Brandy Blackcurrents. - YES!

Just a quick note to keep the blog ticking over.
I don't know about anyone else, but I love fruity flavored alcohol. Juniper draws me to gin, grapes draw me to grappa and don't get me started on calvados, wine, cyder, scrumpy or perry. What I really want to talk about are those home made concoctions that appear in all their might at this time of year. In my particular area of rural Dorset it's all about sloe gin, and every household has its own mix, vintage and method. In my household, we've just strained off the cassis, which is a black current flavoured brandy, famously combined with champagne to make the apperitiv, kier royale.
There's just something about those acidic fruits that marries so well with booze. It's not a British thing either. I spent a very happy dolce course in a vineyard in Tuscany quaffing cherry flavored grappa. These beverage gems are universal, crossing the globe as well as situations. Where would you be on a cold, rain soaked shoot without a warming tipple of sloe gin in your hip flask, but equally what else is better than a Kier Royale or a Sloe Fizz on a warm summers evening or cozied up to a woodburnr in midwinter?
But I diverge from my point. I come to you today with a plea.
Now we've strained this liqueur off, we have delicious cassis, and punchy black currents filled with brandy. As a child of wide spread media hysteria about wastage, excess, and shortages, I am arguing for the salvation of those fruit you use to flavour your delicious bottles of forty percent proof. Yes, the liquid is brilliant, but so too is the fruit you strain off, with perhaps the exception of the sloe. Don't compost these little beauties and certainly don't throw them away! Once strained you have in your hands one of the simplist puddings you can get. To give you a recipe would be to patronize you, dear reader, so I will just say this;
They're great with yoghurt, ice cream, crushed biscuits, in smoothies, trifles, on top of warm brownies with cream cheese, with porridge, as a garnish and possibly even in salads. Chutneys, sauces, ice creams, froghurts, coulis.... The list is extensive if not endless.

To illustrate my point I'll leave this post by returning to that Italian vineyard.
Picture a long table outside, filled with loud singing italians and befuddled english speakers. We'd just finished the year's harvest and having had a gargantuan first four courses, washed down with plenty of the vino, are feeling content and merry. Then a quiet descends on the group, as a man stands up, walks to a nearby shed and withdraws from it two preserving jars. The man is clearly aged, with a shock of light grey hair and a pot belly, but emanates toughness in his deportment and mien. Eyes follow his steady hands as the jars are cracked open and from them are spooned cherries into plastic cups, which are passed around the table. These little juice bombs have been sitting in firewater grappa for at least a year and are probably strong enough to go three rounds with Mike Tyson. As each one is punctured, it explodes, releasing all the power of the Mother Nature onto the taste buds. The table erupts back into conversation, loud, crude songs and other such jollity.
These little cherries will be with me as long as I live and are an example of the emphasis I found placed on food and friendship in Italy.
So don't throw away those pokey strained fruits, marvel in them and celebrate them. I will now return to my black currents, with creme fraiche and crumbled biscuit.

Beans from Ipanema

I nearly never end up at home for New Year. I'm not sure why, but whether I'm visiting family or abroad, in the dead zone between Christmas and New Year I face enduring those the planning conversations, feeling utterly irrelevant. Sometimes, when I'm sipping a snowball upcountry, watching Jools Holland's Hootenanny I wish I was out in the streets of Weymouth. This year, though, there was no envy, because this year, I was in Rio de Janeiro!
This year was fireworks and dance music, and thousands of white clad people grooving in the waves. My first new experience for the year was the Capriana, a much loved Brazilian cocktail. You've got to watch them though, they sneak up on you. This zingy mix of sugar, ice, lime juice and a lot of cachaca (local firewater, made from sugar cane), doesn't taste as strong as it really is. Here's a suggestion of a recipe:
1 part sugar
3 parts cachaca
1 part lime juice
Ice cubes
A couple of eighths of lime (if you want to impress)

Anyway this is a food blog, so I want to focus on a my gastronomic experiences of this beautiful city. In amongst the sunny, green streets there are some real gems of restaurants, where a hot westerner can escape the relentless sun.

Brazil, for me, differs in three crucial areas. Beer, beans and beef. The first is simple to explain. I love variety in beer, and accord similar respect to lagers, bitters, ales and porters. Brazilians too capture the whole range of possibility; they have nutty, nutmegy, spiced beer, or they have the chopp, lager-like draught, beer that is sold ice cold on the beach.

Next are the beans (I believe these are typically black turtle beans and I have found them easily in supermarkets). These beans are hailed as the saviour staple for centuries of poor Brazilians and make an appearance in many dishes. They are served simply boiled with a little seasoning, as a side. They are the foundation of thick meaty broths, heavy with garlic, bay and flavoursome stocks. These beans are rightly adored and cherished. They are an intriguing deep purple, almost black, and have a thick, mouth-filling texture, that coats your tongue. Comparisons could be made to proper mushy peas, broad beans or even baked beans. The definitive moment in my gastronomic experience of Rio was when I was served these beans, pureed into a smooth paste, with kale, pork steaks and eggs baked into them. It all arrived in a vast frying pan, designed for two or three to share, each ingredient occupying its own space. It reminded me of those nutrition charts you were shown in lower school biology. These your protein, theres your fats, theres your starch, oo and look, just peeking out from underneath that pork steak, a vitamin! The dish was everything a hard working farm worker could need cooked in the same pan and the beans gave it a thick wholesomeness for filling and comfort.

For this final section vegetarians might want to look away. Now I have come to Brazilian beef. South America is famous for its vast cattle ranches, in in Brazil this has led to a new breed of buffet. I talk of the mighty Churrasco. Here you are seated and waiters hustle around with five foot long kebabs of beef of all different cuts, and a few other animals as well. At a request the waiters will carve you a portion of meat, straight onto your plate. If the restaurant is good, the beef will be tender, incredibly juicy, and beautifully pink. Off to one side, there will also be a salad bar. Eating here is a real talent, because there is a colossal amount of meat to choose from, and some waiters get upset if you refuse their cut. What is sure is that it is a fantastic experience, very communal and you will not leave hungry. Perhaps this is why these restaurants are beginning to sweep the states, ever growing in popularity.

In retrospect, I think Brazil has a lot to teach Europe. In civilization where the media agonizes over the decline of the family evening meal, around the table, Brazil stands as a reminder of how communal meals could be. There dishes are mostly designed to be shared, and restaurants cater for huge parties. Because of this the food is simplified. The standard and taste remains superb, but fiddling over individual dishes is abandoned, achieving the best of both worlds. For wholesome, meaty, filling food, to enjoy in good company, minutes from spectacular beaches and forests, I recommend that you give Rio a visit.