A Liver Cries out in Brasil (Food & Drink)

It could have been the partially toothless and wild-eyed grin flashed at me as I weaved through the cabin door and glanced into the antiquated cockpit. Or maybe it was the common look of befuddlement that both pilots wore on their faces as they poked at buttons on the planes console like monkeys hopped up on LSD. Either way, my pulse ratcheted up a few beats and a fine trickle of sweat collected above my waistband as I looked at the drivers of this aluminum chariot. I was getting nervous.

The line of drunk and horny Sao Paulistas was bunching up like an accordion behind me. Turning around now was no longer an option. I pushed forward, limply waving back at the captain and shuffled to my seat like a prisoner on a slow march to the electric chair. I had paid next to nothing for the damned ticket, one of those low cost carriers popping up all over like annoying mushrooms after heavy rain. Now I had to take the ride.

I kicked myself for not drinking more as we lifted off. It was going to be ok. I hoped.

The main wheels smacked down on the pocked runway like it owed them a fistful of money. Swiveling my head around, I saw we had all indeed made it. Bonus.

I got my Oceans Eleven cool back on and strolled out into the city of Rio. Somewhere out there was the perfect drink waiting to be made, a seductively smooth caipirinha made from cachaca, the liquor equivalent of Lizzy Borden, all sweet and smooth but more than capable of hacking you off at the knees later on.

The bars in Rio are lined with, well, beautiful Brazilian people. They are incredibly nice. Bartenders are friendly and each stakes his claim of being the best caipirinha maker in Rio. The main drags are on Ipanema and Copacobana, where beaches are well stocked with endless variations of a piece of yarn and 2 quarters.

Hell, there are even some one piece bathing suits as well, though usually hanging from a pasty tourist accompanied by some leering, banana sling Speedo wearer with a hefty gut spilling over the waist band and hiked up black socks with Teva sandals. Sights like that can savage a man’s soul here and handily crush even the finest of buzzes.

Back to the drink. The varieties of cachaca are endless. The upper tier ones are revered like fine bottles of Bordeaux, with nuances of cane and pepper coming from the barrel aging route they sometimes take, while the lower end ones, while cheaper and usually not aged, are no slouch. Though they may seem like the product of a bathtub deep in the favellas, or the poor neighborhoods, in Rio, when added to a well beaten lime, its juice, fine sugar and crushed ice, it rears up mightily and stands to make a good caipirinha.

The other variations and uses for cachaca come in many forms. There are batidas, fine, vitamin enriched drinks that are mixes of fruit juices or pulps, cachaca, ice and sugar, that give you a valid, though sketchy, excuse for your doctor when he jams that accusing finger in your face and says you are drinking way to much and not getting enough vitamins.

There is the Leite de Onca, a calcium packed juggernaught of flavor that deftly blends milk, condensed milk, cinnamon and, you guessed it, cachaca. A sippable little treat that almost begs to be poured over your Corn Flakes in the morning. Just before you are hauled off to the Betty Ford Clinic to dry out.

All in all, cachaca is indeed a handy little brew that lends itself to many uses.

What follows is a classic caipirinha recipe. Finding cachaca in the states is relatively easy. The best I have found is called Pitu. A steady handed pour of cachaca, use fresh lime over bottled juice, some fine powdered sugar and crushed ice. Score a ride home and Bottoms Up!

3 oz cachaca
1.5 tsp fine sugar
1 medium lime, cut into chunks
Ice

Muddle lime in glass with sugar. Add cachaca and ice. Stir and drink. Repeat as necessary.

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff