Mining Goodbyes In Ouro Preto

Two dwarfs Lost and Found in the Mines of Minas Gerais

Vila Rica do Ouro Preto. Village rich in Black Gold. In English the phrase refers to oil. But there is no oil here. Actually, there isn't even anymore gold. No silver. No more gems. No miners. What is there then? Well besides the seven dwarfs, there is a Salty Cod, swimming to the splash of his own dancing echo against the red mud and dripping granite. He's still in there, bouncing up the cobbled city streets, pretending that time doesn't move, that like the preserved colonial city of an antique past, time stands still. Never Ending of the moment when most happy. sun rising in the west, and moon rising in the est. But fish can't bounce up streets, you say. But this one can. he grew wings. On y va.

Minas Gerais; Portuguese for general mines, is the fourth largest and second most populous state in Brasil. Still rich in mineral and grantie production, Minas is known for three things: mines, cheese, and farm house wood fire meals. Residents, known as mineiros (miners) are considered inhabitants of "deep Brasil," less urban, more Portuguese, no beaches, less African cultural influence, so more--country. I say this and then drive through the capital city, Belo Horizonte (beautiful horizon), that though nearly only a quarter of the size of SP, gives one that Orlando feeling. Minas is home to many historical sites, cities including Diamantina, Tiradentes, Serro, and Ouro Preto. The last being a UNESCO world herritage site, and also where we happened to go. In 1697 after gold and gemstones were discovered in the region, Portuguese colonials hanging out in Rio de Janeiro started the construction of the estrada real, "royal road" to begin mining production. The presence of the colonials and slaves led to the creation of the largest urban city in South America at the time. What remained following the gold rush was a time-capsuled portrait of colonial Brasil. Walking the cobbled streets of Ouro Preto, one is instantly transported to the curving alleys of Oporto and Lisbon. The city is Brasil's living history, a portrait of how history has coursed Brasil into the country that exists today. It is an old world European city, just as say colonial Jamestown is--though an actual city.

There would be no Brasil as we know it today without it's Portuguese colonial past, so for better or for worse, they are bound together in one past. So no matter what ones feelings may be regarding the age of exploration and colonization, we are all who we are by a rickety string of events that we owe if not respect, then at least attention to. A colonial past held in a city sprinkled with fairy dust, Ouro Preto allows one to feel that time can still if you try hard enough.

What was i doing there. Archeological work. Yeah that'll be the day. If you must know, last Wednesday happened to be my birthday. 23 and i'm not dead yet! Each year that happens i feel the need to celebrate such an achievement. As do many people that i hold present in my life. Usually i receive presents. Wrapped boxes of clothing or trinkets. But this year i received a bit more: a trip. Some of you are aware of my historical past--that being my BA in history for which my research was in Portuguese colonization. what a coincidence. When H suggested that he take me on a trip to Ouro Preto for my birthday, i grew glossy eyed. Portuguese colonial architecture is my thing. Really? Is this too good to be true? How can life really come into itself so full circle. A twilight zone, a perfect that is too perfect. What luck has chanced that i get to be so perfectly happy. I beleive that perhaps it has to do with knowing exactly what you want. maybe.

So how long will it take? hmm, replied H, maybe eight hours. Oh joy, we seem to love immensely very long car rides. The last we went due south, now we go north! Hmmm. Driving through Minas Gerais is like driving through mid-west farmland, but with hills. Many hills. We drove in the direction toward Belo Horizonte, to keep to the paved highway rather than dusty dirt roads. those still exist? After passing the capitol city, we headed south east toward Ouro Preto. Now, being the most popular tourist destination in Brasil for US travelers, there are many resources for visitors once arrived. Such as maps. As we entered the city, we passed one such station that offered resources of this nature. we should stop and get a map, i said. Nah, H replied, let's just drive around and find someplace to eat and a hotel first. hmmmm. i like maps, but fine. two hours later we have somehow driven (forward and in reverse) down every winding road in the city (and dirt ones on the outskirt) including dead ends. Hmmm, H began, let's go back and get a map. what! isn't that what i said in the beginning! No, you said should. It's different. What! You brat just admit. Eventually we solved the problem by picking up a local kid on the streets to back-seat us to a reasonably priced lodging. In tourists towns, hotel advertisers are common on the streets. They receive royalties for bringing in clients. Ours led us to a few overpriced and overbooked Pousadas, the equivalent, i would say, to a small bed and breakfast type lodging, until we found a small cozy offering that was reasonably priced. A little ski cottage, though in warm weather. Afterward we proceeded to a restaurant where, after a day starved from eating nothing but a little leftover corn cake, we consumed a feijoada, a couple caipirinas, and some Minas truffles. Hey--it was my birthday present after all.

A whole day of being tourists. Hooray! but what to do first. I know, replied little miss European jet setter, we walk the winding streets with no direction. So we did. Well in a city with twenty baroque churches, it is not very hard to stumble upon one. Actually all we had to do was turn a corner and boom smack in the face. One of Aleijadinho's. The architect and sculptor, Alejadinho, literally meaning "little cripple" is one of Brasil's most famous artistic historical figures responsible for the design and sculpting of nearly all the churches in Ouro Preto, as well as commissioned works in other parts of the country. We went into a couple...the ones without a monetary entrance fee. houses of god she be free and open to the public, i silently (or not so silently) cursed. Ah well, enough of churches. There are far too many to attempt them all. On to the mines.

Down the road was located a little mine, the mina do chicorei, an old gold mine whose whereabouts fell out of knowledge until accidentally discovered in the 1940's by a woman who bought the location to open a restaurant. Little did she know she bought a historical gold mine. Once discovered, she opened the mine for historical observance and tourism. Oh yeah and she still runs her restaurant out of the same place. We got through the tight squeeze of a tunnel led by our "guide" who offered us hard hats. I must say it was fun crawling through the red clay puddles of muck, ducking under low rocks in the dimly illuminated cave. haha! But what a nightmare it must have been to be a chained down slave digging day in day out. Experiencing historical concepts of the kind such as this, is perhaps a way of tribute to those of the past who suffered, as we survive their memory. Hard hats off to you.

The following day we checked out and headed to the neighboring town of Mariana to visit the most famous tourist trap in the region: the mina da passagem, the largest historical gold mine open to the public in the--world! A rickety seat belt-less mine car ride that would have the word lawsuit written all over it in the US ride down into the must cavern is followed by a guided explanation of the mine's historical pertinence, as well as a look at the underground pools that are very popular with cave divers the world over. Watch out though, the ride will put you back twenty four reis per person.

After the mines we drove through Mariana, a city seemingly better planed than Ouro Preto. More fancy pants if you ask me. We had lunch on traditional Minas cuisine: pots of food cooked over a a wooden fire (actually still sitting over a wooden fire) that you scoop onto your own plate. Excellent! beans and rice...and variations...and meat. Yeah i'll miss that.

Finally it was time to go, to start the eight hour drive back. The thing about being in a time capsuled town, is that you begin to beleive that you yourself are without time. But time doesn't stop. And it doesn't in this town either. For though it looks old, it continues to move. As do we all. As we drove back, the reality of my departure back to the untied states the following day began to sink in. And i felt my heart begin to tear, as it longed maybe, to stay time capsuled along with the stone pillars and cobbled alleys of the fairy book town.

The things i will miss the most of Brasil are these: boiled mandioca, pao de queijo, guarana, my other family, and above all others, having my editor close. They say you can't appreciate the things you have and love without being away and losing them first. Whoever first said that needs to be shot. I have loved every moment of my time in Brasil, even the less enjoyable ones. Never have i eaten so well. never have i felt more at home. never have i felt so happy. Time capsul--who wants the world to stand still. We move forward, the city gets plumbing. And we get ready for the next move. Nothing stands still. It only gets better.

This is not the end of Brasil, as much as my never ending tears wish me to think it so. It is neither an end nor a goodbye. On the contrary; it is only the beginning. I am ready for the roller coaster. When you put your fate in the hands of the cod fish, and trust that he knows where he is leading you, then the adventure has begun, and you must beleive that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The cod can never offer a guarantee, but he can offer hope. And who could wish for anything more.

So in the words of Tony, life definitely does not suck. how could it.

an a bientot--but i see it more as an on y va

Everything Is Gluten Free in Bahia

The Month of Much Independence
What a cheep shot eh? I didn't even go to Bahia and yet i get to stuff my face full of its bounty. successss. Well if there's anything that will get you somewhere, it's having sampled it. And i would say that the late night arrival of the Jet Setting sisters as they opened their suit cases full of edible goodies (you know you're with the right crowd when food takes up the place of clothes) and after a showering of hugs D turns to me with glee "all sem gluten! everything we found it all!" Now whether or not the notion was pulled particularly for me or not doesn't matter, there isn't a way in the world one could be left feeling less than a hundred dollars. As half the state of Bahia exploded onto the kitchen table in edible form, and midget camera cards were shoved at me to download quickly for prompt viewing, i was lost amidst the excited sped laughs of the travelers as they recapped the week away to see family that nearly three decades had separated them from. One doesn't need words to understand what's going on; happiness is a pitch, a taste, and a look. I knew exactly what they were saying, in hieroglyphic form. And this cod fish biscuit? Dear god somebody pinch me. on y va.


Where is Bahia? What is Bahia? It sounds like a beach. No, i didn't say the Bahamas. Located in the northeast corner of the country, Bahia is the fourth most populous state in Brasil, of which its capital city, Salvador, is undoubtedly what gives Brasil its most famous image abroad: Carnival dancers and beach bums sitting around drinking coconut water. success. But wait--isn't that Rio? Hmmm, i dunno. It's very difficult after all to give a nation that is larger than the US only one image of stereotype. A Paulista, Carioca (from Rio), a Bahian (?), and a Bahhh-ian (hehehe, people from Porto Alegre. I guess they are gauchos eh?) are as stereotypically different as a Texan, an Orgonian, and a New Yorker. so a priest and a Rabi walk into a bar...Bahia is the archaic Portuguese word for bay, as the state was named after All Saint's Bay, of which Salvador sits atop the cliff. Bahia pulls the second greatest volume of tourism in the country, behind what i can only presume must be Rio di Janiero. When images of Brasilian afro-influenced heritage arise, it is historically from Bahia and the rest of the northeast where they originate, as Bahia was a center of the sugar cane harvest that relied heavily on African slave labor.

A central historical region, Bahian architecture is left over from the colonial Portuguese who settled in the sixteenth century and created, in essence, mini Lisbons and Oportos. Bahia, like Minas Gerais, more so than the southern states of Brasil, maintains a much more historical connection to the colonial past as a direct result of occupation. Cabral arrived in 1500 at Porto Seguro on the southern Bahian coast; fifty years later, settlers founded Salvador, and either their saudade for the homeland or lack of creativity influenced not only the architecture, but the city planning and decor as well. Salvador--full name being São Salvador da Baía de Todos os Santos, "Holy Savior of All Saints' Bay," (you can see the need for abreves here) is the capital and largest city. D is from the city Vitória da Conquista, the third largest city in Bahia after Salvador and Feira de Santana, and as word has it has grown astronomically over the past couple decades due to commerce, industry, coffee production, and the status as a university town (Universidade Estadual do Sudoeste da Bahia.) The return after thirty years was to a city that was much different for her, though at the same time much the same.

So what of this food then. The topic: biscuits and banana leaves. biscuits? yes. my eyes widened as bag upon bag of biscuits all pretty, pale, and sparkling emergered one after the other. and these are all gluten free? Alongside the biscuits were other Bahian traditional goodies; little coconut cakes, pressed sugarcane candy in a banana leaf--gold mine. Eager to try everything--at the same time--i was confused slightly by how a few of those present reached for nothing. You see, H explained to me in front of everyone under the guise of our secret language, they look down on Bahia, to them this would be like someone in the US bringing back a whole bunch of junk from Mexico. hmmm...really? well, all i can say is--sucks to be them.

All of the biscuits, though they tasted like almond, were made from flour of mandioca root; aka tapioca. Mandioca, manioc, polvinho, goma, puma--it all come from the same root, a magical "everything begins here" tuber that i have come to adore. my next novel: I fell in Love with a Manioc, (July 2012.) Crescents, pills, sticks, twists, salty, sweet--you can make anything from mandioca. And what have we here...aqui, isso é do bacalhau. excuse me? bacalhau? Cod fish Cookies? are you for serious? Truth: they taste like a less-dried out version of nabisco chicken in a biscuit; aiater R you would be very pleased with these.

Aside from the never ending stream of pale-faced biscuits that appeared from Felix's bag; there appeared alongside a plethora of Bahian cheeses and some sweet candies, among them rapadura. Technically known as tijolo, the Portuguese word for brick, because it is usually made into a solid brick form that is fairly preserved and durable. Pretty much it is a hunk of pure sugarcane juice with spices such as cinnamon and a LOT of ginger, nuts, and even fruits. Hmmm, i thought as i racked my brain to try and communicate what i was tasting, para mim, euuuh, isso é um sabore de natal. gingimbre é muito natal. mmmm. You can find out more about rapadura here or at more my level here. Rapadura first appeared in the 18th century by slaves who worked on the sugarcane plantations; high in minerals and other things that seem to give one energy, it was a crucial part of the diet as it preserved well and could last for long periods of time. according to H, this is the food that has and always will keep people from starving. For its history, the candy is commonly considered comida de pobre, food for the poor (yes i translated that myself).

As i thought of what H had said about Bahia being considered lower class it all made sense; there is much prejudice to be found anywhere, i began to think; perhaps that is how i would act if someone unloaded on my dining room table a bag of grits and collards brought back fresh from Mississippi, blech, i would think, southern food. I am not sure where this prejudice came from, i have no aversion to the culture of the southern states of the US, on the contrary i have never even experienced them, but somehow, somewhere along the way, the image and notion was planted, there is a sense in the back of my mind that connects such types of food as poor food, as country food, as lower class food. Food is as much a marker of social status and class boundary as anything; we have to be careful to not allow that to get in the way of our taste buds, else you may find yourself in regret for having missed out on something intrinsically delightful. It is impossible to control ingrained thoughts, but it is what you do with them that matters.

When I sat down to "talk out" what all these edibles were with D, she mentioned how the day happened to be Bahian independence day. what? it's its own country now? When Brasil broke from Portugal, Bahia was the last state to join the independent confederation. It is not the Brasilian independence, she continued, that is---September 7th, i cut in, i know that day. It happens to be one of my favorite days. Back to the subject--Brasilian Independence was declared on September 7th 1822, though a pocket of elite loyalists in Bahia remained true to the Portuguese crown--hmm sounds familiar, we call them Tories, but eventually they shoved off for Canada--the loyalists somehow stood their ground in battle until finally falling to the union on 2 July 1823. Hence 2 July is Bahian independence. Huh, i responded, July seems to be a very hot-headed month for revolutions; the Americans on the 4th, les Francaises on the 14th, and the Bahians on the 2nd. AND the most important of all--the Canadians on the 1st. Well. A triangle quadrangle connection of my three four favorite countries. how presh. So happy birthday Bahia, happy birthday US of A, happy birthday O Canada, and while we're at it--vive la France!

Biscuits, Bahia, Independence, family--life doesn't suck. And with a biscuit made out of cod, a weekend visiting friends and family on the back of a red motorcycle, getting lost in the neighboring city of Sorocaba on the way to another festa julhina, a backyard barbecue for little brothers entire English class, and night time riding with old jazz music--life definitely does not suck. oh did i mention the cod cookie?

a bientot

Biscotti to Bahia & a Muffin on the Table

Hang the Spoons up to Dry

I dug myself a hole with the whole biscotti thing. Over the past two weeks i have made about four dozen pieces of biscotti. That's a lot of scotti. When requested to make more, i think to myself, ahhh there are so many better treats i could come up with than dry old biscotti. But it was a hit, and i suppose it travels well. So when H's mom bought a plane ticket home, to Bahia in the north where she hasn't set foot in over thirty-five years, not since she left to start a new life in Sao Paulo, she requested i make a bit of biscotti for her to take to share with her relatives. You want to take my baked goods? I was very flattered. Of course! As much as you can carry i'll make! She smiled her, i don't know what you are saying but you sound and look happy, so ta bom! smile.

Biscotti is like any old cookie; a blank canvas for any and all flavor combinations. I chose almond, apricot, and orange with dark chocolate tips for one; and chocolate cookie, white chocolate, and brasil nut with zebra tips for the other. Are we baking this the night before she leaves? why yes we are. alright. let's pump this out. It's already nine in the evening. to make the story short; only one scotti made it to Bahia. The first--a bit heavy, perhaps too many fruits, knick knacks, yadda inside its crust, so when i asked H to grab one side of the parchment that thinly supported the mammoth's weight, to carry it across the kitchen to find an open space to dry, the natural thing to happen would be for the paper to tear and send the fatty loaf tumbling to its doom. and we're all about natural here. we both looked at the steaming pile of...well now it's just break. and then i burst out laughing. well, i began, now we'll have bread pudding. huh? You've never heard of bread pudding? Excellent. When life gives you lemons. Well at least i was planning a second biscotti anyways. So the next morning D boarded the plane in her jet-setting stripes and heals, and a little paper gift bag full of chocolate biscotti and tied off with a ribbon. Biscotti to Bahia, my how Salty Cod confections have traveled thus far. who would have thought.

As happy as i am for D to finally make a visit home after all these years, i must confess my selfish disdain--i have lost my day partner. She seems to be the only one my--though extremely limited--Portuguese will flow freely with. And now i must pass the days without her. You know most keenly a good friend when you first must absent them a bit. But before she left, i had two lessons: this is how you cook the rice and beans. ah brasil.

Would you, could you, should you imagine a stuffy nose head cold in brasil; is that possible? unfortunately yes. and i have one. how? apparently it is because i refuse to wear shoes...or rather it is because i left the window open the other night which caused the brasilian to fall ill, which in turn caused the window-loving arctic northerner to catch it. damn it. so in my solitude in illness stuck to the house, i thought to make bread. booh. only one cup of flour. just my luck. now i will pout and do nothing. a few hours later H called to check on the status of my sante, and in doing so somehow propelled me to crawl through the pantry in search of another rout. I'll make something, flour isn't the end of the world. There were bananas, pineapple, coconut, cornmeal, and tapioca flour...but no eggs. so. hmmm. they love basic biscotti like it's caviar, perhaps they've never had a muffin before either...can i do it without eggs? and with alternative flours? well. we'll see won't we. to the bat cave! or rather isn't it, on y va.

With one cup of flour...no eggs...one of D's favorite words in the kitchen is experimento--hey what do we do with these leftovers? She ponders only briefly, then tosses the choux, mandioca, and gritty bits of leftover sausage into a tupperware and throws it in the fridge. She looks at me--experimento. excellent. let's just hope it doesn't grow legs and walk out of the fridge. To return to the litterary path i was trying to weave here; i grabbed the chocolate chips, browning bananas, and tapioca flour. chocolate banana muffins with a coconut cream cheese on top because i can't handle naked muffins. did you know snob is the same word in portuguese. now you do. wait; perhaps i should have a backup if these go a bit south of their intent (remember the other night's biscotti...) there's a pineapple. Pineapple and coconut corn muffins. wooo. that's sounds pretty damn brasilian if you ask me.

Chocolate Banana muffins:
ingredients: 1 cup flour ~ 1 cup tapioca flour ~ three small smashed bananas ~ 1.25 sticks butter ~ 0.5 cup sugar ~ vanilla ~ 1 cup chocolate chips ~ 1 tsp baking soda ~ 0.5 cups milk
method: mix dries. mix wets. combine. and pop in a muffin cup.
*frosting is a coconut cream cheese butter cream

GF Pineapple-Coco Corn muffins:
ingredients: 1 cup tapioca flour ~ 1 cup corn meal (flour? not exactly sure what it is. it was in the cupboard) ~ 1/2 cup coconut milk ~ 1 cup chopped pineapple ~ 1.25 sticks butter ~ 2 tsps baking soda ~ vanilla 0.5 cups sugar
method: same as above

It has been quite rainy. overcast skies and stormy winds; the power was out for a couple hours yesterday morning. christ. am i in seattle? Driving to a restaurant last night on a foggy lined avenue that looked more like London-town than Brasil, H jibed; doesn't look much like brasil eh? To which, after being here a month, i replied -yes, yes it looks like brasil to me now. it is funny how all things in life must come with preconceived notions; that is the nature of thought. but it is also the nature of thought to bend. thought propels experience; we are driven to nothing without first its pull. then, full circle, experience refines our thoughts. thought for experience, experience for real thought. one cannot exist without the other. an intrinsic need for the other. the chicken or the egg. there is no start. you wake up, and you breath.

In return to the statements on meteorological happenings; with the celestial tearing, the clothes line outside the house rests empty of our clothing, sheets, towels--naked wires spotted with wooden pins. Dryers do not exist in this country. It is not a matter of wealth, but rather, why a machine to dry when there is always warm air to do the job? true. so i have become used to seeing my clothing blowing amongst the others in the wind through the windows. On a rainy day the pins appear so melancholy perched like wanting crows perched against silent gray backdrops. no clothing to dry. what then can fill their jaws? i will tell you now a small insignificant thing that makes me happy without explanation: coffee spoons. i am thrilled to again be in a country that values coffee spoons. though now when i see coffee spoons i am reminded of TS. Elliot's piece on Alfred J Prufrock; i measure my life in coffee spoons. hmmm. intention to imply a meaningless life of routine? no one would accuse me of lack of spontenanity, but i view no evil created by small routines. The routine and the abstract; together they make a fine pudding. As for the coffee spoons. well, they are awfully cute. perhaps it is the routine spoon who needs to hang up to dry.

Unlike the biscotti, both muffins seemed to work out. And my stuffy nose i don't want to do anything attitude was magically transformed by the power of mock studio photography setup. How to deal with a moody mallory: force her to shoot food. and perhaps offer some eyedrops. it's Tomorrow, dear friends, after my visit to the English school, i will go to the store, get some flour, make my french baguettes, and turn that frown upside down. besides. the coffee spoons are probably dry by now.

the first photo above is my June entry to Click's theme of "stacks"

a bientot

Santa Catarina State

Now Pay Close Attention: Itajaí , Camboriú, Porto Bello, Bombinhas, and FlorianópolisWow, who could have ever imagined that this country that is larger than the United States actually has localities aside from Rio, São Paulo, and the Amazon. Go Figure!

Guess what. Last Thursday happened to be a holiday--Corpus Christi (i love Catholic countries) and so we peaced-out for the long weekend. Where did we go for this rainy winter holiday? Why south of course, where it is yet even colder. When a herd shuttles north, the clever thing to do is swim against the current. A private beach in Brasil? Not possible you say? We only like to do the impossible here at the Salty Cod. You are thinking--mallory, a holiday while on a holiday? Aren't you already in Brasil? Well yes, but believe it or not people here all...work. Yes. It appears that people have jobs, raise children, maintain homes, go to school...weird. Anyways. A long holiday to break the routine, that is after all the definition of the word. A few weeks ago when deciding where we to go, H suggested, why don't we go to Rio and visit R? Rio? I lighted, Rio?! Hooray! Coincidentally, R happens to have just moved to New York. Hmmm, we both thought. Rio without a guide--no thanks, tourist track is not for us. Next idea was mine: how about Porto Alegre to visit D? It's a possibility, H replied...though we would have to fly...15 hours in the car is pushing it. Otherwise air tickets we're looking at R$1000. 15 hours? or R$1000? Forget it. I know, brains continued, let's go to Florianópolis, it's an island in the south. I have friends from high school nearby we could stay with. It will be cold and off season though. Let us recap: uncrowded beaches, a place to stay, and local guides? Did i just strike a dumb-luck mine or have i magically fallen into a state of life where everything just happens to be perfect? Well that settles it. A trip to the coast of Santa Catarina state to visit some old friends. on y va.

There are twenty-six states in Brasil...third grade must be ever so much more pleasant with only twenty six rather than fifty bloody capitals to memorize...Twenty Six. São Paulo is a state containing a capitol city of the same name. Rio de Janeiro likewise. Florianópolis is the capital city of Santa Catarina, which is bordered by Paraná state to the north, Rio Grande do Sul to the South, and is flanked west to East by Argentina and the Atlantic Ocean. What is so special about this state? Famous for the beaches of course. During the summer the coastal cities are covered like moss on a trunk with mostly foreigners looking for soft sand--ergo Argentinians. But in the "chilly" middle of June--the cities and their praias are sleepy. In other words, a synonym for perfect.

The southern most states in Brasil undoubtedly boast a higher standard of living than the northern states. Why beat around the bush. The south is predominately white, drawing heavily on its immigrant past of European migration; mostly German, Ukrainian, Italian, and some saucy Portuguese. Like most cities in America that claim to be "Little Bavaria" or "Little Norway," the heritage is more now desired rather than ingrained. But architecture plays the greatest display of Santa Caterina's "Euro" heritage.

Eight hours drive from Indaituba SP, but driving through the country side made the long hours fly. As did nearly running out of gas in never-ending state park (note: it is against the law to operate gas stations in state parks. good to know...we payed a thief R$30 for a dribble. raaaape.) Somehow we managed to get to the house of G and R, without a map or directions. How the hell do you know where you are going? i asked H. Meh, he replied, i googled earthed it the other day...so actually i don't know where i'm going, i just think i do. Well. Some people have built in GPS. It takes me an hour to find my grandmothers house...S i live to make you chuckle. wtf. We arrived without a single turn around. damn you.

G and R live in the port city Itajaí, for you Seattle readers, think: Tacoma. Cargo ship yards hug the coastal high ways behind the neat cobble stone alleys of house rows. It is difficult to imagine the entire scene under five feet of standing water only only six months prior. In November 2008, Itajaí (along with many other cities) suffered a devastating flood which drove some eighty-thousand people from their homes. The cities, miraculously, have recovered in the short time elapsed, though the waters did take a near one hundred victims along with them as they receded back to the Atlantic giant. Thankfully G, R, and their daughter AC not only survived but recovered. So if you three are reading this, muito obrigada por sua hospitalidade, vocês três são amigos maravilhosos e mal podemos esperar para ver o bebê! beijinhos!

After we arrived i was exhausted beyond imagination. we didn't sleep much the night before. and cars put me to sleep...then segway into non stop Portuguese which trying to understand is an incredibly tiring mental process...eyes closing...hey Mal, H says, they invited us to go to a church meeting at a friends house tonight, i think it polite we go. Church meeting? in a house? oh bother. Three hours. Three hours of a group of perhaps twenty seated in a circle taking turns reading passages of the bible out loud. Passages from the bible in English send me to the sandman. So passages in Portuguese--dear god somebody shoot me please. nodding...nodding...snap the neck back, damn did they see? i survived only through eyeball Morse code with H, and the presence of at least 7 small children to distract me. Sitting in my plastic lawn chair, i turned to H and whispered, i thought only i could get myself into absolutely ridiculous situations like this, but apparently we're a pair! As painful as it was, the welcoming attitude toward us was so kind that i had to admit that i was happy to be there; i love these moments above all others where you turn your eyes from face to face, wondering how on earth you came to be here, in this spot, at this moment, with these people. A small town in the middle of nowhere, late in the evening, in the crowded sitting room of smiling strangers, my best friend by my side, and a curly haired baby tapping my knee. Life is, i did have corn ice cream earlier in the day at the corn castle, life is--wonderful.

The beach. It's why we came. Early the next morning (actually we woke up at 11. There are first times for everything) we drove to the nearby city of Camboriú, what I from the first glance forever after referred to as "video game city." It looks fake. Photoshopped into an idealistic picture perfect backdrop; white seaside sky scrapers all hugging the petite chic shopping lined alleys. God damn it i am yet in a twilight zone. We climbed to the top of Bald Man's mountain, to get an aerial view of the city and were treated to a front row air gliding demonstration. G&R left us to tour the beaches and wander the city during the day; and after a gondola ride up and over a hill to what appeared a sheltered beach cove, i realized there was no other word for it all other than paradise.

The next day we hit it hard with visits to three beaches: Porto Bello, Bombinhas, and Joaquina beach in Florianópolis. success. But how can one place be better than another? The answer is they can't. They all have their merits. At Porto Bello i felt in a European quiet coastal hamlet, in Bombinhas a Floridian California Coast-goer as we sat for lunch at a beach side restaurant, and in Floripa it all came crashing down. how am i so lucky to get to see all of this. why do i deserve. what did i do for this? I haven't found the answer yet, but i've always held a card of self pity believing myself eternally down on luck. But i'm the luckiest girl on the planet standing here on this rock with violent surfer waves crashing in rhythm a violent applause. Hey look up there it's Gustavo Kuertans house (i was at the Roland Garros last year for his final appearance in professional tennis) well, well, well. life is a chain of events.

Sunday. My sandy feet are exhausted. Time to stay home. R's brother, who lives down the road, was having a barbecue--correctly termed churrasco. it's what Brasilians "do." oooh, i thought, perfect opportunity to show off and bake something. I had made chocolate orange biscotti at home wednesday night as a gift to G, seemed basic enough as an edible hospitality gift. First: no one at home had ever heard of biscotti before and they were enchanted by them. hmmm...success! The ones that actually made the trip were a double success--consumed all in the first night. No one there had ever heard of basic biscuit before either. how? how is that possible? Either way, the dry coffee shop add-on was making me popular, so i suggested to G we make two different flavors for the barbecue on sunday. that got me a smile. hmmm, how about white chocolate pistachio, and lemon vanilla dipped in bitter sweet. hmmm. sucessssss.

And now: what would perhaps be a horror story to some, i title here what could only be a Salty Cod-possible adventure in frustration turned laughter. bring it. So i was in the kitchen down the road where four women were preparing the non-meat parts of the barbecue. hmmm let me just weasel my non-portuguese speaking nose into your way. american coming though!! yeah i want this counter...give me all your eggs. I know how to say food stuffs, of all portuguese words, food i am the most savvy of. But when i do not know: wave my hand around--that means spoon. this thumb gesture means bowl. and this exotic parrot like squaking means did you see the presidents speach on the news last night? in reality it probably means throw a 90 mile an hour curve ball on the inside of the plate, but nobody's the wiser. When they point and get something right, i clap. when it's wrong, i scrunch my face and stick my tongue. i am a monkey in the jungle. clap and dance monkey dance! It is so much easier to communicate with D...well somehow it worked out. biscotti in the oven...my 5 year old sous-chef clinging to my side with glazed almond eyes--children are so much easier for me to speak with. they do not judge. I was at most ease speaking French with Florielle, i need to find a baby Brasilian to teach me. The trouble arose when the biscuits were done, and ready to be dressed.

I found melt able chocolate at the supermarket, and rigged up a double-boiler to get the job done. damn it. too hot too fast, the white chocolate is ruined in the chalky state. Perhaps if i add some liquid--i open the fridge and grab the first thing i see; an open carton of condensed milk. that'll work. i get ready to pour it--then they start squealing. you don't want that, you want regular milk. no, no i don't. this is ok really, you don't have to open the new box of milk, it's not important. Here is the thing: i understand what they are all saying, but they do not understand anything that i say. Alien looks and they continue to chirp. damn it! it's not important! i argue as i grab back the carton--then look to the chocolate chalk. ahh, i muse, oh well, it's toast. i push the pan over to by the sink and get ready to start over. They ask me why i did that. It's ruined, i say in Enlgish to blank faces, erm, esta fini, kaput, nada--i try as i move my arms in swooping X motions...nothing....arrrrggggg ESTÁ MORTO! Ahh, they reply, but no i think you just wanted the regular milk. AHHH! No i don't want the milk! I yell as i pull my hair with both hands. It will not fix it! I start jumping--my favorite form of sign language. Usually calm and collected knowing she is the foreigner who cannot speak the language--but four against one in my setting, is painful. i try to pull every portugese word i know that might get the meaning accross. nothing. vacant stares. Then all at the same time they start yelling oi aiiia where's Henrique, get him we need our translator! Henrique Henrique help! I throw my arms up, AHK!! NO! I don't need him! I yell in Portugue-lish. And then start laughing. Trigger effect. The room bursts to laughs, and i am covered in hugs. White chocolate is always harder to melt than dark, one women starts to tell me. we forgot about the white and moved straight to the dark. My little sous-chef was happy enough to take care of the white chocolate chalk for me. Two spoons please.

The biscotti turned out...and turned a success. The food was fantastic, the guests were surprisingly those who we had seen the first night at the Bible group. Life comes full circle. Biscotti crisis avoided. Salty Cod: 1 Tower of Babel: 0.

The sun was peaking over the cargo ships as we left the next morning to return home. I have never had such a wonderful vacation in all of my oh-so-extensive 23 years of life (stop laughing). The ride home was long, as we chose to make it longer by making a detour to the São Paulo sea shore first. What's ten hours in a car anyways if you've the right person to play twenty questions with...i was up to 70 questions and still couldn't guess "car engine." He however took only three to guess "my bed." maybe a bit ty ty... I will say though, the next time we go south--we're taking a plane damn it!

a bientot

We've Got Ourselves a Two Year Old Here

Feliz Aniversário My Darling Salty

Can you beleive we've made it two whole years. Mallory is a phase girl; obsessive, impulsive, over enthused--i've been called it all. But the Salty Cod is proving to be something much more than a phase. What exactly we are not sure of yet. But we know Salty will keep swimming.

I am triste to say that due to the ten hours spent in a car today--there is no birthday cake for Salty. A 5-day vacation to the southern Brasilian beach coast was his present instead. Oh how terrible right!

Salty was born a few months before we moved to Paris--after a year he survived the city of lights and returned to Spokane. Less than a year later--and that cod fish has led us to Brasil. And we can not imagine anywhere else we would rather be. Especially for our birthday.

Two Years Young!

a bientot

Avocados and Lemons - Abacates e Limões

Oi Kaitles! Feliz Aniversário! This is becoming a pattern...

Avocados are fruits. Wait--what? I doubled back as i looked at the blender that began as a sweet apple smoothie but finished as apple guacamole. Avocados and apples in a milkshake? My face twisted up. You eat avocados sweet? I mumbled more stream of consciousness than actual question. They are a fruit, how else do you eat a fruit? H laughed later when i confessed my bewilderment. Well, i said, in the US they are a vegetable. A vegetable!? A surprise to all. But when I took a sip--the angels in heaven smiled down upon me. holy shit. holy shit this is good. this is really good. I have found my new favorite food, you know the one that is orgasmic. Avocado and apple milkshakes. Abacate e maçã. Ahhhhhhh. But, i continued, i never would have thought to blend it. D answered simply with oh, well, in brasil we just blend and juice everything. A liquid diet? S are you hearing this? excellent. And now i have avocados on the mind. on y va.


Saturday was homework day. Fifteen bloody international commerce questions worth. But wait Mal, we thought you just graduated? What are you doing researching importation agreements at the wto website? Whereas I decided that 19 years of straight schooling was enough, my editor is still taking classes as post graduate work, what we call masters. How can someone work 45 hours a week and still take friday night classes? a crazy person that's who. But we here at the Salty Cod cater sympathy toward crazies, often being considered one ourselves, so we try to help. No wait--we insist on helping. Well i can't write in Portuguese, but i know how to research. I know all too well the classic saturday spent in bed with papers strewn everywhere waiting to be organized into an essay. But though it is a pain in the neck to be stuck inside when the sun is out coolly shining on one of the two days he's finally home, for some reason i didn't mind. i-tunes on shuffle, pajamas all day...the only two distractions being the continual mallory act of hey look at this photo, and that bloody Brasil versus Paraguay Uruguay soccer game--mal, please please please can i go watch just the first ten minutes? ten little teeny minutes? What am i a slave driver now? I will embarrass him yet further by stating that out of appreciation for the unnecessary seeking of permission--i humanitarianly gave up the minutes; which rounded up more towards an entire first half, but meh. Brasil won 4-0 by the way. But look how lucky i am; three perfect saturdays in a row. Viu? Well once i grew tired of pretending to write bullshit about things i really had no clue about, i reached for my cake drawing book--time to draw birthday treats for Kaitles for her 19th on monday...but what to make...

Last year on this day we made this pretty lady a chestnut cream mousse for her birthday. She was in Seattle, and the mousse was in France. this is becoming a pattern. Kaitles your cakes are in Brasil, though we eat them with wishes for your health, happiness, and good fortune! did i just quote a Chinese fortune cookie? maybe. These are called Kaitle cakes. Avocados still on my mind...i originally was thinking of small orange tea cakes with candied orange peel, so i ask H, what do you think of avocado and orange together? he replies, sounds fine, after all i usually eat avocados mashed up with lemon and sugar. Really? hmmmm brilliant! Avocado lemon cakes with chocolate avocado cream, lemon cream, and candied lemon peel. Kaitle Cakes born in Brasil. Next year i will make for her 20th a pot of rice pudding in Tibet. Last year we did your birthday at TarTar's little apartment in Paris, with a chorus of "joyeux anniversaire Kaitlin!" and now--in a Brasilian kitchen to a chorus of "feliz aniversario Kaitlin!" What fun indeed.

There are two butter creams for the cake: a chocolate avocado, and just a simple lemon. For this, obviously, i needed a whisk, and powdered sugar. a whisk...why can't we find a bloody whisk! and powdered sugar, how am i supposed to find this when i can't even explain it to anyone! Ah the challenge! I accept. We went to a paper store to get cupcake wrappers, and well well well what do you know, this store turned out to be a Michaels equivalent, and down one very chic candy making aisle held the solution to my quandaries: not only powdered sugar, but an excessively large quantity of cocoa powder (yes finally something other than chocolate milk mix!) and a costco-size bag of chocolate chips. Chocolate chips! Two days ago i couldn't even find a chocolate bar to cut up. To quote the words of some new friends--successsss. We then decided to skip the market and go to Carrefour. yessss. Do you think i am evil? I must say that i did in fact miss Carrefour, i won't lie, i did most of my grocery shopping at carrefour whilst i lived in Paris. It was good to be back. But--i knew, if anywhere a whisk was to be found, it would be carrefour. Sure enough---successsss. Since we happened to already be in the location, i thought, ah why not pick up a few things for the thai food i was going to make for dinner. Erm. I had almost everything on my list written in Portuguese except the meat. Not a problem, i know how to talk about meat. Carne. So i say to D, e agora, carne--mas, frango ou peixe, um ou outro...não dois. Which means in some disturbing primal form of Portuguese, now we need meat, chicken or fish, one or the other, but not both. I have a very terrible pronunciation, and she could not understand my words for chicken. No problem, i am experienced in situations like these: i turn to her and cluck and jump around next to the bucket of tamarind the grocery atendant presently led us to. He was quite ammused i must add. Grocery shopping is quite fun, and we eventually got the chicken. So. Successsss. Last thing i needed was corn syrup; i tried to explain it as liquid sugar, but no one in the entire store had a clue. So. Não Successsss. Can't win every time. We've enough to make hundred cakes though, so não importante!

Kaitle Cakes: makes 10 cupcakes
Lemon sponge cakes:
ingredients: 1 cup flour ~ 1 tsp of something that will rise (i am not entirely sure what this little jar is in the fridge. but meh, it works) ~ 2 tbsps fresh squeezed lemon juice ~ 2 eggs ~ 3/4 cup granulated (now i see the importance of the word granulated) sugar ~ 3/4 cup milk ~ 1/2 cup smashed avocado ~ pinch of salt

method: scald milk and avocado (if you want, run it through a blender before scalding) set aside. 2) mix the dry ingredients together, and beat egg yolks with sugar. 3) combine the sugary eggs, milk, and lemon juice. add to flour mixture, combine, and divide into 10 paper cupcakes (i didn't even use a cupcake pan, just wrappers on a tray, and it worked!) bake until they are done. I have no idea what temperature this oven is. it is gas and there are no gauges.

butter creams: cocoa powder + butter + avocado + milk + powdered sugar. lemon butter cream: lemon juice + powdered sugar + butter.

candied peels: cut off the skin of a lemon, boil for five minutes in water, add a lot of sugar, and boil until translucent. roll in sugar when cool.

I am sorry i missed your birthday again, but you see i never actually miss it. And this way, many many more people get to celebrate your birth than you ever could have possibly imagined! Creepy? well yes. but that's ok. Homework stained pajama Saturdays are ok. Sunday strolls in graveyards and parks are ok. Monday night birthday cakes for a sister a million miles away are ok. Happy birthday Kaitles, i drank a strawberry caipirinha in your honor. Beijos!

a bientot

It's a Cake

Bolo de Mandioca and a Bunch of Birds

There is a root that despite looking like the illegitimate love child of a potato and a rutabaga, is a magical tuber that though nearly unheard of in North America, is responsible for being the world's third largest source of human consumed carbohydrates (let us just assume that rice is number one) The mandioca root produces flours for cakes and breads both sweet and savory, it is sprinkled over rice and beans, the main ingredient of pão de quiejo (cheese bread), is pressed fine into a powder and mixed with water to create a fluffy beiju (pancake), and undoubtedly is present in hundreds of other things that i have yet to encounter. An alternate name: tapioca. Americans only know tapioca as a boba pearl used in sweet pudding. But it is so much more. Cakes, for example--and gluten free at that. excellent. on y va.

I was sitting on my bed after my run when D (H's mom) hands me a little note (one of the dictionary based ways we communicate) that said: observe, preparo beiju--to observe. me: é claro! which means, of course! D is an amazing chef, she is extremely busy and yet prepares a lunch and a dinner every damn day--she could (can) make rice and beans with her eyes closed. Brasilians eat rice and beans with every meal, no matter what the meal is, rice and beans will go along with it. At lunch once I was asked what it is that we have to the equivalent of the rice and beans--sadly i had to say that there isn't one. After the beiju, which turns out to be a traditional Brasilian indian dish, D told me we were going to make a bolo--a bolo, a cake! A cake! Ah happy day!

Using the google sentence translator, i suggested hey let's take photos of the cake and post it on my blog! D typed back--how about we take photos of the whole process from start to finish and put it on the blog. Even better. She would do very well in the blog business. The bolo de mandioca begins as a pile of grungy tuberous roots that are soaked and then peeled. It then must be pureed and squeezed of its liquid. We don't have a food processor here, but D explained that you "work around" the problem by using what you do have (i told her the French call it le systeme D)-- so we used a juicer (the juicer's name happens to be mallory. for serious. it says it right on the side! it's actually the name of the brand).

The white pulpy paste produced out the back of the juicer will act the flour. As to the recipe, well, it was more of play as you go baking, eu experimento, she explained as she replaced the usual milk with the mandioca juice. Excellent. She poured two cups of sugar into the bowl, beat it with butter, a little bit of salt, then we added the mandioca, and a cup of finely ground oatmeal, um pouquinho mais of sugar, 6 egg yolks (from three twin-yolk eggs) the mandioca juice, and then folded in the nearly whipped whites of the eggs. She then turned to me and said (something like) what do you think, baking soda? I answered, yeah, it could never hurt. let's do it. Two perfectly round cakes came out after about thirty minutes in the box; just in time for a 17h00 tea time.

What did we spread on the cake? A fresh made pineapple jam. There are so many fruits here. Was that an unneeded statement of the obvious? Why yes, but it needed a segway into transition. We had decided to spend saturday as follows: go running, buy a lamp (yes, a lamp), and then a friend's birthday dinner party in the evening, However, plans got muddled and the lamp had to wait until sunday. Instead what happened was bit of a twilight zone. H's mom and step father invited us to come to their property where they are building a cottage which will eventually be their house. Nothing is built yet, but the property is being prepped, and we went to see if the grass had grown. The cottages are in a petit town called Elias Fausto, about thirty minutes from here in Indaiatuba. Driving to the scene, i compared out loud "i feel like i'm driving in teletubby land" D loved it--i hope she names the cottage Teletubby Cottage. hehe. The countryside is beautiful; silent but for dogs, birds, and bugs, the sun was surprisingly hot this day. The image is not what one comes to expect from Brasil, well not a North American at least. No beaches am i showing you, but rather a finite beauty that simply is too breathtaking to lexically explain. I found myself almost near a tear: how lucky, how simplistically yet complicatedly lucky am i to be here, at this moment, in this spot, allowed to see, to feel, and to smell such raw goodness. When the Teletubby cottage is finally built, it will be the finest in the neighborhood.

As we were leaving (the grass seemed to be growing over the little hills just fine) we were stopped by one of the neighbors who lived in a weekend cottage to come in and see the "estate." holy crap. anyways--to be forthcoming, they had a lot of fruit, a lot of birds. Those are coconuts? A papaya tree? Coffee bushes? There is a pineapple growing out of the ground! I'm in heaven! As i plucked a jabuticaba off the tree to eat, i found myself shaking my head: this cannot be real. We went into the bird yard. look at all the poulets. i like the little white fuzzy ones. oh a turkey--quails, peacocks and birds behind cages with names unknown! my god, what twilight zone have i fallen into. I tried to explain what that meant to H who was slightly confused by my behavior, all i could find was that it meant, or rather felt too good to be true. he agreed.

On this short little drive we stopped along the way at a little road side fruit stand to get some grapes and goiaba. In English i suppose it is called an apple guava, as it is eaten like an apple. It is very pink on the inside, with sweet crunchy seeds. Those of you who know me are savvy of my apple obsession. I would not fight it if goiabas were to replace apples. coming from me and my sacred apple? Ahhh, so now you know how good they are. Along with the green bananas, and the still green papaya tree, all fruits are green. Green appears the magical color.

On the way home we stopped at a small roadside vendor who sold fresh sugarcane juice out of his truck. huh? on the drive we had passed many sugar cane fields, and H wanted to stop so i could taste a sugarcane (yes, suck on a sugarcane stalk) but well, who knows whose fields these are, and just the previous day he had told me a story about being chased by a madman with a rifle when he was eleven for stealing grapes from a farm...hmmm that sounds like a hobbit to me. hehe. Ah well look this man has sugar cane, and he'll squeeze it for us! what a deal right?! and all legal. he cut off a small piece of the core so i could suck the juice out. wow. this is natural sugar. very good. And then he hacked a bunch of canes apart with a huge knife, put them through the press with a couple of lemons, and poured us some juice. pure sugar. drinking pure sugar. mmmm. ahh brasil. each cup was on 2 R$, which is one US$. not bad at all. But the sugar cane man did tell me that for his photo--it would be extra. Well, he may have some royalties when im famous someday. oh la la.

Find me a better saturday i dare you. This one was perfect; from dawn past the dusk. Hey but let me be fair, sunday was tudo otimo as well. Sometimes you just can't explain why something makes you so happy; a rolling teletubby hill, or a little pineapple sticking its head out of a tuft of leaves--some things we just can't explain with reason, perhaps it comes with a fanning of time, but at present, all you can do is be happy that it makes you happy. That is a logic of two happies in one--did i just rip a hole in the universe? yes i think i did. holy crap. but you know what? i bought a lamp. and what can be happier than that.


a bientot

Wanna Know a Secret?

I'm in Brasil!

Yeah i know i've been giving you all the dramatic sob story novelettes on graduation, moving, leaving, change, and yadda--and then all of a sudden im in Brazil? Uh, you're asking--what?! Well, would you expect anything less from the Salty Cod?

We will be here for a while, so please pay me a few more visits if you'd like to continue the adventure with us. Salty is going to keep track of the brazilian food and culture, and of course the ever-entertaining, often awkward, pleasantly sporadic, and sometimes a bit triste vie quotidienne of this Cod girl. I do not know where to begin, as brazil is a big country, there are big topics. So, let's do what I did first--so let's go to the Mercadão, to follow in Tony (Bourdaine's) footsteps. Oh lala. Do i need a life? Bem vindos todos ao Brasil! on y va.

Before we talk about this sandwich, i'll answer the wtf question that's at the tip of your tongue--did you think i was going back to Paris? I am told too often that i'm random and impulsive. ehem. but well i'm in brazil what can you do. This trip is a visit to my editor...i think it a lot easier to go over the manuscripts in person after all. don't you agree? Alright, so about Brazil. Did you know that Brazil covers more landmass than the continental united states? true story. I flew into São Paulo and H, well editor's name is now H because i will begin fatiguing myself from typing the word editor ad nauseum, and well he can't hide from initialdome now, picked me up and then we spent perhaps 2 hours trying to get through the jungle city. Tony referred to São Paulo as the conjugal result of New York vomiting on LA. hmmmm....yeah pretty much true. Huge is an understatement. We got lost looking for the Mercadão de São Paulo only about six times. Don't worry though, we are very good at asking every third person for directions--and each person we asked, i must note, dropped absolutely everything to point us in the right direction. Vendors, workmen in a hurry, people caught in mid conversation. it's rather, nice; actually. When we finally got to the Mercadão, i thought ahh Tony, yes i'm a creeper i seem to make it an effort to go every where you have been when i visit a new city. wander wander wander...ahah! there it is, crowded and crawling with hungry people.

In line (line??) or rather jumble of people at the order counter, we (well not me) somehow started talking to these three old men behind us. They kept nodding to me and smiling, but really all i can do is nod and smile (you think i speak portuguese? well i don't. yet) H explained to them that i was American, they all lit up; "ohhh i have lived in Salt Lake City for 20 years with my daughter's family, they are all over there at the end of the counter. We had to come here because of some show my son in law saw on tv...." show? H and I looked at each other; some other crazy has come here just because of Tony? Hey now that's our dorkiness! this guy is cramping my style. It turns out mr. mormon, his brazilian wife, and their gaggle of children were on holiday to Sao Paulo and said that he heard Tony say it was the best sandwich on the planet, so he had to get it. His conclusion: it was expensive bologna. My opinion: go back to Salt Lake.

We got a mortadella sandwich, the specialty of course, "o sanduiche mais famoso do mercadao." Mortadella is the grandfather of bologna--originating in Italy as a large thick sausage of pork meat hashed with spices. mmmmm....pig...my favorite as you all know. it is heated on the grill with a big piece of cheese, and then stacked onto a bun. Sandwich? Well, we only bought one, and i just ate the most inner slices of meat away from the bread. Was it the end all be all? no. but did Tony do it? yes. So was it worth the wandering hours? yes. wandering lost in a new city is our all time favorite activity here at the Salty Cod, made all the more pleasant (i didn't think that was possible) with an assistant, of course.

It's raining right now. Rain in warm weather is very strange to me. It is winter here, and supposedly, so i've heard, São Paulo receives a lot of rain. I can't seem to be able to escape celestial crying; Seattle to São Paulo. Yeash. But now you know. Luckily though, H doesn't live in São Paulo. haha i tricked you all--a little over an hour north west of São Paulo is the city Indaiatuba; much smaller, cleaner, quieter, prettier, and safer than the big gun down south. Driving in you have to pass the hedge lines of billion dollar mansions guarded by stone walls and barbed wire; good god who the hell lives here, i thought, the president of Monaco? The standard of living here is quite a bit different from São Paulo; there is such disparity of wealth in this country that it is impossible to comprehend until you actually see it. Indaiatuba is mostly middle class, though there is representation on both sides of the spectrum. and a lot of dogs...too...many...damn dogs.

Well that's going to be the beginning. I've had a lot of rice and beans accompanying too many good meals already so far. Things like corn juice, manioc root, lots of tapioca flour, cheese, fruit, fresh squeezed fruit juice, coconut water (you drink it in the coconut with a straw. it's crazy) meat, meat, meat....ahhhh meat...you'll hear about it all. trust me.

I feel like im in the twilight zone here actually; besides H, there are no English speakers around me except little brother K who is really not that bad actually. But i don't speak Portuguese. And guess who's gone to work from six to six. So dictionaries, miming, sounds, do you know how simply amusing it is to be at a tea party in an aunt's house with the whole party of non-english speakers searching the kitchen and going back and forth reading...contem gluten...gluten, gluten...ahhh! não contem gluten! ahahaha; i love it here. Right now some kids are playing pool in their garage across the street listening to Jason Mraz and that damn poker face song, i had a vegetable and fruit vocabulary lesson this morning from mom while unloading grocery-bags after my run which i yet again managed to get lost during--but like we have said before, you can make anywhere feel like your home as long as you want it to. and i feel at home here. so let's get to know brazil, shall we.

a bientot

There Was This Job...

The Master Said: Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.

I had that quote pinned to my wall above my computer since i found it folded in a little card box. I decided i wanted to live to it. Perhaps not immediately, perhaps with hiccups and snags along the way, but i think maybe we'll get it. We're off to a good start either way.

So we said goodbye to my university and house last week (actually i'm still here in town for a bit, just acting the vagabond house jumper...living out of a suit case et cetera) in order to get a last week of work in before...partir. It seems like a good night moon series here; good bye school, goodbye house, good bye job, good bye friends, good bye towns... I just finished working for a magazine; two actually. The Idaho Cuisine, and the Spokane Sizzle. My technical title was editorial assistant--but well i think i was mostly a photographer with writing, website work, trailing, chauffeuring, consulting, dining companion, and everything else one could possibly want an assistant for. What can i say, i suppose in the end, this was the best job that could have ever come to me, i am freshly graduated, but at the same time already have something to put in my resume. So i would like to thank my boss, J, and the other J, and the coworkers who all put faith in a nobody college kid to write and photograph for the publication. Thank you for giving me my start, i will miss you all!

Unfortunately as i said there is a lot of good bye-ing lately; as such, having no home, moving on into a new stage of life, and preparing for something that you will all hear about within the next few days here has left me with little time to write and or bake--bake? i don't even have a kitchen anymore....anyways, i will now throw at you, on the day of my very last work day, some shots that i particularly like from my time with the magazine. so. take a look if you please. Most, many--all are owned by the magazine appearing in print or online, so they are copyrighted. Not that i need to say this to any of you dear friends, but just in case.

All of these photos were from assignments--restaurant features, chef interviews, cover shoots, neighborhood spotlights, in-home caterers, local bakeries, and just happenings going on in the Spokane and Coeur d'Alene community. I was skeptic for three years that there was any beuty or taste to be found in this inland no-where corner of this country, but i suppose now that i've really looked at it, through my lens, i've discovererd that there is so much to taste, so many wonderful people to meet, so many things to see, smell, and smile at. It reafirms something that i keep forgetting; as long as you try to find it, you can really be happy anywhere.

will return with adventure shortly.

good bye Spokane--thanks for the four years of memories.

a bientot

Hey Guess What?

I'm Graduated! (and i catered desserts for 30!)

And so i ask myself: how did i get here? Can this really all be over? College is all i have known for four years, and school, well i have been in school for seventeen years. I don't know how not to be in school. This is it? I have to be a real person now? No more excuses, no more holding my hand? No more head in the clouds? I have to...have to...have to be a grown up now? Well. At least come to my party please? A party you say? One of thirty plus people? But who catered? Why me of course. ME! on y va.

I know it's possible perhaps that you are a first time reader and therefore are perhaps thinking that i just graduated from pastry school. well, not exactly. My pastry school has been in my own kitchen, while in the classroom i've spent the past four years acquiring two bachelors of arts: one in history and one in the French language. and now i have them. i have them. what good will they do me? well i'm not sure. but what it came down to was that i decided i would study what i loved, no matter what practicality it would have on future job outcomes. Therefore i have spent my days in classrooms studying Alexander and the Hellenistic Kingdoms, the American Revolution, Louis and Clark, Thomas Jefferson, Ancient East Asian Empires, American Immigration, Civil wars, World Wars, revolutionary wars, the Mexican conquest through independence, America the Gilded Age, America in expansion, Medieval Europe, Tudor England, Ancient Rome, the Space Race,Russian Tsars, the Kingdoms of Islam, African colonization.......and of course, Portuguese colonization (my thesis. if you actually would like to read it, just ask. i'd be happy to share Portugal with you). But aside from all that fun stuff (oh, and all the French courses) Gonzaga has forced me (at the time forced was definitely my mind set) over the past four years to attend classes on.....a few other subjects. Philosophy, Ethics, human nature, study of the Old Testament, African Catholicism, Religious dialog, mathematical statistics and algebra, geological physics, Latin, psychology, political science and world politics, fine arts, American literature, English writing, oration, Western literature...does it ever end? Apparently yes. As i am done.Done!


Perhaps you would like to know about this party...so perhaps i should tell you. A graduation calls for a dinner party, with all the family? yes. F, S, A and I plus each of our family's comes to a total at about thirty. Ouch. What restaurant is going to attempt to seat that? well well well. party planning? i've found yet another guilty pleasure. Writing for a food magazine allows one to meet and befriend many restaurant owners and chefs, and as such if you happen to stumble into a place of love at first sight, befriending the owner becomes only logical. The venue for 224 Sinto's graduation party was at Chaps Restaurant, a Montana themed eclectic farm-house turned Dorothy-charm soul food sit down. Mason jars for water glasses, the walls lined in old newsprint and handed down recipes, sparkles, glittering belt buckles...the old tin lunch box for a bread basket--and i haven't even mentioned the food yet. But when i brought up the the proposition of a 30 manned graduation dinner to C, the mastermind behind it all, the number was a bit steep for the kitchen staff to turn out entrees for that many heads. So instead she suggested a party. a party? buffet style food set up, the entire farm house upper lever all to our selves, wine in ice buckets, dips and meats and cheeses--it would be a social gathering to mingle among our four families instead of a stuffy round table seated event, and i would do the desserts. me? i looked at her a little perplexed? me cater desserts for 30 people to be served in a real restaurant? me? C is one of my dearest readers here at the Salty Cod, and i am so grateful (and slightly undeserving) of her confidence in my pastry skills--she's offered me space in her restaurant kitchen to come in and well, bake! So that would be it; a standing room party for 30, i would come in to go over the menu with the chef (an absolute genius i must add) and work out the financial details, and i would do the desserts. But what? What could i do that's not too risky, could be done in my tiny little kitchen, on the the week following excruciatingly painful finals, a graduation, and the weekend of moving out of our house---does this sound fun?? hell yes it does!

While i should have been studying for my psych final, i was drawing up menu ideas in my cake journal. Bite size of course. The first thing to my mind: macarons. Macarons have become a special thing in this house, because as you all may or may not know, it is near impossible to find a macaron in the United States, as such after returning from my year in France, i made them for my house mates and they were sucked in as if hit by a hard drug. Make macarons? Are you going to make macarons? When will you make macarons again? I knew i had to make macarons. No question about it, it had to be done. But 100 macarons? Good god, what am i getting myself into. Besides macarons, what else? Well, there was this one cake i made last August for E, who along with my housemates, is my dearest Gonzaga friend. A coconut milk and ginger sponge cake rolled with white chocolate and coconut buttercream. S and E gave the cake a name that perhaps is a little inappropriate to state here, as my mom is in fact a reader of this chronicle (hi mom) so i knew for this party we had to bring it back, though not as a jelly roll, but the same cake, only as mini cup cakes. 30 cupcakes it is then. But there must be a center piece to it all, something a little more fancy...something with layers.

I have always eye goggled French entremet cakes. yes, something completely new and made up. but what...so everyone likes to make fun of my love for canned pickled beets which i eat at least a couple times a week, staining the sink neon fuchsia. hmmm that color must be in it. A dark cake and light cake, a mousse and a cream. I love Helen over at Tartelette, i stare at her professional French pastries not only with respect and ency, but as, well, a pusher--she taught me how to do macarons, perhaps i am ready for this. So. With her coconut and mango layer cake as an inspiration, mine came to the party as a vegetable tier: to honor the four of us in our graduation...though we are all meat eaters, we do love a bit of vegetables every now and then. The two cakes: chocolate and zucchini genoise and a carrot spice genoise. The cream: sweet corn cream inspired by a Brazilian sweet corn ice cream that i stumbled upon at a blog a few months ago. The mousse: pear and beet juice baby. Glaze on top: Baby blue white chocolate of course. Why? Just because i love baby blue. I apologize for the absolute lack of photo for this cake, it turned out quite pretty, but was in process of being made up to the last minute...so there was no time for a proper photo shoot...but take my word along with its consumers that it was...a success! When they were all told what was in it, not only were they shocked, but somewhat relieved; you see--vegetables make people think they are being healthy. oh lala.

After consulting a few professionals--Christy and Helen thank you very very much--i decided to stop thinking about it all and just go for it. hell yeah i could do it all in 24 hours. just watch. I never thought i would actually go through 42 eggs in 24 hours...but i have seen the light. the macarons were of two different shells: 50 strawberry and 40 lemon, both with various dyes. The cream inside the strawberry shells was a vanilla buttercream, and inside the lemon a buttercream mixed with a homemade lemon curd provided by my neighbor (a professional caterer) who also lent me the use of her baking pans (thank you C i couldn't have done it without you!) The cupcakes were fairly simple, the same recipe as the cake from last August, though tripled. And the entremet cake, well, that one was a little nerve wracking, but it came together. I'd like to mention here that this was all produced in one uneven oven, done without mixing bowls (one of the roommates jumped the gun and packed up a bit early...what did i mix with? Rice and pasta pots that's what.) No food processor again...well...time to get out the magic bullet to grind those almonds again. But it all came together. Somehow it did, and in between i started that ever-joyous task of packing up. ah yes, i am a masochist. but i thought you knew that.

E, A and I delivered all the desserts to the restaurant ahead of time, just so they could get in the hands of the waiting staff and, well, i never told my parents what i was up to. When we all arrived to our private restaurant loft, the room lit up, and the party got started. The place was a hit, the food phenomenal, plenty of wine, mingling family members--a perfect way to end it in celebration of the best housemates i could ever ask for. And i won't lie to you all, seeing my desserts brought up by the staff, plated and looking professional--i finally felt like i was doing something right. And when the room clapped for me, i thought i would have to hold back some tears. The macarons--a hit. Anywhere in the US you will always find a room full of macaron virgins, for they are always completely shocked at the first bite: their eyes light up and they gasp, it's chewy!

The graduation ceremony followed the next morning at 9:30...and lasted until 1:00. mmmm aren't you sad you missed it? afterward--a little celebration, and the beginning of a lot of cleaning, and a lot of packing. does anything ever stand still? apparently not.

The recipe for the coconut cream and ginger sponge with white chocolate coconut butter cream can be found in the Salty Cod archive here, macarons, should always be attempted from instructions over at Tartelette, and the vegetable entremet cake--well, i have a hard time imaging the sound of it will draw many replicators, but if you are interested, please email me and i will gladly share with you more recipe details.

So this is it. 17 years of education done up. my four years of college both drug on and escaped me in a flash. What have i accomplished, what have i earned from all of this besides a massive student loan monthly payment? Well, i suppose i could say that in the last four years i learned how to be me. I have made friendships here at Gonzaga that i know will last a lifetime. I was given the opportunity to study what i enjoyed, which led me--as strange as it sounds, to the cod fish, the inspiration behind this very blog. It was also in my college dorm room where i first began my little love affair with baking; the dorm mates would love the muffins and shoddy looking biscotti left out for the taking on the community table on weekends...mixed and shaped over a bath towel on my dorm room floor of course.

Through the Gonzaga French program i was given the opportunity to live abroad a year in France to not only study, but to actually live as i wanted to live. It was for my abandoning of the English language for a year that i began this blog, to maintain my drippy little passion for this written word. Salty was started the summer before my departure, and i had no idea that it would come to be one of the most darling, useful, loving, and right things in my life. While in europe i got to know myself, the self that always was there, but that i never wanted anyone to see. France also made possible the meeting of a dear friend, who more than anything or anyone else has supported my ridiculousness since the beginning, unwavering. I could not have survived the transition back to the states nor made it through this last year of over-credited semesters, financial stress, a new job, and life in general without him.

This blog grew up in Europe, it got me to Portugal, and Portugal got me to my senior thesis. Food writing through Europe pushed me into the magazine i work for here in Spokane, and has solidified for me what and where i want to take this little life of mine. Maybe i'm afraid of what people think, the risks of trying such a field; photographer, writer--oh yes, they make so much money don't they...and what does any of this have to do with history and French? Well everything has brought me to this point. everything. nothing happens without the momentum of the event before it. my morue (French word for Cod) has lead me to this point today of exactly who i am. and he is going to lead me somewhere else tomorrow. i know i am not perfect, and i know there are many faults to be fixed; but what i have gained in these four years, i would not give up or trade for anything. My family, i could not have done this without you. My friends--in particular S, A, F, and E; oh screw it Sierra, Anneke, Faye and Erik, there is no Gonzaga without you. My professors, my employers, my bloggers, readers, the many people i met in Europe, the chefs, the writers, the photographers--in other words everyone who has helped me be me. And my best friend, to whom i wish to say that no matter what, these last few years are ours, and you have been irreplaceable through it all. I guess what i have learned in college--finally, it took four years to do it--is that life is about the people that are in it. everything else is just filler.

So what's next? We are grown up now? We have to move on, no more excuses, no more fall backs? Well, yeah, we gotta grow up someday. But does that mean we have to take our head out of the clouds?

i think not!

a bientot