Tag Archive: picanha

Boom, crash, bang!

Many parts of the city were flooded

Many parts of the city were flooded

When I posted yesterday’s no-post, I hadn’t seen the news. I had badly underestimated Tuesday’s downpour. I knew it was a lot of water and there ws plenty of thunder and lightning. It wasn’t until I saw a tree down in the park, then the news over my sushi lunch.

The rainfall was 70% of the statistically expected for March that fell in an hour, four people died, one washed away, one crushed by a tree and two electrocuted. More than a hundred trees fell throughout the city, damaging power lines and destroying cars and buildings; and the power was cut in many parts of the city. The new Maracanã stadium being reformed for the World & Federations Cups was flooded as well.

Decrepit old men

Decrepit old men well past their validity date

I was watching the news last night, an item about the cardinals going into conclave to vote for a new pope. What a bunch of doddery old men? Surely these men are so old they must be out of touch with reality, with what’s happening in the real world. It amazes me how such a group of old men can elect one of their own to lead the world’s largest church. No wonder the Catholic church lives in the stoneage. The new pope should be about 30 years old, then the church might see some progress and renew it’s lost flock.

It’s lunch time.

I am going to beat three pieces of picanha, just to make sure it’s dead, into weinerschnitzelable thickness and proceed with the crumbing, frying to a delicate golden brown and eating.

So, nom noms, later.

A Dead Cow Story

Danger: Caution is advised for vegies, vegans and the squeamish

Medalhões de Picanha on the skewer

Yes, this is a dead cow story.

The cows are dead, because the live ones won’t stay still on the churrasqueiro (BBQ);

I am escaping. One of the neighbours, actually she runs the soup stall in front of the botequim (bar), is celebrating her birthday today, and I have discovered that she has arranged for the Boa da Samba van to be present… I won’t be; not after last week. You can read about that in my post Feelings.

Now Nani, the girl in question, is lovely, she is the mother of teenagers, she likes this kind of thing, loud music, lots of people, whereas I don’t. I would dearly love to tell her to piss off, but I am far too much a gentleman, besides she makes great soups. Last night I had one for supper, caldo verde, it’s a greenish soup with shredded leafy vegetables in it and yummy things like bacon bits.

So, despite that I have been invited to attend, I will tender my apologies and retire to a quieter clime where they have lots of dead cow and a lovely salad bar.

I like mine done about so

My favourite cut is picanha. Picanha is top sirloin, but cut in the Brazilian manner, you don’t find it outside Brazil. Some places in the US have a Brazilian açougeiro (butcher) where there is a Brazilian community, there you will find it. The picanha can be grilled flat, or curled and spitted on a skewer so that the red meat is not pierced outside the layer of fat; that way it keeps in the juices.

Of course, that isn’t the only meat. There is a wide variety, sausages, spicy sausages, cupim (the hump on the back) which is particularly succulent, chicken hearts, rump steak cooked with oodles of crushed garlic, pork fillet, pork tenderloin wrapped in bacon, chicken legs, prime rib, T-bone, it’s all there; sometimes they have a rack of lamb chops. Then there is grilled cheese balls, and all this not to mention the salad bar which even has poorly made sushi.

Ah, that is not all. There is the beer, served in chilled handles, but tonight I might stick to red wine for a treat.


Yes, it is the weekend. It should be a time to relax from ones labours during the week.

My question is, why isn’t it?

Why do we work more and harder on the weekend at home than at work during the week?

Between blogging, reading the news and emails, I have managed to clean my room, have breakfast, tidy a little of the backyard, annoy Lixo, feed Lixo, pet Lixo and have a nap with Lixo attached to my big toe again. In my grogginess he got to understand the meaning of a ‘kick-in-the-head’. Quite involuntary of course, it was done without malice. He’s got the pip now, and is outside somewhere.

My vision - Picanha

During my nap I had a vision…

Picanha, BBQed on a spit.

I am a person who believes that dreams can foretell the future.

Far be it that I should avoid the future, in fact I believe one should do everything in ones power to see that a particular future come to fruition.

I have the taxi card out, ready to call at the appointed hour. I should leave about 18:30 (that’s 6:30 for our American cousins, their watches only go to 12) which gives me ample time to arrive, even if the taxi is late, be seated, have leisurely wander around the salad bar, be back at my seat and have sipped my ice-cold handle of beer all before the news starts.

Now all this leads me to question. What part of the cow (okay steer) is picanha? You see if you look up picanha in the dictionary, you won’t find it. Picanha is a cut that you won’t find in a butchers oustide South America, unless one happens to have a Brazilian açougueiro (butcher). Brazilians have different cuts. Picanha is actually the rump cover, a part of the top sirloin. In America and England they cut the layer of fat off, but here that layer of fat is the trademark of picanha. Sliced off the spit in almost paper thin slices, rare to the point of bloody, it melts in your mouth.

Aren’t dreams wonderful?

Perfect, almost Lixo's colouring too...

I shall spend a good two hours, dining slowly, watching the news and ‘my’ novelas (soaps) and when that stupid Big Brother Brazil 12 starts its inane presentation around 10pm, I shall return to my abode. Where I will be greeted at the gate by Lixo, he will race me to the front door, doing his level best to trip me up in the process, and wait patiently for me to fumble with the key. Then, as has become his custom, he will sit in the middle of the doorway barring any ingress. I will remonstrate with him, he will look at me blankly and blink “What’s your problem?” and not budge until I utter the magic words… “nom noms.” Then the race and the tripping up begins again as we head for the fridge. All this has become his routine. He learns quick.

Now earlier today, I discovered something rather startling about cats. I mean, I always knew that cats controlled their masters staff effectively, but I was amazed, shocked and appalled all at once to find out how. Have a look at this post on Tomus Arcanum. Tell me that you aren’t amazed, shocked and appalled too?

I have one more blog to post for. Shit Happens, that shouldn’t be too difficult, it’s happening everywhere, all the time. I have a wonderful choice, Syria, Falkland Islands, Libya (again), Mitt Romney being sat on his ass (Geez, that was funny, he looked like a stunned mullet), or I could look at something serious like the new concentration camps being built around the US for ‘domestic terrorists’, Iran’s nuclear announcement next week, corruption everywhere. It’s a blog that never really lacks something or someone or somewhere to sling off about.



Lixo has forgiven me, he’s asleep on my our his bed.

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