then there are exceptions.

I decided to try and help out my students and fellow teachers with a short list of guidelines that I have compiled. I think it will help. Let me know if you have any questions.

Cheers from Sul de Minas.

Phil

July 12, 2011
by: Philip Schanberger

SUBJECT	OBSERVATIONS AND SUGGESTIONS
Pronunciation Rules	The final sounds for regular verbs in the past tense are: /t/, /d/, /Id/. The final sound is pronounced /t/ after the voiceless sounds: /f/, /k/, /p/, /s/, /tʃ/, /ʃ/. Examples: laughed, licked, sipped, missed, mixed, raced, watched, and wished. The final sound is pronounced /d/ after the voiced sounds /b/, /g/, /dʒ/, /l/, /m/, /n/, /r/, /ŋ/, /ð/, /ʒ/, /ɔ/, /v/, and /z/. Examples: rubbed, hugged, judged, pulled, hummed, banned, occurred, bathed, massaged, banged, lived, surprised. The final sound is pronounced /d/ after vowel sounds. Examples: played, skied, tied, snowed, and argued. The final sound is pronounced /ɪd/ after /t/ and /d/. /ɪd/ adds a syllable to the verb. Examples: want – wanted, attend – attended, instruct – instructed, rest – rested.
Past Tense (past participles) with “ed” endings	A common observation of native Portuguese speakers is hearing the e pronounced in “ed” endings on “regular” (as opposed to irregular verbs) verbs in the past tense (known as the past participle). This is very common amongst ESL speakers of all levels. However, some verbs in the past tense do pronounce the e in the “ed” ending as the following illustrates. They walked to the store and it started to rain. The “e” is silent in “walked”, but pronounced in “started.” Infinitive Past Participle Access Accessed. Silent “e.” Accept Accepted. Pronounced “e.” When a regular verb ends in a silent e, only the letter d must be added in order to form the past participle. The e remains silent in the past participle. Infinitive Past Participle to close closed to move moved to please pleased to receive received The ending ed is usually not pronounced as a separate syllable. For instance, in each of the following examples, both the bare infinitive and the past participle consist of one syllable. For example: Bare Infinitive Past Participle puff puffed work worked miss missed watch watched However, when the ending ed is added to verbs which end in d or t, the ed ending of the past participle is pronounced as a separate syllable. The reason for this is that the sounds of d and t are so similar to the sound of the ed ending, that the ending must be pronounced as a separate syllable in order to be heard clearly. In each of the following examples, the bare infinitive consists of one syllable; whereas the past participle consists of two syllables and the e in the “ed” ending is pronounced. For example: Bare Infinitive Past Participle add added land landed hunt hunted wait waited Similarly, when d is added to verbs ending in a silent e preceded by d or t, the final ed of the past participle is pronounced as a separate syllable. In each of the following examples, the bare infinitive consists of one syllable; whereas the past participle consists of two syllables and hence, the e in the “ed” ending is pronounced. For example: Bare Infinitive Past Participle fade faded glide glided cite cited note noted Grammar Notes: Most English verbs form the past participle in a regular, predictable manner. These verbs are commonly referred to as regular verbs. The past participle of a regular English verb is formed by adding the ending ed to the bare infinitive of the verb. For instance, the past participle of the verb to work is worked. When a regular verb ends in y immediately preceded by a consonant, the y is changed to i before the ending ed is added. For example: Infinitive Past Participle to study studied to rely relied to carry carried However, when a regular verb ends in y immediately preceded by a vowel, the y is not changed before the ending ed is added. For example: Infinitive Past Participle to play played to convey conveyed to enjoy enjoyed Suggestion: Practice reading aloud simple sentences written in the past tense that utilize verbs with an “ed” ending.

Milagre na Grama

So there we were on a typical Sunday afternoon in Brasil. A Brasilian wife, an American husband, a son's friend and three Brasimerican kids.Who would root for Brasil and who would root for the USA? This was undoubtedly the biggest game of the Cup. Two powerhouses playing each other with a lot of hype leading up to it. I have to be honest; I had no clue about who was playing for the US team. I only knew about a super player on Brasil named Marta.

Well, before the game started, Pedro, an eleven year old neighbor and soccer friend of James (Thiago - my middle boy) and I made a small wager. One Real was the bet. No points, no spread, just a simple, friendly bet. But that one Real sat like a piece of gold on the coffee table. Each of us eyeing it throughout the game.

So the game starts off with some excitement and a freak goal. We're all human, right? I could only imagine the nerves that the players were feeling as the crowd roared and the adrenaline rushed through their veins at 1000 heart beats per minute. With a one to zero score going into the second half, I kept wondering who was the better team. Brasil surely was knocking at the door throughout the game, but Hope Solo (she has to have an Agent with that kind of name) kept leaping high and denying the Brasileiras of any goals - until the controversial penalty call. When the red card was pulled, I said to my cheering wife, well now you have a great chance of tying the game, but watchout, we have an awesome goalie. The best female goal scorer against the best female goalie, in the best matchup in all of soccer. Even my wife commented that the female Brasilian team was more exciting than the Brasilian men's team, who has been playing sub-par lately.

With fingers crossed we watched anxiously and waited for the ref's whistle. With the blow of the whistle, the two warriors were set. I kept thinking about the goalie's part. It has to be a guessing game. Which side of the net will she pick? The left or the right? Pick one and pray that Marta picks the same side of the net. Bam! The kick is the right and Hope dives to the right. Incredible choice. Incredible result. The ecstatic moment is short lived as Hope starts to wave her hands in protest. "What is going on?" I asked the audience. My wife explained to me, her being a soccer expert from birth that someone jumped off of the line. Another chance for Marta. This isn't good I thought, staring at the gold doubloon on the coffee table. With another whistle the warriors were set again. The fans were truly getting some bang for their buck with these showdowns. Hope goes to her right and Marta stays with the same kick - to the right side of the net. Goallllllll!!!! It's yelled throughout the room and on the TV. Oh well. And there is Pedro, getting closer to the Real. "Not yet," I say to the rambunctious kid. "It's one to one," I say.

It's one to one. Let's get to overtime.

I have to admit, when it comes to the game of soccer, I can juggle a ball ok and kick it around, but when it comes to the rules, well, I'm a rookie. So it's now in overtime. The overtime process is explained to me by my soccer expert wife.

In the second minute of extra time, Marta lives up to her giant status by scoring a goal over the stretched out arms of Hope, giving her team a 2-1 lead. Pedro is hooting and my wife gives me one of those, "too bad for you" looks with a shrug of her shoulders. But I am surprised to hear her quickly say that there is still plenty of time left. I start to really worry now and I think about all of the disappointing Sunday afternoons watching my Chargers lose big, important games. I think that I could be outside exercising and doing something worthwhile instead of dying this slow death infront of the TV. So the game moves on as my thoughts swirl through my head.

Well into the second period of extra time I am starting to concede that the gold doubloon now belongs to Pedro, who is sporting a grin from ear to ear. But wait a minute. The US team is charging down the field. The girl with short blond hair is running uncontested down the left side of the field and lofts an aerial pass towards the net. What happens next is still a blur in my mind. I only see the net get pushed backwards and a ball dropping to the grass. The team is ecstatic and suddenly James is jumping into my arms. It's one of those rare moments of pure celebration. I remember similar moments, like the time in Jack Murphy Stadium in San Diego as the Chargers beat Miami on a missed field goal. That was an exciting game too. Pedro is turned around. His head is buried into the cushions of the sofa and James and I are spinning around in front of the TV. Lucas asks for his turn and I spin him around too. Better late than never. The fans really should be paying a lot for this game.

So my wife explains to me now that the game will go into a kick-off. Penalty kicks. She looks at me and then at Pedro and tells Pedro that Brasil's got its hands full with Solo in the goal. Again, it's part experience and part luck as the goalies pick their corners to protect. After all of the goals and the loan save, the US team is going nuts. And I'm suddenly feeling a bit of sorrow for a group of warriors from my new home country, Brasil. The win is bitter-sweet for me. Pedro is speechless and my wife is happy for her boys and her husband. What a Sunday. What a game. Now it was time to go outside and exercise. Pedro, James, Lucas, John and I head down to the Campo to kick around an old basketball as a winter day comes to a close. The sunset was spectacular and all was nice in a beautiful place.

Watch Out for the Long-Legged Women

So, as the title states, watch out for long legged women while in Brasil. On most hot evenings, while I lay in bed after watching hours of Novela, I will hear her soft voice singing in the dark. At first it is distant, but the voice gets closer and closer. Just when my eyes have surrendered to the weight of their eyelids and I'm at the doorstep of dreamland, she sneaks into my room, singing her haunting songs. It doesn't matter if I've locked the door, she'll find a way into the room. With the hot nights, she needs her fix. Often, her point of entry is right through the bedroom window. The windows stay open to catch a bit of breeze to chase away the lingering heat.

Right up to my ear she'll come, singing that damm song. Buzzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Yes, once you've been bitten by her sneaky kiss, you'll search for her for hours, looking under the bed, behind the dresser, anywhere where it's dark. "Pernilongo" or in English "long legs" thrives on the blood of its victims. She needs blood to nurish her own young who are still insider her in the form of eggs. She is the mosquito.

If you want to avoid these menacing women with long legs, you need to buy one of the scented plug-ins at the local mercado. Raid makes one that costs a small day's wages, but it seems to work. My only fear is that I'll end of looking like the enemy after a year of breathing the strange fumes that waft through the air. You can also try the trusted "ventilador" or electric fan. Turn it up to storm strength and it helps to blow the ladies out of the room.

Well, I hope this warning helps your future sojourns into Brasil. You are sure to hear a lot of curious titles for things that you're sure to encounter in this beautiful country. For now, take care and be warry. Watch out for the long-legged women.

Six Feet on a Putting Green

What a day. Another hot day to be exact. I just checked the weather pages and I only see 109 for the high today. It felt hotter, but that's because I was standing right under the big yellow star in the sky.

I talked Thiago and Lucas into going to the Driving Range around noon today. We headed across the street to a very nice place named Trilogy. It's a retirement community that is pretty quiet in the summer when many residents go north to their primary homes.

We purchased two bags of balls from the pro shop, but the employee (Rick), threw in another bag for good measure. He mentioned that it would be needed. Good place with great help.

Lucas was a champ. He took his right-handed clubs and hit them left-handed. After correcting him several times, I gave up and decided to ask the proshop for a left-handed club. Again, Rick answered the call by drumming up a nice junior 6 iron. Lucas enjoyed rolling them out twenty yards or so. I was amazed at how he kept at it.

Thiago, on the other hand was bent on showing me up. He consistently nailed them dead straight. Some shots soared, some killed worms, but they all went straight. He asked me why he was hitting them farther than me. That had me revved up. I took out my driver, teed up a yellow Callaway range ball and topped the doggone ball and watched it roll fifteen feet. I guess he was right.

We took a break after I found Lucas hiding under a tree for shade. I asked him if he would like a soda and he screamed back at me, "yes." After two sodas each, the boys were ready to finish the three bags of range balls. Thiago, being the sport he is, finished his bag first and proceeded to empty my golf bag of any golf balls. It was time to go to the putting green. When we walked onto the putting green, we were all alone. It was perfect. But before we could sink two putts, carts were lining up. It was just before a tournament and everyone was there to practice. It got interesting very fast. Lucas proceeded to walk right in front of a wana-be pro, who barked at him to go around. I apologized to the next Arnold and he said it was ok. Then Thiago goes and picks up someone’s ball after it comes within inches of dropping into the cup. Another bark from a tee’d off golfer. But the boys enjoyed the moment unaware of their infractions. After 30 minutes of putting, the boys finally agreed it was time for an air conditioner.

What an awesome day. Hot weather and two cool dudes on a driving range in the Sonora Desert.

Listen to the Quiet

It is early Wednesday morning and the day's first light filters through the blinds. As I lay in bed I try to convince myself that it is time to get up, but I know that it is only 4:30am. I know that the air is cool outside, by desert standards. It is probably about 78 degrees. Sleep wins the struggle as I close my eyes again.



Just before 7am I awaken again. This time the urge is too strong to stay in bed. I quietly slide out of bed and head for the closet. Shorts, shirt - where are my shoes? My boots must be in the garage. For some odd reason I put on a pair of topsiders (boat shoes meant for walking wet decks in rolling seas). I grab one bottle of water, a banana, my pen and a piece of paper. As I head out the door, the sun greets me warmly. A little too warmly as it is now in the 80's and climbing. But clouds abound and a little breeze blows as I climb into the car.



I park at the end of Bell Road, north of the Hunt Highway. It is a dirt road that passes small ranches complete with horses and a few barking dogs that like to chase my car as I pass by. I park at the dead end of the dirt road. As I pack away a few things, a fly has already discovered me. I cannot see him, but he buzzes loudly above me. Unfortunately, he will be my companion for most of the trip.



This is the Sonora Desert in July. Luckily this year, we have enjoyed a cooler summer. I gauge this by the temperatures at night. We have been blessed with upper 70's and a few low 80's - none of the 90's that make mornings depressing.



I hop a short fence and trek southwestward with the sun on my back. Alto Cumulus clouds abound. The middle clouds appear like pillows floating across the blue desert sky. Their presence is welcome for it dots the landscape with cool dark shadows. I stop to snap a picture of the mountains draped in shadow and morning sunlight.



The boat shoes struggle through the sand as I follow an arroyo. Grains and pebbles find their way into my toes, forcing me to periodically stop and empty each shoe. I remember an old saying. "It is not the distance that matters, but the size of the pebble in your shoe." It makes total sense to me and I am sure whoever wrote that did not wear topsiders on their treks.



I study the many tracks looking especially for any larger ones. Recently, there have been numerous sightings of a mountain lion north of this location. My guess is that the cat originated from this wild area and has found food in the developed subdivisions that make up a lot of the valley. Identifying tracks in sand is difficult as their shapes are not distinctive. Small depressions are everywhere, likely jackrabbit and cottontail. A few larger tracks are most likely coyote. But wait. I see even larger tracks. I can't tell if they are horse tracks or possibly a big cat. With the number of horse farms around, I settle on horses.



I decide to get out of the sand and to walk on Tera firma. I think that means firm dirt. A white winged dove glides by overhead landing on a nearby Saguaro for a breakfast of cactus fruit. The white winged dove, I have noticed, shows up in this part of the world as the Saguaros start to blossom - their bright white flowers adopted by Arizona as the state flower. The bright red fruit that results from pollinated flowers is a favorite of these doves.



It is eerily quiet in the desert. Any sound travels fast and lands soft on the ears. It is easy to drift off into thought as I think about my family, friends and life in general. I decide to name my article, "Listen to the Quiet." Looking upward, I find a small peak that looks like a good destination. I think of my mom and her birthday (it is actually the next day) and an idea enters my head. At the top of the peak I will shoot a panoramic video with a birthday message and post it to Facebook. I am driven to climb.



I meander through desert scrub. As long as a plant has no thorns, I am ok with walking through its branches. I stop to look eastward as the sunlight sets to glowing, small seed pods clinging to the creosote shrubs (Larrea tridenta). Each seed is adorned by fine silvery papus designed to help in seed dispersal by wind. The silver glimmer combined with the shine of the waxy leaves is captured on camera as I snap a couple of pictures. This plant afforded the local natives with medicinal uses. European settlers used it for "pitch oil," a preservative used on wood. After a rainfall, the smell of creosote fills the air and reminds me of fishing off the piers in San Diego Bay, where pilings and planks were preserved in pitch oil.



By the minute I can feel the sun warming. Looking upward I notice that the patchwork of clouds have drifted northward leaving the sun all alone to bathe me in desert heat. I twist off the water bottle cap and down half the bottle. The water is nearly too warm to drink. Again, I am reminded to move onward before it is too warm.

As I near the top of the summit, I pull my camera out and start to film. As I stop at the top I shoot a panoramic view with a brief, heartfelt message to mom. Just then the fly finds me again. His buzz annoying me as I try to film the desert world. A cool, welcome breeze finds me and seems to chase the fly away. I look towards heaven and whisper a thank you. The quiet returns as my thoughts go back to mom. Although I am a day early I find out later, I wish her a Happy Birthday. I pack away the camera and take one last sip of water before heading down the mountain. My first step breaks the silence as stones roll down ahead of me. Tempted, I stop again to listen and once more I hear it. Atop a peak in the Sonora Desert world, I stand with ears wide open and listen. Here, the sound of quiet is always waiting for a wanting ear.

Desert Surprise

Well, what can you say? It's June and I'm living in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. It's Sunday, June 13th and the day is winding down. I feel like being outdoors after having spent a lot of time inside, staying cool from the heat.

There is a hint that the heat of the day has passed as a breeze blows through the Mesquite trees in the back yard. I look at my watch and without hesitation, I run inside to gather my things.

First I grab the cooler and throw in a couple of bottles of water, cubes of ice and one beer. I quickly change, throwing on my old boots that have been with me since high school, over thirty years and head for the car. I feel a sense of adrenalin flowing through my veins as I envision the desert landscape before me as a day settles in and the sun starts to orange.

It is a short seven mile drive from my driveway to the end of a dirt road north of the Santan Mountains. I park my car next to a barbed wire fence with a rusted out sign that still reads "no trespassing." A light breeze meets me as I exit my car. I am guessing that it has dipped below 90 degrees and heading towards the low seventies tonight. I have hiked this trail several times and have yet to see another soul. For now, it is my paradise. It is classic Sonoran Desert with medium sized trees, lots of cactus species, dried grasses from the winter rains and beautiful rocks - some glittering like gems sprinkled before me. Trails are easy to pick as the desert vegetation leaves plenty of open areas. I especially enjoy walking up arroyos - the dried up stream beds that have been carved through rock and lined with soft sand. A trek through an arroyo can be a great workout. A word of caution however, always know where you're at and always know the weather forecast. During Monsoon Season, an arroyo can become a deathtrap, flooding so quickly that an unsuspecting hiker can find himself trapped and in serious trouble.

The quiet surrounds me only to be broken by the occasional cry of a Thrasher. I wonder what the bird is saying and why. If you listen carefully, you can hear another call far off in the distance. It is a brief chat between two birds before sundown.

I make my way south along a sandy arroyo. As I walk along, I try to figure out what animals have trekked through ahead of me. There are prints everywhere. Cottontails, Jack Rabbits, Coyote, Javelina, various lizards and some bird tracks - probably Gambles Quail.

The numerous hills drop their cool shadows around me as the sun sets lower to the west. I sense an urgency to walk faster before dark cuts short my hike. I look east at the hills and they seem to be on fire as orange and yellow cap their peaks. My mind is busy as I try to figure out what I want to do at this moment. Do I look down for artifacts, minerals, possibly a rare desert tortoise or do I look about at the landscape in hopes of seeing a coyote, roadrunner or some other shy desert dweller. As always, I choose both. As I walk along there is a moment of looking down followed a moment of looking upward and about.

As I climb higher, I pause and turn around to see what I have accomplished. I pull a cool bottle of water from my backpack and tip it back and guzzle. One of life's simple pleasures.

Below me are the distant lights of downtown Phoenix, seventy miles away. I wonder about the noise, the traffic, the constant confusion of a big city. I am glad I am here in my simple world. The quiet, the serenity, the magical sense that is what the desert is all about.

It is simply beautiful, simply serene and simply, for the moment, my paradise.