8-Legged Friends

No, not octopi, although they are terrific friends when you need an extra hand.

I'm talking about my new appreciation for the creepy, crawly type. Spiders!

You see, ever since I was in 5th grade and got prank phone called (yeah, you could do that pretty easily before Caller ID was invented) by some random girl who told me it was bad fortune to kill a spider, good fortune to see a spider, the smaller the better and the earlier in the day the better, I've always thought twice before straight squishing the little buggers.

Don't get me wrong, I've taken out my fair share - usually because they are somewhere they shouldn't be and I'm not in the mood to be humane - but for the most part I've perfected my catch & release method:

1. Grab a cup. Clear is better, but by no means necessary. Also grab a magazine subscription insert or a post card or one of those 20% off coupons from Bed, Bath & Beyond. Something thin and sturdy.
2. Trap the intruder under the cup, trying not to break any little legs in the process.
3. Slide the card between the rim of the cup and the wall or floor, then while keeping it pressed against the rim tip the cup upright causing the spider to fall to the bottom of the cup. BOOM! Spider in a cup.
4. Now this is when I escort him out and away from my house, the whole time giving him a piece of my mind, telling him he's not welcome, if I see him again he's toast, and to tell his friends and family the same.

And like that, no spider, karma intact.

But that is the me who lives in San Diego, where, besides an occasional onslaught of houseflies, I can probably count the flying insects I've seen in 4.5 years on two hands.

But the me who lives in Rio has a completely different understanding of these guys' place in the circle of life. This is how I see it, quite literally:

Mosquitos eat me. Spiders don't eat me. Spiders eat mosquitos. Spiders are good. Spiders are friends.
(As long as they post up where I do not.)

This all sank in when I witnessed an event one night last week during a particularly annoying struggle with the pests. Sitting at the kitchen table, under a beautiful paper lamp, I was getting bombarded by one particularly large mosquito that was quite elusive (hence his size, I'm sure). As I unsuccessfully swatted at him he flew into the lamp for refuge. But alas, my new 8-legged friend (who I am right now christening Dogg the Mosquito Hunter) was anticipating this and had built a web ready to apprehend the fugitive.

I looked in at the exact moment Dogg leaped into action, quickly snatching his prey and tucking him into his silk death bed, snug as a bug in a rug. I let out an audible "All right!" and with awe and pride I watched Dogg dine. I felt safe. Justice was served. I was transformed.

Dogg is still right here, getting bigger every day, and it looks like he cleaned up his lair a little after last night when I witnessed 3 carcasses under wraps. It pays to have friends in high places.

Cozimento com Paul

Today I continue to roll with my notion of rolling with yes.

That simple notion in it's simplest form is of course, yes. But in my particular notion I simply mean if I am fortunate enough to be in Brazil, I ought to be considerate enough to say "yes" to any invitation extended in my direction.

Now hold up, you! I don't mean any invitation, obviously. I have the right to use personal discretion. But ones that might appear to be "less than ideal" upon initial proposal most often contain hidden gems.

Therefore, when Paul asked me if I wanted to assist him in assisting a chef in editing/creating/cooking a Mexican food menu to be offered on Saturdays at a local country club, I said "yes." He said it was unpaid. I said "So what? Sounds like fun!" And away we went.

Paul and I walked to the bus depot, he found our bus and and we waited on the sidewalk.

After about 2 minutes the bus driver came shuffling by, took his seat, and we boarded. Just me and Paul. And the cashier at the turn-style. And the driver.
It was like a chauffeured party bus without music where we just sat the whole time, on opposite sides of the same row. It was awesome.

We walked into the club, which is located on an island in the lagoon in the middle of Rio de Janeiro. Paul got us in after a friendly greeting with the front security guy, whom he knew by name. We then found Marco Lido, the head of the kitchen, and they discussed the menu. Paul's Portuguese is incredible. The entire day not a word of English was spoken except between us. Full immersion, baby!

In this discussion some of the more vague details of the arrangement were defined and we found out this project was going to be slightly more hands on than we had anticipated. But we came prepared, knowing that this very well might be the outcome.

So after the brief-but-inevitable, "Oh shit, what did we get ourselves into?!" moment, we regrouped, unpacked our knives and started prepping veggies. It seemed to calm us down; zone us in. And like when starting a painting, or an essay, or a blog, just getting that first stroke on the canvas begins to unleash the process of creation. Then things get cooking. (Please, don't pardon the pun. It was cheesy. Like a quesadilla.)

We figured pico de gallo was the place to start. A truly Mexican condiment, straigt-forward in it's construction, it would go well with everything, and at the very least provide a garnish of authenticity. And so it did. Not that he knew any better, but Marco was impressed. We were rewarded with more work.

We proceeded to make enough Mexican food to cater a quinceañera... steak fajitas, veggie quesadillas, cabbage street salad, mango salsa, chicken tacos, nachos, y muchos mas!

The reason we were there in the first place was that Paul was doing a favor for an expat entrepreneur named Gary who moved from California to Brazil some years back and became the country's leading producer of corn and flour tortillas and tortilla chips (called Garytos - hahaha - get it? Gary+Doritos... which I didn't piece together until I saw my pictures). His company is very successful and has obvious interests in the further introduction of this exotic cuisine to the Brazilian public. And since Paul and I happen to be the two guys from closest to Mexico that he knows in town, and we both appreciate eating and cooking the food, and we were willing to work for free, we got the gig.

As we chopped and sliced and squeezed and tossed and tasted and seasoned we talked about how working for free took MAJOR pressure off of our shoulders - from both outside and inside forces. It allowed us to have fun. It was an adventure, an honor, to be two gringos in street clothes called into the trenches  of prep and cooking. We also realized that nobody there really knew what Mexican food was supposed to taste like, so as we wrangled toward traditional as best as we could we really had creative freedom to work with what we had. In an awesome kitchen - big, spacious, clean - with the big kid tools.

A mere 5 hours later and we were had finished our mission. And all were impressed. On the walk home, after stopping for an after work drink - Paul bought me an áqua do coco - we got a call from Marco. Apparently he owns a few restaurants around town and wanted to add a Mexican night to their offerings and thought that Paul would be a great person to head that. That was a good feeling.