Waiting for fejoada

Before Brazil, I knew about rice and beans; I did not know about fejoada.  Upon arriving in Sao Paolo a couple of weeks ago, I quickly learned that fejoada–black beans with pork sausage and meat, served with rice and other accompaniments–was the authentic dish of Brazil.  Because it is not just your standard peasant fare of rice and beans but a heavy, middle-of-the-day meal, the kind that encourages a siesta after consumption, most restaurants only serve it on Saturdays or Sundays.

I consulted the locals and The Lonely Planet and decided on fejoada on Saturday at Bar do Mineiro in Santa Teresa, a hip, artsy, hillside neighborhood in Rio.

After a few hours of being chauffered around to see various sites of the city, we three made it to Bar do Mineiro.  Erin’s friend Adriana, a Salvador native recently-returned to Rio after years  studying and working abroad, had offered us the use of a driver for the day.  Her father had insisted, for he wanted us to enjoy Rio.  Adriana, who clearly takes after her generous father, wouldn’t accept a cent from Erin nor I, simply saying that she wanted us to feel at home.

Always excellent to see the sites with the locals, Adriana’s presence exceeded typical expectations and made for the best day in Brazil thus far.  Well-traveled, easy-going, smart, and cosmopolitan (without the slightest hint of pretention), Adriana is a lively and lovely person, not to mention a champion beer drinker, who (sneaky tactics of paying the bill aside) made me feel right at home in her city.  Our Saturday in Rio was experienced as though we were true cariocas, or Rio locals.

The fejoada was just one of many reasons.

Bar do Mineiro

As the picture indicates, when we arrived at the much vaunted place for fejoada, there was a 30-40 minute wait for a table.  Having lived in New York City the past two years and frequented restaurants that only take reservations for parties of six or more people, I was prepared to wait.

It’s common in Brazil to drink outside, for people to spill into the streets of an open door cafe with drink in hand.  At Bar do Mineiro, there were even groups of people who set up camp across the street.  It is a much different scenario in New York, where street drinking is forbidden and a sure way to get hit with a heavy fine.

The 30-40 minute wait turned into 90 minutes, by which point, we three ladies were tipsy and famished.  Without necessarily criticizing the Brazilian way of doing things (with much less speed and efficiency than I am used to), I commented on how in NYC we were likely to have been compensated with a drink or appetizer on the house if a similar thing occurred.  After hostessing at ‘inoteca, a bustling, cool wine bar on New York’s lower east side, I know from experience that accuracy with wait times is rather important, despite its not being a science.  Adriana, who graduated from George Washington University in D.C. and later lived in Europe, agreed that customer service (the customer is always right) in the United States is better than it is in Brazil.

After inquiring about our table, Adriana ordered us another round of drinks, and soon we were seated.  We ordered the fejoada completa for two people and not three as we were told it would be enough for us.

“Are you sure?” Erin asked, and I wanted to know the same thing.  In anticipation of the meal, I had eaten only a handful of granola in the morning.

Fejoada completa (greens, rice, and another starchy side dish studded with crispy, greasy chunks of pork skin and fat) for two was enough to feed three very hungry girls and fill a to-go container, which we later gave to a young, skinny Brazilian boy juggling tennis balls (read: begging) in the street.  “God be with you,” he said and sauntered happily away with his comida.

It was, by all non-vegetarian, meat-loving foodie accounts, ridiculouslyy delicious.  Worth the wait.  And the calories.  And the food coma.

fejoada completa

yummy pork fat

Following fejoada. Erin, Adriana, Stacey.