Brazilian Fondue? Yes Please!
I wished me a Merry Christmas in a very different kind of Brazilian town called Gramado. Situated in the mountains 130 km north of Porto Alegre, Brazil, the village was settled primarily by Germans and Italians in the late 19th century. The mixed-European heritage has a weighty presence (with respect to cuisine and architecture) even today. Granted, while much of the new construction is more façade than authenticity, Gramado is still a nice destination for a weekend retreat from the bustle of the capital. My late spring visit was nice timing too, because the hydrangeas, of which there are billions, are bursting into bloom.
For my overnight trip, I had three distinct goals in mind: I wanted to witness some of the annual Natal Luz (Christmas Lights) spectacle, tour one of the famed chocolate factories, and gorge myself on fondue—a Gramado tradition.
Though the weather was unseasonably chilly (roughly 60 degrees) and misty, it was perfect for my purposes. A lifelong resident of the northern hemisphere, I indelibly associate the holiday season with winter. Feeling a little confused by the lush green landscape (which includes everything from pine trees to palm trees), the wet wind and grey skies helped me to bridge the conceptual gap and sink in to the holiday spirit.
Gaúchos go louco for Natal Luz—the annual holiday extravaganza which counts lots of pretty, colorful lights; pyrotechnics and parades; a water show and carolers among its draws. For seven weeks every year, Gramado transforms into a kitschy Christmas wonderland. They even pipe holiday tunes throughout the city via a streetlamp speaker system.
Lights, schmitez. Truthfully, I was more excited about sampling the goods that Gramado is renowned for in southern Brazil. First stop, Prawer—and I had a Golden Ticket my friends. Remember those behind-the-scenes tours that Mr. Rogers used to take? I used to love watching those, so the chance to satisfy my curiosity of how these oh-so-delicious truffles achieved such perfection was another kind of treat. Prawer is a small, low-output manufacturer by comparison to, say, Godiva. So I imagine that many of the tasks I saw being performed by hand make it a bit unique. I really liked this contraption which floats the flavored centers across a bed of molten cocoa while blanketing them like the kids in a Grandma Moses painting.
When I saw the embalagem station, where two women were hand-wrapping the truffles with a third applying the adhesive logo, I was struck by a flash of that classic I Love Lucy moment. Photography isn’t allowed, so it took a little cajoling and a second tour to get the shot. Naturally, as a thank you (ahem), I felt a certain obligation to buy some cherry things, some nutty things, and some bonbon things.
Next stop, foongee. Well, that’s how Brazilians pronounce fondue. It’s served a bit differently too. Of the dozens of fondue houses in Gramado, I visited Maison de Pierre at the recommendation of a friend.
Located in the lower half of this home, the space is intimate: exposed stone walls, impressionistic art, wood ceiling and trim. I was reminded of those quaint subterranean restaurants I’ve come across in Europe. I was quite pleased with the service and attention to detail. For example, I explained when I made the reservation that I would be dining alone (let’s face it, this place is made for couples—even the menu is priced for twosomes), and when I arrived, I was pleased to see that arguably the best 4-top in the room was elegantly set for one. As an early present to myself, I ordered a bottle of pinot noir that wasn’t listed at the bottom of the carta de vinhos.
Though the pato à l’orange sounded tempting, I stuck with the plan and ordered the seqüência—a three course feast of cheese, beef and chicken, and chocolate. In addition to the standard bread cubes (a mild sourdough in this case), the melty, wine-tinged cheese was unexpectedly accompanied by steamed broccoli and boiled new potatoes. Drool. Exceptional. I wished my brother had been there, with his incredible palate, to suss out what sort of heroin they put in the mix. No, on second thought, it’s better that I can’t reproduce it at home.
Another twist to the style I’m accustomed to is fondue na pedra (on the stone). Rather than fry or simmer the slices of filet and foul in oil or broth, I grilled mine on a hot stone surrounded by fourteen sauces. Sampling sweets and savories, I deduced that the creamy herb dressing allied best with the chicken and a one-two punch of caramelized onions and farofa (manioc flour) complimented the beef only too well.
I barely had—or more accurately, didn’t have—room for dessert. Not one to be dissuaded by details, however, I persevered. I dunked wedges of tropical pineapple, papaya, and oranges into the thick bittersweet chocolate. Other notable swimmers included apples, strawberries, grapes, and bananas.
Before collapsing into a food coma, I headed out on the street for a stroll among the lights. Warmed by the wine and festivity, I arrived at my holiday happy place, south of the equator.
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Jenny Miller developed a passion for travel backpacking around England in 1999. Subsequently she studied, worked, and traveled around Europe. However, it was a trip to Brazil in 2005 that changed her life path. Since then, she devoted her energy toward planning her escape from corporate life in Chicago. In March 2008, she moved to Porto Alegre, Brazil, where she is learning Portuguese and seeking an experience yet to be defined.
She writes about the journey at My life in Havaianas.
Jenny Miller
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