Tag: Cultural Differences

Brazilian Snack Foods: They nailed it!

There’s so much bad news coming out of Brazil lately. The economy is still in tatters. The president is impeached. The interim president is according to most sources a mysogynist, corrupt pig. (And those are the nice names people are using for him.) Any waterbased Olympic events will require the athletes to wear hazmat suits. Zika.

I feel bad for Brazil. She’s like a good friend that’s going through a majorly shitty time in her life. When you have a friend struggling, you try to tell her it’s not all her fault. (#blameportugal) You try to look at her situation analytically. (In Brazil’s case that might make your head explode.) And finally you find the silver lining. Which in Brazil’s case is…Hold on…Give me a minute…

The weather! Brazil, you have amazing weather. And vacation spots. And fruit. Oh, something man-made? Uh…

Snack food. Brazilians have nailed snack food in a way superior to any country I’ve ever lived in. Brazil has upped the snacking game to a point it’s an independent category of food. Look in a Brazilian cookbook and it’s possible to find, main courses, sides, desserts, and salgados.

I’ve been asked by students how to translate salgados into English. You can’t. The best I’ve come up with is “a variety of salty, heavy snack foods that can be either fried or baked and are usually eaten individually as between meal snacks or in miniature forms at parties.” If anyone can suggest a single word in English to convey, please let me know, but I don’t think there is one. And hors d’oeuvre doesn’t cut it. A full-sized salgado is easily a meal in itself. A coffee and coxinha will set you up for hours.

Here’s a rundown on the typical salgados you’ll find in Brazil. I have a broad definition of salgado (see above), and I’m sure a few Brazilian purists will take issue with some of the food I’ve included on my list. Also, I’m sure I’ve forgotten some traditional favorites as well. My apologies.

Pão de quiejo…nom,nom,nom

Pão de Queijo: I’m putting this first because it is one of my absolute favorite things about Brazil. Yup, of all things that come from Brazil, my husband, my daughter, and pão de queijo are my favorites. This is a ball of cheesy, doughy deliciousness that can be served at breakfast, with afternoon coffee, or on party platters. Pão de quiejo can range in size from golf-ball to grown man’s fist, but when it comes to pão de queijo, bigger is always better. Trust me.

It’s important to observe local customs when abroad. Pasteis and caipirinha.

Pastel: A light pastry dough that is stuffed with deliciousness, folded over, and fried. Like pão de qeuijo, pastéis (plural form) can come the size of your palm of the size of your face. Shaped like a half circle or rectangle, the traditional fillings include ground beef, palm heart, mozzarella, shrimp, a kind of cream cheese, and chicken. They are delicious at ten in the morning with sugar cane juice or at seven at night with a caipirinha. I suspect they’re delicious at every hour of the day.

Empanadas go very well with lattes.

Empanada: Ok, this is one of the debatable entries because many people/sites equate empanada (a Spanish dish) and pastel (the Brazilian version). I’ll grant the overall concept is the same. Dough folded around a filling usually shaped in a half circle. But based on my personal experience with snack food in Brazil (which is fairly extensive I’m proud to say), the empanada and pastel are different things here primarily because of the dough. The empanada dough is thicker and not as flaky as the pastel. Also, empanadas seem to be baked whereas pastéis seem to be fried. Am I totally wrong about this? Are they the same? Am I the only one who cares? Also, don’t confuse an empanada with an…

Empada: Again dough, filling, baked, but the empada is more like a pie or casserole. The dough is much thicker and tends to become sticky when wet thus gluing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. It’s one of my least favorite salgados for this reason.

Kibe is yummy!

Kibe: An import from the Middle East and North Africa and a staple of party platters everywhere in Brazil. It mixes flour and ground beef into a football (oh, American football) shaped snacking delight. Sometimes there’s a cream cheese filling, but that’s only done if you hate your guests.

So it’s shaped like Picasso’s version of a chicken leg.

Coxinha: As far as I know, this is the only salgado with an origin story. A son of Princess Isabel (the last royal in charge of Brazil) would only eat chicken legs (even royal kids are brats about food). One day the kitchen was out chicken legs so the chef shredded chicken meat and put it inside a flour dough crust shaped like a drumstick. The little prince approved and now coxinhas are served in miniature at every children’s party. You can get them at pretty much any cafe or bakery. Coxinha is the heaviest item on the list, especially if there’s cream cheese in the center of the chicken filling. It’s like snacking on a small cannonball. A very delicious cannonball.

Açaí. It’s pronounced like an “s” people. No hard “c” here.

Juices, Açaí bowls, quiches, etc: I know juice and açaí don’t count as salgados. They are however staples of the Brazilian snacking experience. When my cousin visited Rio, we did a juice crawl through Ipanema. She tried fruits that the staff cringed from. In the heat of Brazil, nothing beats a bowl of cold açaí covered in bananas and strawberries. And of course cafes always have a variety of quiches and cakes to choose from.

Brazil is a great country for snacking. They have great coffee for the daytime, great caipirinhas for the nighttime and plenty of savory goodies for anytime. I just recommend a gym membership if you’re going to be staying any length time of here.

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June 13, 2016
Dear Brazil, It’s Portugal’s Fault.

I’m currently obsessed with an idea for a historical fiction novel and have spent the last week devouring books on colonial Brazil. (I know you’re jealous.) It’s been fascinating reading actually because it’s all entirely new history for me. It wasn’t until World History in high school that I even knew humans existed outside of Europe, and by “Europe” I mean Italy, France, and Britain with a brief stop in Germany for the Reformation. Any ideas I have about Portugal or South America I learned from Columbus Day themed picture books and Disney’s Emperor’s New Groove.

Turns out the Portuguese did more than just finance Columbus. They dominated maritime exploration in the 15th century, and that’s how little Portugal ended up with the enormous colony of Brazil. After a week of research, I now understand the root of all of Brazil’s problems. Portugal.

Everything is Portugal’s fault.

Let’s take education. Brazil does not have a single university in anybody’s top 100 Schools in World list. I recently read an article that could be summed up as “Brazilian have started buying books!” I can’t remember that last time I went to the beach and saw someone reading a book and I’m at the beach almost every weekend. Which makes perfect sense in a country that had printing presses, books, and universities banned for the first 300 years of its existence.

Yes, Portugal controlled Brazil for 300 years before it allowed a university to be built or a printing press to operate. Put another way, book circulation was banned for a century longer than it’s been legal in Brazil. Thanks Portugal!

Do you think Brazil’s government is a quagmire of ineffective bureaucracy staffed by people who are allergic to work? When the Portuguese court fled Napoleon and established itself in Rio de Janeiro, it brought between 10,000 and 15,000 people. When John Adams moved the US government from Philadelphia to Washington D.C., he moved 1,000 employees. And all those 10,000 people who came with the court expected a stipend from the government. Today, public pensions are currently bankrupting Brazil. Thanks Portugal!

Brazil is currently hosting a global event. No, not the Olympics. I’m talking about the largest corruption scheme in the history of democracy, the Lava Jato case in which federal politicians awarded contracts and got kickbacks to the tune of billions of dollars.

It’s actually totally understandable that Congressmen and their friends all expected rewards. When Prince Regent João showed up in Rio, the crown was flat broke, so he just started selling titles to wealthy Brazilian merchants. Prince João gave out more titles in eight years than his ancestors had in the previous three centuries. You get to be a Baron! And you get to be a Baron! And you get to be a Baron! (This is assuming you’d like to make a donation to the Court, of course.) Those of us at the top have to get each others’ backs, amiright? It’s Brazilian tradition. Thanks, Portugal!

I’ve wondered since arriving back in 2006 why the fifth largest country in the world in terms of land area seems to use two lanes roads almost exclusively. Why? Why am I sharing a single lane between states with all the 18-wheeled trucks? Because it was illegal to build roads between states until after João and his court arrived in 1808, 300 years after the Portuguese took control of the territory. And factories weren’t allowed. So no industrialization. Which means no trains. Thanks, Portugal!

I’ve learned all this from 1808 The Flight of the Emperor by Laurentino Gomes. It’s an engrossing telling of an unbelievable true story. One of the most striking accounts of colonial Brazil was from a woman, Maria Graham, arriving in Brazil for the first time. As her ship sailed up, she gushed over the picturesque city of Salvador with it’s beautiful white homes and striking setting on a cliffside. She called it “a city, magnificent in appearance from the sea.” Her opinion changed dramatically once walking the streets of the city. She describes Salvador as no less than “the filthiest place I ever was in.”

19th century Salvador by Joseph Alfred Martinet

While I did not consider Rio anywhere close to the filthiest place I’ve ever been (I lived in a coed dorm in college), I did go through the exact same swing in emotions when first arriving in Brazil. Looking out the plane window, I was in awe of Rio’s beauty. Then I left the airport. The view out the car window was…disappointing in comparison.

Two hundred years separates Graham’s arrival and mine, yet our reactions were nearly identical. Culture is a powerful yet often unconscious shaper of our behavior. I have a university degree in this. I shouldn’t need a reminder, but this book was just that. Now, I understand. The next time I have to argue about whether the phrase “copy of your passport” means just the information page or all pages in the book, or I bounce along a road filled with potholes but with wifi coverage, or I read about another politician who’s been suspended due to a corruption scandal, I’m not blaming Brazil. I’m blaming Portugal.

Because it’s all Portugal’s fault (#blameportugal). And they didn’t even leave a legacy of good wine. Thanks a lot, Portugal.

May 16, 2016
The World’s Pickiest Beachgoers

Last Saturday, the whole Barineau-Mauricio clan (all three of us) seized the day early (like 10ish) and headed to the beach. It was the kind of day that gets recorded and replayed in every tourist advertisement for the next decade. The temperature was perfect, warm enough to sit comfortably in a bathing suit but not oppressively hot. There was a steady breeze that my husband and daughter exploited for kite flying. It was a perfect beach day.

There were two other families on the beach.

I’m not exaggerating. This is not hyperbole. When we arrived there were two families camped out close to the boardwalk. The next closest people we could see were colorful ants. We looked around in dismay for any food vendor. We’d been banking on supplementing my daughter’s meager breakfast with an ear of corn, but the beach was empty.

Now, before people start shipping furniture and arranging to have their pensions deposited in Brazil, empty beaches are not typical in Brazil, especially not around the cities. Typically, they’re packed so densely you can’t stretch your legs out without kicking the back of someone’s chair. (True story. It was a summer day at Iriri in Espirito Santo. Worst beach day ever!) In Rio de Janeiro, you can’t find a beach with less than a few thousand people on it. Drive past Ipanema on a Tuesday, and you’ll wonder who’s running the city.

That’s not the case here in Vitoria. The empty beaches were one of the biggest shocks moving from Rio to Vitoria. I kept trying to find some explanation. Are Vitoria’s beaches more polluted than Rio’s? Are they more violent? Is there a vicious rip current? A Kraken? Where the hell is everybody?!

After living in Vitoria for almost six years, I’ve figured it out. Capixabas are simply the pickiest beach goers in the world.

Capixaba is the Brazilian term for a person born in Vitoria, the state capital of Espirito Santo. The best English equivalent would be North Carolinian. That state has picturesque mountains and beaches and a generally more conservative population that goes regularly to church and the salon.

Capixabas are incredibly picky about their beach trips. Here are 7 reasons why Capixabas won’t go to the beach.

1. The temperature has dropped below 80°F (26.5°C). If there’s one thing Capixabas fear more than visiting Rio de Janeiro, it’s cold weather. And any temperature in which you can comfortably wear long sleeves is cold. In winter when the high is around 75°F (24°C), my kid will be one of three students whose parents are still allowing them in the pool. Those other all kids have parents from Rio Grande do Sul, the state that’s so far south it’s basically Uruguay.

2. It’s Saturday. Sunday is beach day. Obviously.

3. It rained yesterday. Everything will be wet. And the water will be too cold.

4. It might rain today. Everything will get wet. And to pack everything up and walk across the street only to get rained on would be such a pain.

5. Those clouds are kind of dark. It’s probably going to be chilly with all the clouds. The wind is picking up. It might rain. Better just to wait for a day with no clouds. It’s going to be too cold today anyway.

6. We went to the beach yesterday. If we want to go to the beach everyday we’ll go to a hotel or to our family’s beach house in Guarapari. The beaches in Vitoria are mostly decorative. You can’t use them too much, or they’ll break.

7. It’s too empty. There just aren’t enough people to feel safe. This is the one reason I agree with. The rate of violent crime in Espirito Santo is a tragedy. It’s why we’ve never considered buying a house near the beach even though we go every weekend. I’d love to walk along an empty beach early in the morning or a night, but it wouldn’t be safe. On the other hand, I don’t think two hundred people are required to make beach a safe, and the threat of robbery certainly doesn’t stop people in Rio from swarming Copacabana.

Most excuses are weather related. I assume most Capixabas believe English beaches to be fatal, and I’m not going to try dissuade anyone from that thinking. Mostly because Capixabas are friendly and obsessively follow traffic rules compared to people in Rio. Because nobody’s perfect. But mostly because this way my family and I have the beaches to ourselves from June through September.

Have I missed any excuses, Capixaba friends and readers? Am I totally and completely off-base?

March 21, 2016
My Bilingual Kid Doesn’t Want Your Attention

Having spent the majority of my adult life outside of the United States (mostly in small, homogeneous cities), I’ve gotten used to being the subject of conversation at the next table over. It happens pretty frequently in Vitoria. My husband and I speak in English so people assume I don’t understand their Portuguese freeing them to openly discuss me from two feet away. It happens most frequently with kids and teens, but a surprising number of adults don’t seem to realize that a person could understand both English and Portuguese. In Vitoria, we expats are like endangered wildlife. People know we’re around, but when actually spotted, locals take note.

I don’t mind. Until visitors arrive from another planet, one from another continent is about as alien as it gets for most people in Vitoria. I signed up for the attention when I decided to become an expat.

But my daughter didn’t.

A series of encounters at the park Sunday has, for the first time, made me consider my daughter’s multiculturalism a challenge, a thing she’ll have to learn to deal with.

It also has me weighing the importance of three influences on my daughter’s behavior: my parenting instincts v. my daughter’s personality v. the culture she is growing up in. I’m now asking which of these should win out in the event they’re incompatible.

Here’s what happened.

We arrived at the park just as a craft was beginning and hurried to the classroom. As materials were being handed out, one of the helpers overheard me speaking English and asked where we’re from. I answered, heard about how he’s going to Disney World soon, and then got the VIP crafting upgrade, as he hovered over my shoulder for the duration of the activity asking repeatedly (in English) if my daughter needed help. He was pleasant and wanted to practice his English. No problem.

Then we moved to the playground and while my daughter, the baby dragon, sought refuge in a playhouse from me, the evil sorceress, a girl and boy asked what language we were speaking. I answered, their eyes widened, and they ran off. A few minutes later they were back with more friends who all crowded into the playhouse to stare at my four-year-old, English speaker. My daughter tried to play with them in Portuguese, but the older girl turned to her friends and asked, “Who wants to learn English?” My daughter was not interested in playing teacher when there was sorceress to escape from, so she turned her back on them. They were kids and curious. Ok.

The most bizarre exchange happened as my daughter and I were waiting for my husband to bring the car. We were sword fighting with sticks, so I have no idea what these people heard exactly. “Argh!” “Ah, my leg! I’m bleeding!” But whatever they heard prompted the man to turn to his friend and say “Uma italiana!” I know I opened the door to this exchange by correcting him, but I can’t live in a world where people hear an English speaking American and think Italian.

I smiled and told him “Sou americana.” Their minds were blown. The woman nearly doubled-over laughing and the man’s eyes bugged out as if this was the first time either of them had considered the possibility of a person speaking more than one language. If I had turned invisible, I think they would have been less surprised. The woman sat down on the bench next to my daughter, and the two of them began peppering us with questions, the most notable one being “So you speak Portuguese & French?” They quickly zeroed in on my daughter and began directing their questions to her, clearly not believing she speaks Portuguese and is, in fact, Brazilian. When they asked her for her name, I stiffened. When they asked her for her daddy’s name, I cut them off, said “ciao” and in their wake, made it explicitly clear she was never to give her name or mommy’s or daddy’s name to anyone other than a police officer. The couple hadn’t meant but did cross a line when they asked for personal information from my kid.

My daughter’s final audience of the day came at the end of lunch. She and I were walking back to our table with a much-anticipated chocolate popsicle, and the table next to us began exclaiming to my husband. “Nossa que olhos lindas! Uma loirinha linda!” My daughter has blond hair and blue eyes, the genetic jackpot in Brazil. The entire family at the next table gushed compliments, while my husband played along and joked it was a good thing she took after her mom.

This all happened within two hours. Nothing was said or done out of malice. The people’s motivation ranged from innocent curiosity to sincere appreciation with a heavy dash of racism. Everything interaction was typical. Brazilian culture is open and friendly and community oriented. Strangers talk to each other here. It’s like being in South Georgia without the gnats and shotguns.

But my daughter doesn’t want an audience. My husband and have noticed it. Her teachers noted it in her school report. When the group of kids crowded around my daughter asking her to speak in English, she went silent. When the geographically challenged couple asked for her name, she clutched my arm and hid her face. My daughter doesn’t like being put on the spot. And that is exactly what every stranger who asks her to demonstrate her Portuguese or English is doing. When strangers stare at my daughter, they turn her into a spectacle no matter their intentions.

So what to do about it?

My husband immediately suggested we stop speaking English outside of the apartment. This would eliminate having to always explain that my kid is Brazilian and hearing about people’s Disney vacations, but I’m against it. My daughter is immersed in Portuguese Monday through Friday all day long at school. She needs as much English as possible on the weekend. We’d also limit her English vocabulary to the world of our apartment.

My gut reaction is to tell the spectators, politely but firmly, to go away. I’ll explain that my daughter is shy and since she is Brazilian, we don’t want her to feel singled out in her home. Please, save your questions for another bilingual who’s more comfortable in the spotlight.

The problem with this solution is that it’s extremely American. Like off the charts individualistic. Walls up. Family in. Strangers out. It’s honest. It’s blunt. It’s clear. It’s rude as hell. It’s all of those things. Just depends on your cultural reference. I recently saw an article titled “I Don’t Make My Kid Share” and thought that would never fly in Brazil. Valuing individual property rights over communal harmony would brand you and your kid the biggest jerks on the playground. Not all parenting strategies work equally well in all cultures.

She is Brazilian, living in Brazil, dealing with Brazilians. Shouldn’t I do my best to teach her to understand and navigate her own culture? Is it right to protect her feelings by shutting down people in a culture where small talk is viewed as courteous? Doesn’t she need to be able to cope with the extra attention if it’s going to be part of her reality?

I want to help my daughter balance culture and her personality, and I’m not sure what to say to prepare her for the inevitable questions that come when you are the only one. I grew up a solid member of the majority in everyway possible, but she is often usually the only bilingual, the only American. A little, blue-eyed, Brazilian girl speaking English here in Vitoria is going to make people stop in their tracks and comment.

My plan so far is to tell her she should never talk to strangers without mommy and daddy around. (Safety first.) When we are around, she has an absolute right to remain silent. She doesn’t have to play with or talk to anyone she doesn’t want to. However, I’ll explain people aren’t trying to be mean. They want to learn, and she has the power to teach them. People are curious about her languages and cultures, so when she’s ready, people will be very interested in what she has to say.

And that’s the best idea I’ve got for now.

December 1, 2015
5 Ways to Improve Christmas in Brazil
We put our Christmas decorations up this past weekend. This is the first year my daughter has really anticipated decorating and, more or less, helped in the process. She’s very proud of her Christmas decorations, and so am I. They are minimal but were hung with Christmas spirit. And a lot of sweat. Probably more sweat than Christmas spirit for my part.

That’s the problem with Christmas in Brazil. It’s hot. It’s humid. It is decidedly un-Christmasy. At least for someone who grew up spending Christmas a good bit north of the equator.

I tried to recreate my tree decorating memories for my daughter. We had Christmas carols playing. We pulled out the Christmas books and read Rudolph. But everytime I had to stop and rehydrate, the pleas to “Let it Snow” felt more like a cruel joke than an endearing tradition. Not that I’ve ever had a white Christmas in Atlanta, but it’s at least cold enough to necessitate pants.

I can’t shake this feeling that I’m faking Christmas and it’s not just because I’m importing my foreign Christmas culture. Brazil has already imported 90 percent of American & European Christmas traditions. The malls pipe in instrumental versions of American carols, and shop windows are filled with fake evergreens decked out in red, green, and sprayed on snow. Apartment buildings string lights in the shape of icicles and poor Santa greets kids in fur-trimmed, red velvet.

What feels so wrong about Christmas in Brazil is the juxtaposition between Northern hemisphere customs and Southern hemisphere weather. In order to make the season feel more authentic, I’ve got a few suggestions for improving Christmas in Brazil.

5 Way to Improve Christmas in Brazil

This was in October. December is hotter.
1. Put Santa in Board Shorts For his own sake, at the very least. It’s also hard for a parent to explain Santa’s velvet uniform to a kid running around in her underwear. “Yes, it’s very hot here, but Santa is magic and can maintain a constant body temperate even when wrapped in fur under the sun in 98 degrees.” How about some window decals of Santa strolling down the beach in board shorts pulling his sack along on a boogy board.
2. Carols About Sand, Not Snow “Oh the weather outside’s delightful. And the barbecue’s left me quite full. Laying out that’s my plan, In the sand, in the sand, in the sand.” They could also be more local. I think the world needs some Bossa Nova Christmas. “Gifts and fun and family and sunshine. Good will to all, good cheer we keep in mind. We’ll raise some glasses, attend some masses and dine.”
3. Replace Red & Green with Yellow & Blue Look in the store windows and you’ll see red and green wreathes, ornaments, figurines, dinner ware. These colors are too dark and heavy for a place that’s got sunlight until 8pm followed by balmy evenings with temps in the 80s. Christmas in Brazil should be bright and bold. It should be swirled on a sarong that you wear over tanned (or in my case sunburned) legs. I propose Christmas decorations in yellow, for the intense sun, and blue, for the ocean that everyone is visiting on their summer vacations.
4. Exchange Santa’s Sleigh for a VW Bug What good is a sleigh going to be in a tropical rainforest? Or on the sandy coast? Or the sertão, the arid grasslands? No good at all. For a truly Brazilian ride, give Santa a VW Beetle from the 70s pulled by a team of flying capybara. (Someone please draw and post that image!) I’ve seen old Beetles driving around every city I’ve visited in Brazil. Those cars can run forever in any environment. Santa can land in Caracas, send his team of reindeer back to the North Pole with the sleigh, and pick up his Beetle to continue distributing presents in South America.
5. Christmas Palm Trees First, we need to burn all the artificial evergreens that been assembled around Brazil. Most of them are probably made by children in Bangladesh with toxic chemicals. One thing Brazil is not short on is vegetation. No more cheap, fake fir trees. Let’s decorate little potted palms. It’d be a hundred times easier to wrap light around a palm tree. There wouldn’t be room for quite as many ornaments, but I can make sacrifices.
Rabanada. Mmmmmm!

I have no complaints about Christmas dishes. Nuts, pineapple, figs, codfish, ham, and lots more fruit. These are all things I can support. And rabanada. Especially the rabanada! It’s like french toast on steroids. It’s amazing and one Brazilian tradition I’ll be taking back to the US with me.

It’ll be my addition to the dessert table. When else wold you serve bread dipped in egg and covered with cinnamon and powdered sugar? At breakfast?
November 23, 2015
Throwing a Brazilian Halloween Party: An Odyssey of Prep

I threw a Halloween party for fifteen preschoolers last Saturday. It was a huge success, but I feel I owe my guests an apology.

Multiple parents came up to me and said I was “muito animada”, a very fun-loving, party-throwing person. I realized that by throwing a fun children’s party, I had completely misrepresented myself to them. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie. The fact is I’m not a creative, crafty mom who saves egg cartons to make earthworm condos for the compost pile. My perfect Sunday afternoon is sitting quietly with a good a book and cup of coffee. Ideally on the beach and without people unable to wipe their own bottoms.

So why did I throw a class Halloween party?

Because they don’t traditionally celebrate Halloween in Brazil. I loved Halloween as a kid, and if I don’t throw the party, my Brazilian daughter won’t know one of my favorite childhood traditions.

Why did I make such an effort on the crafts and decorations?

Because the day after I announced my intention to have a party, one of the moms came up to me at school and told me she’d always dreamed of going to a real Halloween party. To which I thought “Oh crap! I’m fulfilling someone’s dream of Halloween? I don’t want that kind of responsibility!” But I accepted it. And that brings us to the last and really most revealing question.

How was I able to come up with such creative and age-appropriate themed snacks and crafts if I’m not a creative crafty mommy?

I’m an intelligent and highly-organized, type-A personality with access to the Internet and a working knowledge of Pinterest. That’s it. That’s the real me. If I take on the responsibility of a project, it will be done well. Even if it’s something I usually avoid.

Like baking.

Let me tell you about the cookie baking.

While in Atlanta in August, I found Halloween themed cookie cutters and decorating supplies. Bat, ghost, and pumpkin cutters. Black, orange, and green slime icing. The kids could decorate cookies! It would be awesome.

I knew I was going to have to make the dough from scratch. Shortly after arriving in Brazil, I tried to bake a pecan pie for reasons again related to culture sharing. I asked my husband where I could buy the crust. He stared at me brow furrowed. “Buy the crust? You mean the ingredients?” I laughed. Ha. Ha. Good joke. I’m not making my crust from scratch. Not even my South-Georgia raised, preserve-making grandmother makes her own crust anymore. Nobody does. “Uh, they do in Brazil.” Oh.

So I knew I was going to have to make sugar cookie dough from scratch and having baked maybe four times in my life, I knew I’d need a practice run. I planned out every day of the week leading up to the party. Saturday I went online and found a simple and well-rated sugar cookie recipe. Sunday I bought the ingredients. Tuesday was the baking run-through.

After my experience with the pie crust, I brought measuring cups back from the US because I’d learned I’m a victim of the US education system and can’t think in metric. Also, the Brazilian versions of recipes often call for “tea cups” which is not a standardized form of measurement! I find baking stressful enough without vague instructions, so American measurements and tools it is.

Recipe. Ingredients. Measuring cups and spoons. I thought I was prepared.

Preheat the oven to 350 F. My oven only has a line decreasing in thickness and the numbers 1 through 5, but my plan was to pick a number and once the first batch was in check them every minute and figure out the right amount of time at that setting. First problem solved.

Mix dry ingredients. Easy.

Cream butter and sugar. That’s when I realized I had a handheld beater with no beaters. They had been lost somewhere between a school project and kitchen renovation. Ok. People were obviously baking before electricity, so I decided to mix by hand. If I had known I would be creaming butter three times in a week, I would have gone out and bought a damn beater right then. But I didn’t.

Fifteen minutes and two sore arms later…mix in dry ingredients.

Two quivering arms and one sore back later…put dough on cookie sheet. Looking at the dough, I could tell using the cutters was out the question. The dough stuck to everything. I could have wallpapered with it. I went ahead and baked globs of it to test the flavor but knew I was going to have to address the stickiness.

One minute of internet research later, I’d learned the dough must be refrigerated for at least an hour before attempting to cut out cookies. Great! I had learned a valuable lesson. This is why test runs are important.

Friday morning I made the dough for a second time, breaking a sweat mixing by hand. I left it in the fridge all afternoon. I was going to bake the cookies after my daughter was asleep, but on a whim I decided to do one batch before I picked her up from school.

Within minutes I learned that firm dough doesn’t stay that way for long in an 85 degree kitchen. Central air conditioning in the kitchen would have been a big help, but I shrugged it off. People baked without air conditioning for most of human history. No big deal. I simply raced, hunched over my kitchen table, to roll out, cut, and dump cookies onto to the baking tray before the dough softened into a gooey mess.

I put cats, bats, and witches’ hats into oven and pulled out 8 amoebas. Son of a bitch.

I collapsed in a chair. Beads of sweat dripped down my back and forehead. My shoulders ached. And the prospect of mixing another batch of dough by hand loomed before me and crushed my soul.

I hate cooking. No matter how much I research and prepare, I feel I always, always, end up facing a dozen unexpected challenges that keep the results from being perfect. And perfect is the end goal, people. And it should be achievable with good planning and organization. That doesn’t seems to be the case with cooking, which is why I hate it.

The silver lining is that by making that test batch before I picked up my daughter, I was able to swing by the store and get more flour and butter for a third batch. Because I was making the cookies. My daughter had already found the cookie cutters and asked for a cat to decorate. I had brought the icing and spider sprinkles from the United States. I was making those damn cookies.

And by 1:12 a.m I had forty cookies in recognizable shapes.

At the party the next afternoon, a mom asked my husband where I bought the cookies. He told her I had baked them. She exclaimed “Really? Oh, those creative moms.”

That’s why I want to apologize to her and the other moms because I’m not the person the cookies make me out to be. I don’t get a thrill from making my daughter’s birthday cupcakes. I get stress knots above my shoulder blades. I don’t jump at every chance to throw a party. I cringe remembering the mess after the last one. I wish my Portuguese was better, then maybe I could translate my sarcasm when I talk about the joys of crafting.

I may have given my daughter wonderful Halloween memories and successfully represented a piece of my culture abroad, but I misrepresented myself in the process.

Which could be true for a lot party hosts. Maybe behind every Pinterest image, there’s a sweaty person popping painkillers and muttering obscenities at a tray of cookies.

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November 3, 2015
Dear Brazil: Pay Your Nannies a Living Wage!

Seriously Brazil, it’s 2015. Pay your help a living wage.

Dear reader, if you’re not in the mood for a rant, check back next week.

It all started when I received an early morning WhatsApp message from a fellow mom asking the group about rates for a substitute nanny while the permanent nanny is on vacation.

A little cultural context. Here in Brazil full-time nannies are common. This was surreal for me coming from the United States. In the U.S. full-time nannies are something only the Jolie-Pitt or Kardashian families can afford. I remember a combination of church daycares and grandparents after school and over the summers while my parents worked. Personally, I’ve never known anyone in the U.S. with a full-time nanny.

In Brazil, almost everyone I know has a full-time maid and many have a full-time nanny too. Often if the family has kids but can’t afford two employees, the maid will have childcare duties in addition to the housekeeping, grocery shopping, and cooking. Several of our friends also employ a weekend nanny because labor laws in Brazil don’t allow families to ~~demand~~ ask their nanny to work 7 days a week. It’s like Downton Abbey in flip-flops with more beer and better weather.

How can these middle class and professional families afford full time nannies and housekeepers in the year 2015? Minimum wage in Brazil for 2015 is $250 a month. (I’m using today’s exchange rate of 1 U.S. dollar to 3.15 Brazilian reais to put all values into US dollars.) U.S. federal minimum wage is $7.25 per hour, so assuming four 40-hour-weeks a month, the U.S. federal minimum wage per month is $1,160.

$1,160 versus $250 a month.

Now, a lower minimum wage doesn’t necessarily indicate a lower quality of life.

Maybe the cost of living is significantly lower in Brazil than the US? Maybe goods are less expensive? They’re not. The only things cheap in Brazil are coconuts and people, and even the coconuts are experiencing inflation.

Maybe there are a variety of free/very low-cost public services in Brazil? There aren’t. Public services from school to health care are abysmal. Everyone who can scrape together the cost goes private, and a full-time nanny at minimum wage is significantly cheaper than private day cares here in Vitoria.

But there’s no way people pay nannies minimum wage, right? In practice people are paying more than the legal minimum, aren’t they?

This brings us back to this morning’s Whatsapp conversation among local moms.

A mom wanted to know what other people had paid for someone to fill-in as a nanny for a month. The values reported ranged from $254 to $476 for the month. For two children. For the entire day, Monday through Friday.

But these shockingly low values are not what drove me to clutch at my hair and mutter obscenities at my computer. Nor was I upset that a family of four is looking for the highest quality childcare at the lowest possible cost.

I got upset after I sent a message saying that our kids’ pregnant preschool teacher was at the doctor again due to pain from her sciatic nerve. I commented about how what she really needed as a present was a housekeeper. My message got no response. The conversation continued about nannies until finally the original poster asked, “Did your nannies just take care of the kids or did they also clean their rooms and do laundry?” This sparked the rant.

Dear Brazilian Middle and Upper Classes, nannies are people! Housekeepers are people! Preschool teachers and assistants are people!

There are so many wonderful things about Brazilian culture, like the attitude toward children, the judicial selection process, and dental hygiene. But the way upper classes treat people in the working class is NOT one of those things. I’m so tired of listening to good, ethical people, friends, colleagues and parents I respect, refer to their nannies or maids as “them”. I’ve heard complaints about how much the maid eats, stories about getting older kids to spy on the maid and report back, and indignation about a nanny who went and got married. The underlying message is that “we” must be vigilant against “them” or they will use up our sugar and make a lot of long distance phone calls.

When I saw the movie The Help, I thought, “Wow, that’s like present day Brazil”. That’s what I see here. Upper-classes in Brazil often deny the basic humanity of the people working in their homes. (And to Brazilians who protest that Brazil doesn’t have The Help‘s racial component, I recommend a walk around Ipanema in the afternoon or a visit to a private daycare in Vitoria. Look at the color of the kids and look at the color of the people holding their hands.)

I believe for most people it’s unconscious. It’s how their own parents and everyone in their circle has always talked about nannies and housekeepers and drivers. They’ve internalized this division, don’t see anything wrong with it, and haven’t been challenged on it.

I’m not against paying for a housekeeper. We employ one. I’m not against paying for a nanny. I believe affordable child care is a HUGE barrier keeping women from advancing in the workforce in the U.S. and Brazil. I’m writing this while my kid is at daycare. Many of the mom’s I know are amazing professionals, and it’s only possible because they can find childcare be it a daycare or nanny. Many moms want to work. Many moms HAVE to work. Quality childcare is a necessity.

I’m against a system that keeps people from empathizing. That makes it “us” versus “them”. That causes a really nice person to ask the woman she’s paying almost minimum wage to watch her kids if she could also do the laundry.

What about the kids of the people we pay to watch our kids? Who watches them if we pay their moms $300 a month? Is it ethical to ask a woman willing to assume the enormous task of keeping two small children alive for only $350/month to also do the laundry? Is this woman really in a position to say “no”? Are we going to be annoyed if she does? If we’re paying minimal costs, why do we expect top-quality service and undying loyalty?

Beyond respecting and talking to each other as people as opposed to being constantly on guard against the machinations of “those” others who want to exploit us…I have an idea for improving things for the moms, maids, and childcare workers.

Everyone gets rid of their housekeeper.

We take the money we were paying to housekeepers and put it toward childcare, either by increasing the wage of the nanny or increasing the salary of daycare and preschool teachers. The former housekeepers come together and start cleaning-service businesses. Their former employers, now clients, hire the company for once or twice a week, and now the preschool teachers and nannies may even be able to afford the housekeepers’ services with their increases in salary. The former housekeepers can also find employment at all the new public daycares the government will open in my utopia.

And what about all the cooking and laundry and grocery shopping left in the wake of the maids? Well, I think it’s time for Brazilian men to stop watching soccer and do some freakin’ laundry.

How does that sound?

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June 29, 2015
5 Things You’d Never Guess About Brazil

5 of the many things that have surprised me about Brazil…

“Do you like Brazil?” I heard this question for the thousandth time last night. I don’t know why people bother to ask this question. It’s in the same category as “Does this make me look fat?” and “Did you read my last blog post?” Nobody wants an honest answer. “Do you like Brazil?” The correct response is an enthusiastic “Yes!”

At least this question has an obvious correct answer, unlike “So which country do you like better? The US or Brazil?” What am I supposed to say? I usually cop out with humor. “Neither. I’m giving up on the whole nation-state system. I’d like to start my own island tribe based on handedness.”

Another strategy I’ve developed over the years is to answer these politically loaded questions with lists: “Things I love about Brazil” or “Things I miss about the US”. Below is my favorite list. I like it because it’s personal but more unusual than the standard “Things I love about Brazil.”

Five Things That Surprised Me About Brazil

1) Stellar Dental Hygiene Brazilians are obsessed with their teeth. If you go into a restroom after lunch, there will be a wall of people between you and the sink, all of them flossing their teeth. Helpfully, many public restrooms have floss dispensers to facilitate this habit. You should brush your teeth after every meal and ideally after every snack. As an after-breakfast-and-before-bed brusher, I have the most disgusting teeth in all of Brazil. Fortunately, my husband accepts me for who I am and ascribes my poor dental hygiene and once-a-day-showering to my Anglo-Saxon ancestors’ affinity for filth. Although thanks to him, I have grudgingly become a daily flosser.

2) Your Fingers Must Never Touch Your Food When I learned that many Brazilians use a fork to eat french fries, I almost moved back to the US. Brazilians use a knife and fork for EVERYTHING! Your fingers must never touch your food. As my people created a category just for “finger foods”, this is not a custom that I’m particularly comfortable with or always able to keep in mind. I’ll be at a birthday party happily popping mini-pizzas in my mouth, when I notice everyone else at the table has a napkin delicately wrapped around their snack, creating a polite barrier between fingers and food. After 9 years, I still can’t muster that level of formality for something that came frozen out of a box. (Honestly between the finger eating and lack of teeth brushing, I’m surprised my husband agrees to go out with me.)

3) Japanese-Brazilians My initial thought when I saw my husband for the first time was “Hey, he’s white!” True story. Pretty romantic, huh? Before my husband, the only Brazilian I was aware of was Pelé, thus my unconscious assumption about how Brazilians look. I wasn’t totally wrong. According to the 2010 census, 50.7% of Brazilians do consider themselves black or mixed-race. But in addition to the 4.8 million people brought as slaves from Africa and the indigenous tribes who were already here, Brazil has had substantial immigration from Portugal, Italy, Japan, Lebanon, and Germany to name a few countries. With a history of intermarriage between the groups, Brazilians cover the entire range of possible human phenotypes.

4) Brazilians Love Volleyball! Everyone else in the world besides Americans might already know this. Probably the world loves indoor volleyball, and it’s only us Americans who are in the dark. Literally. We’d rather just sit in the dark than watch a volleyball game. But not Brazilians! If there’s no soccer game, the sports channels are covering a volleyball match. They have incredibly popular professional leagues here, and if you stay in Brazil long enough, you will find yourself at a bar with a women’s club volleyball game on the TV. Or judo. Judo is also very popular in Brazil.

5) Did You Already Add Salt? This is a question most Brazilians won’t ask because they’re going to go ahead add more salt regardless. Meal after meal, I see Brazilians get food placed in front of them and without even tasting it, they reach for the salt packets, rip one open, and rain salt down on the entire plate. Very shortly after arriving, my husband made sure to treat me to one of Brazil’s traditional meals imported from Portugal, bacalhau or codfish. Imagine a salt lick served with potatoes and onions. That’s bacalhau. I couldn’t eat it. The same was true for feijoada, a uniquely Brazilian dish involving black beans, all the leftover pieces of pig, and a few ice cream scoops of salt. Not surprisingly, Brazil has a hypertension epidemic.

Those were some of the most surprising truths I learned about Brazil. I’d come up with more, but I just ate a pretzel and must go floss my teeth.

June 8, 2015
The Two Kinds of Americans Abroad

There are two kinds of Americans abroad.

Last week, I gave a lecture comparing Brazilian and American culture to a group of law students from West Virginia University. I like to think that I was asked to lecture because I have a Master’s degree in International Communication, a subject I have been living everyday since I moved to Brazil. But I think the decision making process was more like this.

“We have a large group of Americans coming and none of them speak Portuguese. We need English speakers with advanced degrees! Quick!”

“We have these five professors. That’s two days, but the group is here a week.”

“Crap.”

“Hey, isn’t there a professor with an American wife?”

“Yes! She can talk about the differences between Americans and Brazilians. Plus, she’s not actually a professor so we won’t have to pay her anything. Perfect!”

And that’s how I ended up on a stage talking to a gaggle of WVU law students, who unfortunately didn’t come dressed in coal-dusted miner’s clothing, strumming banjos. Thus the only images I had of West Virginia were shattered.

I opened my lecture by asking for the audience to describe a “typical” American and Brazilian. I asked each group to describe their own nationality. The Brazilians in the room described a typical Brazilian as “friendly”, “family oriented”, “has lots of kids”, “talkative”, “kind”, and “social” among other things. Now, how do you think the Americans described themselves?

A little personal reflection before I tell you. I’ve traveled a fair amount, and I think Americans who venture outside the US can be divided into two categories. One group is the famous American tourist. The loud, pink-faced, sneaker-wearing patriot who cannot fathom why this third-world country doesn’t put ice cubes in the drinks. They seem surprised and confused to discover that not every person everywhere lives exactly like they do.

“Cheryl, did you see that you cannot flush the toilet paper?! I tell you what…I don’t know how these people can live like this. If I lived in this place, I’d get myself an American toilet right quick.”

Then there is the other group. These students were from the other group.

These American students described a typical American as “fat”, “lazy”, “arrogant”, “selfish”, and “ignorant”. They basically described the typical American as a cross between Voldemort and Jabba the Hutt.

It was fascinating. Despite currently living through a recession and an enormous corruption scandal involving billions of taxpayers’ reais and rising inflation and gross income inequality and sky high rates of gun deaths…the Brazilians described themselves in overwhelmingly positive and honest terms. Why were the Americans so brutal and negative toward their countrymen? And more interestingly, would any of them have described themselves in those terms? Of course not! They don’t see themselves as “typical”. (Ironically, separating yourself out from the majority as a unique individual is typically American.)

These students are the second type of Americans abroad, the “serial apologizers”.

Perhaps you’ve seen them eating couscous with their fingers in Rabat or using chopsticks like a local in Tokyo. They are Americans who are hyper aware of the negative opinion many people have of US foreign policy and/or Americans themselves. Thus, they go around profusely apologizing for everything the US has ever done wrong. They preempt criticism with more extreme criticism of their own.

“You don’t like US policy in the Middle East? How could you? We’re arrogantly imposing our will on everyone who is different! It’s what we do! Let me tell you about our history with Native Americans and slavery and don’t even get me started on the present day! Between Iraq and the Kardashians, we’ve destroyed everything that is good and decent in the world! Disney! Drones! Starbucks! We are the WORST!”

My fellow Americans, isn’t there some happy middle ground between these groups? Can’t we describe ourselves as hardworking, informal, and innovative while also acknowledging that Walmart is run by the devil’s minions?

Let’s try! Next time you go abroad, don’t assume the lack of ice cubes is indicative of underdevelopment. If someone brings up Guantanamo, acknowledge that our collective fear after 9/11 led to some horrible policy decisions but you’re confident the pendulum is swinging back the other way. Then lead everyone in a rousing chorus, “Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya, tomorrow!” Because fierce optimism and musical theater are two of Americans’ greatest contributions to the world.

June 2, 2015