October 8, 2009

Scott, Robby and I went to Porcão last night for dinner.  Scott and Emily had thought about going last year, since it’s so famous, but when their cab pulled off the highway at the restaurant’s exit and the place was filled with tourists, they left.  In the few months that we’ve been here, we had been assured that it was amazing.  Brazilians vouched for it left and right.  We thought maybe it really was an experience not to be missed.

Nothing tasted bad, but it was awful–Scott and Emily were right the first time.  I never knew that such over the top gluttony could exist anywhere besides the United States.  It was a gigantic restaurant, packed with people with a wedding room and a kids playroom.  There was a huge buffet that looked like any kilo restaurant in town, ostrich meat sizzling by the door for a cooking demonstration, and waiters flying around with skewers of meats and eight inch knives.  The tourists in there were so clueless wandering back and forth to the buffet that it’s incredible more people haven’t gotten impaled.  There’s a fixed price per person, and they started bringing things to our table: rice, farofa, onion rings, french fries, cheese pastries, plus the whole buffet.  We had little cardboard rounds that looked like coasters. When it was flipped to the green side, it meant we wanted to be approached by the skewer guys for meat, flipped to red, we had had enough.  The dessert options were brought over as a tray of plastic models–glass dishes of plastic vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce, plastic mousse, plastic strawberries with cream.  As saturated fat clogged our arteries, we couldn’t get away fast enough.  In fact, I was in such a hurry that I ducked right in front of someone (maybe a tour guide?) giving a speech just as someone was taking a picture of him.  Oops.


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