Churrasco More Than A Way To Cook

Let the Turks have their shish kebab, the Malays their satay. I raise my fork for churrasco.

Brazil’s version of barbecue makes a magnificent meal and a dazzling performance - served with belt-loosening largess by a ceremonious procession of waiters bearing sword-like spits to carve at your table. And no one does it better than Marius Fontana.

Marius is the owner of three upscale churrascarias (grills) in Rio de Janeiro. You’d never guess it to meet him. Tasseled loafers. Designer jeans. Meticulously combed shoulder-length hair. He looks more like a movie star than a pit jockey.

But ask any Rio resident where to go for churrasco and you’re almost sure to be told Marius. The night I arrived at his restaurant in the fashionable Ipanema district, the 400 seats were packed.

Churrasco (pronounced shoo-RAS-koo) is a method of cooking, but it’s also a way of life. This rustic style of eating originated in Brazil’s cattle country, Rio Grande do Sol. Its inventors were the gauchos, cowboys who tended vast herds on the pampas of southern Brazil. Argentina may be the place many of us think of as the home of Latin American beef eating, but Brazilians were the first South Americans to raise cattle, which were imported from Cape Verde to Sao Paolo as early as 1530.

The traditional cooking equipment for churrasco was simple enough: an open fire, a sword for skewering meats, and a razor-sharp knife for carving them. The seasonings were even simpler: coarse sea salt and fresh air. (Churrascos were invariably held outdoors.) It was staunchly carnivorous macho fare and it took the continent by storm.

With time, churrasco spread from Rio Grande to the rest of Brazil. Truck drivers enjoyed it at rough and tumble roadhouses, like the one owned by Marius’ uncle. As it moved north, it evolved from rustic cookout to a culinary extravaganza. Baptisms, birthdays, sporting events, even political rallies are celebrated over churrasco. Today, some of the fanciest restaurants in Rio are churrascarias.

Consider Marius. The sleekly contemporary dining room boasts polished wood paneling, frosted glass partitions, brass rails and coffered ceilings with recessed pin spots - a long way from a cowboy campfire. So is the clientele, which includes a kissy-kissy crowd of moguls, movie stars and tourists from three continents.

The large portions of a traditional churrasco have evolved into a curious display of conspicuous consumption. You’re not simply handed a cocktail menu. The waiter rolls a portable bar right to your table. The hors d’oeuvre course is nothing less than a personal buffet that includes pao de queijo (tiny steaming cheese buns), crisply fried manioc, hard boiled quail eggs and a dozen other Brazilian appetizers.

Come time for the main course, well, all I can say is that it’s a good thing they supply you with the “sign.”

The sign is a fixture at most Brazilian churrascarias. It enables you to control the pace of what is otherwise a relentless assault on your waistline. The miniature signpost at Marius comes with three panels: normal, lento (“slow”), and suspenso (“stop”).

A squadron of waiters circulates through the dining room, each one bearing a different cut of meat. One staggers under the weight of a whole spit-roasted prime rib. Others bear coils of linguica (Portuguese sausage), cupim (buffalo hump), chicken hearts, mint glazed lamb kebabs - perhaps 20 different items in all.

And as long as the “normal” sign is in place, each and every waiter will make a trip to your table. The only way to ward them off is to flip the sign to “suspenso.”

Each item arrives at the table sizzling hot off the grill. To learn how this amazing feat is achieved, I followed Marius into the kitchen. Built into one wall is a giant stainless steel rotisserie. Motorized spits extended from the wall over a series of high-tech heating elements.

Fatty cuts of meats are placed on the highest level, so that the melting fat bastes the leaner cuts rotating below. The waiters carry the spits to the dining room, carve off the cooked portion, then return the spits to the kitchen for more cooking.

A meal at Marius may sound like a relentlessly carnivorian experience. It is a relentlessly carnivorian experience, but the restaurant also serves some pretty amazing grilled poultry and seafood dishes, including the fish kebabs below.

Grilled Swordfish with Brazilian Garlic Marinade

Marius prepares this dish with a giant, white-fleshed Amazonian fish called surubi. I’ve used the marinade with great success with swordfish and tuna. If you’re on a low-fat diet, you can omit the oil and the results will still be delicious.

1-1/2 to 2 pounds swordfish, tuna, or other meaty fish

1 red bell pepper, cored and seeded

1 green bell pepper, cored and seeded

1 large onion, cut into 1 inch wedges

For marinade:

6 cloves garlic, peeled

1 small medium onion, peeled and quartered

1 small red bell pepper, cored and seeded

1/4 cup olive oil

1/4 cup dry white wine

2 tablespoons ketchup

2 teaspoons sweet paprika

1 teaspoon salt, or to taste

1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/4 cup finely chopped fresh cilantro

Cut swordfish into 1-inch cubes. Cut peppers into 1 inch squares. Cut onion wedges into 1-inch sections.

Combine ingredients for marinade, minus cilantro, in blender and puree to smooth paste. Transfer to bowl and stir in cilantro. Correct seasoning, adding salt and pepper to taste. Marinade should be highly seasoned. Stir in fish and marinate for at least 3 hours or as long as overnight.

Preheat grill to high. Thread fish cubes onto skewers, alternating with pieces of pepper and onion. Grill fish until cooked, 2 to 3 minutes per side, turning once.