There are several guava fruit trees on the Consulate’s compound and it is the  time of year that they drop their fruit.  It makes a mess, but one consolation is the sweet fragrance they give off once they break open.There is one tree that hangs over a driveway as if its only purpose in life is to carpet the roadway with guava fruit.  The gardeners struggle to keep it cleaned up.  If I can get a picture of the mess, I will post it.

I had a small Wingfest Sunday evening with only the people who live in the apartment complex I do.  Here are a few pics of them. Nothing elaborate.  Just good food and good people.  And a very cute little girl!  I was asked by her parents if I would like to baby-sit sometime, and I responded, If she is potty trained.

Last Saturday I went on a tour of the Goes winery, and a quick stop at two others.  Below are a few pics.The wine is fermented in the tanks that look like ovens, which are lined in paraffin.  The paraffin has to be changed out every few days, and I cannot imagine it not being quite a mess.  The company will be going to the stainless steel tanks seen on the right.  Below are some of the holding tanks the wine is moved to before bottling. As with any place like this that involves humans, you will find interesting stories.  Look at the three barrels below.The wine in the middle barrel has been there for 35 years and no one knows anything about it.  The only person who knew was fired and he refused to tell anyone.  Below is a machine that cleans, fills, caps and labels 2 liter jugs of wine.  They told us that line is only operated once a year when a 97 year old man and his 103 year old wife come by to purchase 40 jugs of the wine.  It is said once the couple crosses the rainbow bridge, the assembly line will be dis-assembled.Brazilian wine is not one of my favorites as I prefer Chilean, but it was interesting to go on this tour.  And I did laid awake that night thinking about that 35 year old barrel of wine and wondered what it would taste like.

D.

While perusing my cabinets the other day, I came across several cans of pumpkin pie stuff.  Remembering in the past how nice and comforting pumpkin pies are, I decided to try my hand at it.

I checked the label and it appeared I had all the necessary ingredients.  So I stoked the stove for 400 and something degrees and proceeded to make a pumpkin pie.

When the slurry was ready to pour, I realized it was more than what I needed for a pumpkin pie.  Luckily, I had three graham cracker pie crusts which enabled me to make three pumpkin pies.  But if you ever made such a pie, it is often the case you have to cook it much longer than what the instructions say.  I remember Terese had to cook one for 90 minutes!

So, I kept cooking it until the center did not stick to a stick that I stuck in it.  But, then it ended up cooking too long.  The pies were over-cooked, but not burnt.  I ate one of the pies right away, gave one to Camila to take home to her family and took the other to work, where I ate most of it.  Below is the trio before consumption.As an aside note, I am planning to have a Wingfest in my diminutive apartment this Sunday, and I am only inviting those who live in the same apartment complex.  I expect there will be less than 10 people, plus a baby.  In my invitation, I explained I have an incredible 900 year old mother who loves pictures of the people I interact with, so I will be taking pictures.  So far, I have heard no complaints.

Okay, unless something more interesting comes up, I will see you again next week.  In the meantime, kick butt and grasp another adventure.

I added a new segment to Page One.  Click the link below.

Serious Stuff

In the morning on the way to work, I walk by the Paulista University.  So, it is common that I end up walking with many of the students on the way to class.  The other day, just as I got about 50 yards from the school, one of the public buses made a stop and the driver helped a young blind man off the bus.  He reached out to grab someone nearby to help the man get to his destination, and … well, that person ended up being me.

If it wasn’t for the language barrier which is more than any other place we lived, it would not be a problem.  The driver grabbed me by the sleeve and placed the young man’s hand on my arm as I tried to tell him I did not understand Portuguese.  He rattled off something in Portuguese and boarded the bus and drove off, with several people gawking at me from the bus windows.

So, I started to panic.  I removed his hand from my arm, and grabbed hold of his arm in case he tripped … or something.   I had no idea what to do with this man.  I couldn’t get my phone out to use the translator app, because he was blind.  So, I did what I usually do when get thrust in with the Brazilians.  I say, “Eu não entendo português”. (I do not understand Portuguese).  He looked toward my direction with his eyes rolled up into his eye sockets and replied, “I speak leetle  English.”

Okay.  First hurdle, now the next.  “Do you need to go to the University?”

He moved my hand from his arm and gently slipped his hand under my arm.  That simple gesture made me relax.  I was no longer leading him, but simply walking with him.  He said, “Yes.  I am study computer science.”

Okay.  Second hurdle has been reached.

So, I gently moved him around the corner and walked to where I thought the students entered the building.  He kept tapping his cane back and forth in front of him, until he came to a point where the ground shifted to a slight incline near a corner of a wall.  At that point, he knew where he was and thanked me for my help.

I found such a simple act of helping a young blind student get to his class, a thought provoking moment for those of us who take our sight, and everything else for granted.

But I was happy to let him go, and as I continued walking to the consulate, I was reminded there are people walking among us not born of woman, who are placed here to test/teach us.  I wondered if he was such a person, and if he was, did I pass?

Several months ago I helped the Marines host a Wingfest to raise money.  I supplied several bottles of the hot sauce used in the original Buffalo recipe thanks to Terese, who had the foresight to put two cases of the magical stuff in our household shipment.

When the Marines sold the wings, only the Americans and a few brave Brazilians dug in.  If you remember from some of my earlier posts, the Brazilians are not into spicy food.  Not even black pepper.  So last Monday, being President’s Day, I decided to spend some time coming up with a Brazilian-wing sauce recipe.

I put a package of wings in the air fryer to cook and looked through my cabinets to see what all I could come up with.  There was a bottle of raspberry vinaigrette dressing with an expiration date of June 2010, but it still had the proper color.  And a bottle of Kraft’s Original BBQ sauce, dated sometime in 2011.  I had a bottle of Texas balsamic vinegar given to me by a boss about 4 years ago, and I also found some Texas olive oil.

Now I must tell you, there is a gentleman at the Consulate, who along with his wife loves cooking.  They produce an abundance of food at any setting they prepare.  He told me, “Hot wing sauce is easy to make.  Take any hot sauce, add vinegar and oil and Voila!”

So I figure I could take anything, add vinegar and oil and Voila!  I could see my future where the City of Sao Paulo would have a parade in my honor for creating the perfect wing sauce for Brazilians.  The recipe would go “viral” and I would reject any idea of patenting it, instead giving it to all mankind (and womankind).  Even the small town where I was born in Texas would have a Main Street parade in my honor.  Both blocks would be lined with my fellow Texans and we would end up at the Knights of Columbus Hall for drinks.

Well … the best laid plans often go awry.

I mixed the raspberry vinaigrette with some Texas olive oil and I notice strange flakes in the sauce, and the smell was not as enticing as I had hoped.  So, I put the mixture in the microwave to “meld”.  Within the 20 seconds in the microwave, I realized this was not going to be the mixture I had hoped for.  There is nothing I can compare to the smell of the ‘melded’ mixture.  It had turned into a slightly jelled mud and I quickly placed it in the sink and flushed it down with bleach.

I turned my attention to the 7-year-old BBQ sauce and decided it needed some hard liquor.

Now, let’s have a quick side note here.  Several years ago in Ankara, Terese took a flight home for a week and I decided to pamper myself with the perfect steak.  I went to the commissary at the local air base and pick a small flawless medallion steak and marinated it overnight in whiskey.  I did not want to use any of my good whiskey, so I choose a cheap bottle that I only offer to people who don’t know what good whiskey is.

After the marination, I placed it gently on a grill and cooked it to a perfect medium.  Laying with a large baked potato and a salad with Ranch dressing, it minded me of a Rembrandt painting.

The salad was refreshing.  The potato was delicious.  And the steak tasted like the cheap whiskey.  I did not finish it.

So, with that lesson learned I decided to use good liquor, and this time I chose Captain Morgan rum.

I mixed the ingredients together and proceeded to taste.  It was acceptable.  I dare say the Brazilians would approve, and it was decided by a majority vote, this is what I will use at the next Marine Wingfest.  … along with the original Buffalo sauce for the crazy Americans.

It may not make me famous among the Brazilians, or the townsfolk of my birth, but will suffice in bringing the Brazilians together with the Americans who like hot spicy food.

If nothing else, upon my demise when I arrive at the Pearly Gates, the kind gentleman with the white beard and flowing robe will say to me, “Oh, you’re the guy who made the perfect wing sauce for the Brazilians.  Yeah, I hear of you often!  Come on in and report to the kitchen immediately.”

With my luck they will hand me a list of things to do, with the first being, Empty the kitchen trash, and ending with C Me.