Churrasco on the Barbie

Excerpt from longer work about a year spent in Brazil teaching English.

On Sunday we were invited for churrasco with Daniela and Adelino. Daniela was still recovering from a sickness I may or may not have passed onto her.

After telling us she would be by to pick us up at 1, she arrived at 1:30 trailed by Ana Paula, one of our students at Bora Bora English school, and her morena friend. We walked out to Daniela’s tiny non-Jeep all-terrain-vehicle, and Hassan took a seat in the back.

“I am-ee noh-t good. These morning I-ee was coughing and-ee throwing up steel. I am-ee not good. Chris, I blame you.”

Daniela laughs and I apologize. She says it’s not my fault, she is kidding “estou brincando,” and says it’s the weather-- many people are sick and the weather is erratic.

Daniela’s home is in a gated community with cobblestone streets and a private shopping area. The car ride is very bumpy and we’re tossed about as Daniela speeds down the street, hardly pausing for speed dips. Daniela and Adelino live on an expensive piece of property which contains two houses: one for them and a separate guest house which contains the laundry and churrasco area, and in between the two houses is a blue and cream tiled pool area with an outdoor shower and floral tiled walkway. Their landscape manager is kneeling by the pool. He’s a handsome 20-something surfer “surftista,” with mid length brown hair. We greet him politely, and I realize we are also “the help”.

Adelino is already preparing the churrasco. A selection of sausages roast in a brick barbeque. Adelino looks a bit rough for his years. He wears a stained white ribbed tank and an insect has nestled itself between his forehead creases. He shakes my hand and Hassan’s hand, but pays me little attention. He directs all his questions in Portuguese to Hassan, in part because my Portuguese is less developed, but also because he is the type of man who only concerns himself with other men -- perhaps with the exception of female family members. Adelino is not fat, but he carries a small gut, the accumulation of many years of lite beers. He has no tattoos, but seems like the kind of man who, had he been born in a different era, would have had many. He offers us Itaipava beers and initially I try to refuse because I’m still recovering from my latest illness, but when my Portuguese fails, I accept the drink and sip along with the men. Daniela is not drinking because she is pregnant. She leaves us with Adelino while she pops back into the kitchen to prepare a potato salad.

Adelino pulls two sausages from the barbeque and slices them on a wooden cutting board. We take pieces. The meat sizzles and juices pour onto the cutting board with each cut. I eat more and more, as I half listen to Hassan and Adelino converse. There’s a television on the wall playing Disney’s Rio with Portuguese-dubs, and I’m struck by the irony of watching an Americanized interpretation of Brazilian culture translated for Brazilians. Adelino continues feeding us sausages and chatting loudly with his loud, muddled, spitty cadence. He asks Hassan where he is from, and they talk about San Diego’s large Brazilian expatriate population. Daniela calls me into the kitchen and I bring her a small plate of cut sausages. She has me chop green onions and parsley. She asks if I’m understanding Adelino, and I confess, “mais o menos” more or less. She confides that Adelino has not informed his family about her pregnancy. He wants to wait until she is showing. I think he’s hoping she’ll miscarry, but I say nothing. They know the first trimester is one of insecurity and possible loss. As I’m chopping she looks at my arms.

“Chris I am-ee jealous of you.”

She holds up her arm with her elbow bent and jiggles the flesh, pointing with disapproval.

“I like-ee to exercise, but now I can’t. I have-ee to talk to my doctor. Because of my babies.”

She looks down at her tiny belly and cradles it gently.

After I finish helping Daniela, I return to the men, talking and roasting meat. They offer me more beer, and I accept, even though I’m afraid I might relapse. I drink, trying not to feel like a child trying to partake in adult talk only to be dismissed for some insufficiency. Adelino sets steaks to cook. They had been marinating all morning in rock salt. They sit and sizzle, dripping, their fatty edges crisping. He takes frozen “Italian” style garlic bread and places it on the barbeque and warms it alongside the sausages. I scoff until the smells get to me, and I know I can’t resist a piece. Adelino instructs me to call Daniela, then we sit family style at an outdoor table. Adelino slices the steaks and we all take pieces. Daniela brings a large bowl of potato salad. They sit shoulder to shoulder, I am across from Adelino, Hassan faces Daniela. Daniela scoops a large portion of potatoes and announces she does not want to eat meat today because

“My-ee babies do note want.”

I am already very full, but the steak is fresh and tender. I unbuckle my shorts and sit back to accommodate my bulging stomach. Rio ends and a futbol game comes on. Daniela declares she doesn’t like futbol. Hassan and Adelino talk a bit about Brazilian teams. He asks us what we hope to get from being here. Hassan says it was not his idea so much as mine, that I had visited before for a month and had decided to stay for a year. I try to speak for myself but my garbled Portuguese is met with puzzled looks, and not even Daniela can translate, so I allow Hassan to speak for me.

Adelino is done with our company. He was willing to indulge his beautiful young wife up until this point, but now futbol is on. He goes into the house to watch the game in peace and when he’s gone Daniela tells us about Adelino’s daughter. Adelino began financially supporting his daughter after her divorce. His daughter is 35, Daniela is 37. His daughter has a daughter of her own, a “gordinha” little fatty. When the granddaughter was born, Daniela purchased a lilac colored onsie for the infant. Adelino’s daughter told Daniela she did not like the color, because it was “a color for poor people.” A year later, Daniela sees the gordinha dressed in a lilac dress with lilac shoes and a lilac bow in her hair. That was when she knew they were enemies. Adelino’s daughter once pulled Daniela aside to tell her that if Adelino ever got anyone else pregnant, she would poison the child. Daniela says Adelino’s daughter will be the last to know about the pregnancy, and that she does not want to be there when he tells her, but she wants to somehow plant a camera in the room and watch. I think they are both crazy.

The day drags into the evening. We move into the house as the temperature drops and I put on a wrap because I am cold and self-conscious about my food baby. Daniela instructs Hassan and Adelino to clean the churrasco and pack the leftovers for Hassan and me to bring home. Meanwhile she and I prepare a simple orange bundt cake. I’m tired of making small talk with my boss, even if she isn’t my boss. I look at the clock, calculating how much time I will have to rest between now and Monday. She asks me if Americans are nice. It is difficult for me to generalize. I tell her some are, it depends on the region. She asks about people in New York City. I tell her they are not friendly, least of all to tourists. I try to say Southerners are friendly, but then I remember that she is a woman with a weird accent from South America, and I try to explain “xenophobia,” but she does not understand. I tell her Americans are violently paranoid. She asks if it is because we have had many terrorist attacks. I try to explain that America has been violent throughout its history, but this is too complicated in simple English, and requires a nuanced understanding of American history I don’t expect her to have. Why should she need to know a detailed history of my particular imperialist experience? I also don’t have patience at this juncture, and Daniela is difficult for me to indulge. She is somewhat worldly and compassionate, but her compassion stems from a naivete. Perhaps I’m being prejudiced but I see this white woman with her English school and flags from the major white English speaking countries (sans the USA), in her large white house, in an affluent gated community, with its turtle paintings that she did with the aid of a private tutor-- I’m think to myself, this woman is so bougie. I know her type of bougie is complicated, like someone in the United States who likes “shabby chic” and lives in a large house in Nebraska and likes “wholesome living.” But she’s still a rich white Brazilian, and this is not the proverbial hill I plan to die upon today.

The cake turns out perfectly golden brown around the edges, while light and fluffy in the center. Hassan and I take a few pieces to go. Adelino drives us back, because Daniela is sick again. He doesn’t say much but points out a little river and tells us it’s good for fishing and leads to the ocean.