RECIPE - Pork Hocks Minas Gerais Style (Pé de Porco Mineiro)

The new/old philosophy of raising food animals humanely and organically is something that has struck a chord around the world in recent years. The success of worldwide organizations like Slow Food as well as of small community group-created iniatives in support of local organic food producers would seem to indicate that there is growing concern that the meat and dairy products that we eat (at least those of us who are not vegans) come from animals that have had a healthy, non-medicated and relatively happy life and that the animals who have been slaughtered suffer as little fear and pain as possible.

The most recent post in this blog, about a ranch in Brazil that is home to a contented group of pigs, is an example of this philosophy being expressed in action. You can click here to read more about the ranch and its four-legged denizens.

There is another aspect, though, to this new attitude to meat-eating that wasn't discussed in the post about Alfheim ranch. That aspect is the idea that once an animal has been slaughtered for food, for our benefit, it behooves those who eat it not to waste large portions of the animal. The thought is, basically, that if we kill an animal to eat it, it deserves at the very least not to have only small choice bits used and the rest thrown away or converted into food for other farm animals.

Traditional food cultures around the world have always felt that way and have found ways to eat almost the entire slaughtered carcass. There's an old saw about Chinese cuisine that says that when it comes to pigs, it serves up everything but the squeal. Obviously there is an economic rationale for this complete utilization of a slaughtered animal, but it is also a matter of respect.

Brazilian cuisine has traditionally made use of many portions of an animal that might be thrown away in other cultures - limbs, bones, organs, ears, noses, testicles, everything. Some of the most iconic traditional dishes of Brazilian gastronomy, like feijoada and the recently-discussed buchada, make use of what might euphemistically be called "lesser cuts" of meat.

Minas Gerais state, in Brazil's mountainous interior has a well-developed traditional cuisine and one might expect to find recipes using less expensive cuts of meat to be found in cookbooks, on family tables or served in restaurants specializing in regional food. And one does. Recipes like this one for pork hocks (or pigs' feet if you will) which is the house specialty at the Bar Giovanni in the small village of Cristina, 250 miles from Belo Horizonte, the state's capital and biggest city.

At the Bar Giovanni, pork hocks are never off the menu - the owner, Giovanni Concenza, and his wife/chef say that local customers wouldn't allow it. Sr. Concenza says that it's not when a customer leaves the bar singing the praises of the dish that they know the customer loved it, it's when the customer has eaten so much of it that he or she has trouble even walking out the door when the meal is finished.

The recipe is very simple, and at Bar Giovanni, the pork is accompanied by sauteed kale and angu, the Brazilian take on polenta. Pork hocks are generally available from good-quality butcher shops everywhere, though you may have to order them in advance.
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RECIPE - Pork Hocks Minas Gerais Style (Pé de Porco Mineiro)

2 lbs (1 kg) pork hock (usually two pieces)
10 cloves garlic, 7 chopped, 3 whole
1 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
4 medium tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped
1 14-oz can crushed tomatoes, or tomato puree
salt to taste
chopped cilantro and green onion to taste
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Wash the pork hocks carefully in running water. Using the tip of a sharp knife or a turkey-trussing pin, pierce the skin thoroughly to allow fat to drain.

Put the hocks in a large pan, add 2 quarts cold water, bring to a boil over medium high heat and let boil for five minutes. Remove from the heat, drain the hocks and reserve.

In a clean deep pan, combine the hocks with 1 quart fresh water and three whole cloves of the garlic. Bring to a boil, cover the pan and reduce the heat, and cook at a slow boil for 1 hour to 90 minutes, or until the pork is completely cooked and tender. Drain the pork and reserve.

In another clean pan, heat the olive oil, then add the chopped garlic and fry for a few minutes. Do not let the garlic brown or burn. Add the chopped tomato and the canned tomatoes, mix thoroughly and cook for a few minutes. Add the pork hocks, regulate heat so that the tomato sauce just bubbles, cover the pan and let cook for 30 minutes, adding a small amount of water if necessary to cook moist.

Remove from heat, and serve the hocks immediately, sprinkled with chopped cilantro and green onion. Traditional accompaniments are kale and angu (polenta) but you can substitute other green vegetable and boiled potatoes if desired.

Recipe translated and adapted from Sabores de Minas-Roteiros Gastronomicos website.

A Canadian-Brazilian FairyTale - Rance Hesketh's Happy Pigs

Rance Hesketh (in blue T-shirt) and his pigs

The lucky porkers who live on the Alfheim ranch, located high in the Serra do Mar mountain range that separates São Paulo city from the coastal plain of São Paulo state, just might be the most blissed-out pigs in all of Brazil. The ranch, whose name means "elf home" in German, is situated deep in the dense mountain forests of the Mata Atlantica, Brazil's threatened coastal rain forest. It is at Alfheim that Rance Hesketh, 49, a transplanted Canadian, cultivates organic crops and raises a variety of animals in the best-possible and most organic way, and it is there where those fortunate porcines spend their days rooting around, rolling in the mud and grunting contentedly.

Hesketh moved to Brazil in 2008, although he was already familiar with the country from previous visits, upon arrival began to implement his dreams for the ranch. Among his plans and ambitions was a scheme to raise native breeds of pigs organically and humanely. He eventually decided to raise two breeds, the Sorocaba and the Monteiro. When the ranch was ready to receive its first animals, he traveled to Mato Grosso state in western Brazil to pick up his first breeding pairs. Today, Alfheim is home to about 150 pigs who share their territory with organically raised dairy cows and free-range chickens.

The pigs are only fed organic food, which is primarily cultivated on the ranch itself. Sugar cane and manioc are planted on the ranch, and provide the bulk of the pigs' nutrition. Corn which comes from neighboring Paraná state supplements their diet and contributes about 20% of the animals' caloric intake. When the pigs are ready to go to market they are also given whole milk from the ranch's cows to prepare them for slaughter.

Every week, the ranch sends two or three pigs, aged between 3 and 6 months, to the nearest licensed slaughterhouse, located in Ubatuba, 35 kilometers away. Hesketh would prefer to slaughter the pigs on site, but is forbidden to do so by agricultural regulations. He disagrees vigourously with this requirement and says, "What good does it do to submit the animals to the stress of transport? It destroys all we have done in raising them humanely. We need to come up with a less stressful way of slaughtering our stock."

The pigs from Alfheim go to market at a much smaller size than most pork - at about 70 kgs (150 lbs), yeilding about 20 to 30 kgs (45 to 70 lbs) of deboned pork - but Hesketh believes that at that size, the animal provides a better-tasting and more tender meat.

The idea of humanely raising meat animals who feed only on organic, vegetable food is a new one in Brazil, where such ideas are just beginning to take hold with producers and consumers. Whether there is a viable market for such meat in the long run is still unknown. But what can be stated with certainty is that the grunts of the Sorocaba and Monteiro pigs who call Alfheim home sound like the grunts of very, very happy piggies.

With material from an article by Olivia Fraga published in the Estado de S. Paulo newspaper. Translation of Mr. Hesketh's remarks by Flavors of Brazil.

A Promise Fulfilled - Buchada

Back in October of 2009, in the very first month of this blog's existance, I wrote a post about a dish called buchada - one of the most well-known traditional dishes of Ceará, the northeastern Brazilian state where Flavors of Brazil originates. (Click here to read the post). At the time that the post was published, I rashly promised that although I'd never eaten buchada, I would do so in due course and report the results to the blog's readers.

A firm believer in the better-late-than-never philosophy of life, I can now report that I have done as I promised there - I have eaten buchada. Not only that, I've lived to tell the tale.

What might make buchada something that one might promise to eat, and then take nearly three years to fulfil the promise? Let's just say it's because the dish is simply offal (sorry, can't resist a bad pun). The dish's name buchada derives from the Portuguese word bucho, meaning meaning animal stomach, and that's exactly what buchada is: an animal's stomach stuffed with the same animal's innards - things like intestines, lungs, spleen, heart etc. - sewn up like a purse and cooked.

You might call buchada Brazil's answer to Scotland's haggis, though the difference is that the innards in buchada are coarsely chopped and there's nothing added to them to create the stuffing, whereas in haggis they're finely chopped and mixed with oatmeal before being stuffed into the stomach.

In any case, for someone who's never been a big fan of offal, buchada was a challenge, or rather, the idea of eating buchada  was a challenge. In the end, at a holiday luncheon today at the house of a friend, the main dish was homemade buchada, and having it served at the table meant that it would be impolite to refuse it. Not only that, in term of the promise made here at Flavors of Brazil three years ago, it would have been cowardly to refuse. So, with a half lamb stomach's worth of buchada staring up at me from my plate, I managed not to disgrace myself among the tableful of buchada-lovers. I cleaned my plate, to the delight of my fellow guests who'd been placing bets on whether the gringo would be able to down a plateful of buchada.

In the end, what was it like? It certainly wasn't awful tasting - in fact it really didn't have that much taste at all; it was quite bland. The stomach itself was quite tender, but some of the bits inside, which I tried not to look at too closely or identify, were chewy, almost rubbery. The seasoning was simple, just some onion, garlic and salt and pepper as far as I could tell, although there was a delicious gravy served alongside. Cultural or other problems in eating animal organs aside, there was really nothing special about the dish. It was neither delicious or revolting, just somewhat characterless and lacking in flavor. My worries about eating buchada were, in the end, much ado about nothing. At the lunch table, though, it was clear my somewhat negative opinion about the culinary merits of buchada was a minority opinion - the rest of the diners all seemed to love it, and heartily praised the cook. I'm thinking perhaps, like many offbeat traditional foods, you must have to have been raised on the stuff to truly appreciate it.

As for me, buchada is now mission accomplished. The promise to eat it for this blog's readers isn't hanging over me any longer - I can now gracefully say, next time a serving of buchada is offered to me, no thanks!

Motel Menus

Brazilians love to hear the many, mostly apocryphal, stories of American tourists who arrive in some city in Brazil without hotel accommodation. During their search for a place to sleep these hapless travelers spot a large sign MOTEL atop a nice looking building so they decide to check it out. When they ask the desk clerk what the price is, they're shocked by how low it is, so they decide to confirm it before checking in. They ask the clerk, "Are you sure it's only R$30 (about USD $15) per night?" The clerk replies, "Per night? Of course not, that's the price per hour."

The word motel, in most parts of Brazil, does NOT mean simple roadside accommodation where you can spend a night or two while on the road. What motel does mean is an establishment which rents out rooms by the hour, presumably for people to have sex. People sleep in hotels, people sleep with each other in motels. Motels range from the very basic to Las Vegas-style luxury with circular beds and mirrors on the ceiling. Some are grotty, but many are spotlessly clean with fresh sheets on the bed and thick towels in the bath. Motels can be found in every Brazilian city, from small towns to metropolises. There's little social stigma attached to using motels.

We're not sociologists here at Flavors of Brazil, but it seems there are a couple of main reasons for the popularity of motels in Brazil. First, it's usual for a family's unmarried children to live at home with parents even into their 20s, 30s and 40s, so there's really no place else for young couples to spend private time together. Second, commercial sex (prostitution) is big business in the country, and many professionals use motels to meet with clients. Also, clandestine sex outside the marriage bond is fairly common, so married men or women use motels to meet with their lovers.

Whatever activity it is that couples get up to during their stay in a motel, they often get hungry and thirsty. Room service is available in the better class of motels where one can order champagne, wine or cocktails delivered to the room, as well as a range of things to eat from simple snacks to gourmet dinners. Even grotty downmarket motels will have beer and packets of chips available for their clientele.

Next week, on June 12th, Brazilians celebrate their own equivalent of St. Valentine's Day, a day called Dia dos Namorados (Lovers' Day). In preparation for that big event, which is probably the biggest day of the year for motel operators, the Folha de S. Paulo newspaper, one of São Paulo's largest daily newspapers, sent Josimar Melo, one of their food critics, out to some of the city's motels to critique the menu and food service. The resulting article is both informative and amusing.

In his article, Sr. Melo was surprised to find that Asturias, one of the most expensive, luxurious motels, had the worst food.  (Click on the link above to visit the motel's website). Prices were high (steak with potatoes and rice for two cost nearly USD$50), the menu itself was tattered, and worst of all, the plate the dish was served on arrived wrapped in plastic!

Lumini Motel

His experience in another motel, Lumini, was exactly the opposite. The menu was created by Ana Soares, a consultant to many of São Paulo's better restaurants. In this motel, the food arrived on a cart covered with white linen, there were cloth napkins, and the plates of food were served under cloches. He found the menu interesting, with items such as chicken with Brie sauce, accompanied by risotto milanese (USD $20) or bacalhau (salt cod) with arugula and fresh vegetables (USD$25).

He also visited and evaluated other motels and found their offerings fell somewhere between these two in terms of quality, service and price.

From this article, it would appear that it's not only the circular bed or the mirror on the ceiling that keeps motel clients coming back. Just like in the Ritz-Carlton or the Four Seasons, it's what comes out of the kitchen. Next week, on Dia dos Namorados, we're sure those kitchens will be serving up a lot of food for energy-depleted Brazilians in the nation's love motels.

RECIPE - Brazilian Mussels in Green-Coconut Sauce (Sururu no Molho de Coco Verde)

Whether or not you will be able to make this dish at home will depend on whether you can source green coconuts in your community. When we speak of green coconuts, we mean those coconuts which still have their entire shell (green, obviously) and which are not completely mature. In a green coconut, the consistency of the meat inside the shell is jelly-like and there is abundant water with the shell. In a mature coconut (the brown, "hairy" one) the meat has hardened to the point it can be cut into chunks and grated and if there is residual water, it's very limited in quantity.

This dish depends on both the meat and the water from green coconuts, and mature coconuts cannot be substituted. If you're lucky enough to live where coconuts grow (meaning - you live in the tropics) sourcing green coconuts shouldn't be a problem, And even if you don't live in the tropics, you should be able to find green coconuts in Latin American, African and Southeast Asian grocery stores in cities with immigrant communities.

As we mentioned in our previous posts about the native Brazilian mussel called sururu, if you don't live in Brazil you'll most likely have to substitute some other sort of mussel. That's no problem. But if green coconuts can't be found in your city, you'll just have to move on to another recipe on Flavors of Brazil. Sorry!

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RECIPE - Brazilian Mussels in Green-Coconut Sauce (Sururu no Molho de Coco Verde)
Serves 4

5 medium tomatoes, seeded and coarsely chopped
2 medium onions, coarsely chopped
extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 lb sururu or mussels, meat only, no shells
salt to taste
1 large green coconut
finely chopped cilantro
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In a medium frying pan,  heat the olive oil, then fry the onion until it is soft and transparent. Put the onion, along with the chopped tomatoes in a blender. Blend thoroughly, then reserve in blender.

Cut open the top of the coconut, then drain the water into the blender. Using a long spoon, scoop the meat out of the coconut and add to the blender. Blend again until completely homogenous.

Pour the mixture into a medium saucepan and heat to simmering point. Add the mussels and cook for 15 minutes, or until the mussels have firmed up and the liquid has thickened.Stir in a small handful of chopped cilantro.

Remove from heat, and pour the mussels into the coconut shell for serving, accompanied by white rice.

Recipe translated and adapted from Circuito Gastronomico Sabores da Terra website.

RECIPE - Brazilian Mussel Chowder (Caldo de Sururu)

One of the pleasures of the northeastern Brazilian beach (and there are many) is the sight of a vendor making his or her way along the strand carrying one or two termos bottles, a supply of plastic cups, and perhaps some small containers with hot chili sauce, chopped green onions or chopped cilantro. When you spot one of these coming your way, you know that you're going to be offered a cup of hot soup (caldo in Portuguese). And you know you'll accept. The only question is what kind.

Soup doesn't seem like something you'd want to eat on a topical beach under the blazing sun, but take it on faith, it is. It nourishes without filling, satisfies like a meal does, yet leaves you with room to enjoy a cold beer, caipirinha or soft drink. Surprisingly, it doesn't seem to make you feel any hotter either.

The standard offerings for on-the-beach soups are bean, fish and sururu. If you have read yesterday's post on this blog, you'll know that the sururu is a tiny mussel native to northeast Brazil. It's locally believed to be an aphrodisiac  as well. So if you aren't sure you want your sexual desire to be enhanced, which is after all what aphrodisiacs do, then choose bean or fish. But if the company and the mood are suitable, give sururu a try. At worst, you'll most likely have a delicious cup of soup, at best, one with a spectacular added bonus.

The sururu mussel in found only in tropical waters, primarily in Brazil, but if you want to make this soup at home, you can use any variety of mussel available. Be warned though - there may be no aphrodisiac effect! The recipe also calls for the tropical palm oil known as dendê. There is no acceptable substitute for dendê but you may leave it out entirely if you wish as it's more of a garnish than an ingredient. Outside Brazil dendê can often be found in Latin American or Brazilian grocery stores, or in African grocery stores, where it's called palm oil.
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RECIPE - Brazilian Mussel Chowder (Caldo de Sururu)
Serves 10

1 lb. thoroughly washed mussels, meat only, no shells
2 tomatoes, peeled and seeded
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, smashed
4 cups (1l) water
salt and black pepper to taste
3/4 cup cooked, mashed manioc or potatoes
1/4 cup finely chopped cilantro
 dendê oil to drizzle
lime wedges
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Put the tomatoes, chopped onion and garlic in a blender and liquidize thoroughly. Pour into a large saucepan and cook for 3-4 minutes over medium-high heat.

When the liquid is just at the boiling point, add the mussels, the mashed potatoes or manioc and half the water. Cook for 2 or 3 minutes only, or until the mussels are just firm. Add additional water if needed to reach a rich but pourable soup consistency. Bring just to a boil, then remove from the heat. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Pour into small bowls, cups or drinking glasses. Sprinkle chopped cilantro on top and drizzle a bit of dendê oil over, if desired. Serve immediately accompanied by wedges of fresh lime.

Sururu - Brazil's Homegrown Aphrodiasiac

What foods do you consider aphrodisiacs? The way you answer this question probably depends on your native culture. We all belong to one (or more) cultures, the most common of which are regional and/or ethnic but which can be national, religious or political too. The dictionary defines culture as "the arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively" and food and cooking are one of the most important components of any culture.

Almost every culture assigns aphrodisiac quality to certain foods; that is, cultures ascribe the power to increase sexual desire or potency to some foods. Human nature being what it is, foods that are considered to be aphrodisiac are eagerly sought out by those who wish to increase their sexual drive and power (or those of their sexual object.) Such varied foods as arugula, avocado, chocolate, deer penis or antlers, doce de leite, ginseng, oysters, saffron and watermelon are considered to be aphrodisiacs by one or more cultures.

Although Western medical science ascribes no proven aphrodisiac powers to any food, the notion that, say, oysters or ginseng increase one's sexual desire is strong and even the most sceptical diners may choose to eat these foods in the hopes of feeling their aphrodisiac effect.

Sururu

The folk traditions of northeast Brazil all along the Atlantic coast that stretches thousands of miles from southern Bahia state almost to the mouth of the Amazon, share a belief in the aphrodisiac powers of a small member of the mussel family that bears the scientific name Mytella charruana. This miniature mollusk is called sururu in Brazil, and in northeastern Brazilian culture it is believed to pack a powerful aphrodisiac punch. The small bivalve is native to the lagoons and mangrove swamps of the northeastern coast of Brazil and all along the coast, it's cooked into soups, added to coconut-milk based stews called moquecas, even fried up in omelettes. If the aphrodisiac powers ascribed to the sururu are even a tiny bit true, the people of Brazil's northeast are sure to be among the world's horniest inhabitants as collectively they eat a whole lot of the little mussel.

Another mollusk often considered to be an aphrodisiac, the oyster, does contain high levels of zinc, a chemical which aids in the production of the male hormone testosterone. Our research department here at Flavors of Brazil has been unable to determine if sururu also contains zinc, but if it does, that might be a clue as to why it's considered an aphrodisiac in Brazil.

One note of caution - eaten in large quantities, sururu have been shown to have a powerful laxative effect. So if you're looking to increase sexual desire by eating sururu exercise caution, as the effect of an "overdose" might just minimize your sexual desirability at the same time that it increases your desire.You have been warned!

Coming up, we'll publish some traditional northeastern Brazilian recipes for sururu.