Matando saudades in Brazil

Joe kept insisting he had to have a feijoada. It’s the “typical” Brazilian meal, a pot filled with all kinds of meats, surrounded by plates of mantioc flour, collard greens, orange slices, beans, rice, etc. The place he remembered, the restaurant in the modernist Copacabana Palace Hotel, no longer serves feijoada. But we persisted.

After a visit to the Copacabana Fort, built by the Portuguese to fend off the French, British, and Dutch (and maybe a few more), we took a long walk on two other iconic Brazilian beaches — Arpoador (named after the Harpoon Stone, from which harpooners supposedly used to hunt whales) and Ipanema. Now that I can compare all the beaches, I would say for sure that Copacabana is the prettiest — longest stretches of sand, widest beaches. But all of them have side lanes of traffic whizzing by and endless high rise apartment buildings.

And then, having worked up an appetite, came the feijoada. Let’s just say it’s one of those experiences that should have been left in the memory and not repeated. I am glad I chose a salad. Now Joe is sleeping it off, and I am feeling superior for having been able to hop on the elliptical without feeling like I had a rock in my stomach. And now I am on the hotel terrace looking out as dark clouds move ini. All very dramatic.

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