CP #10: Brazilian Stroganoff, Cheap Wine, and Critical Incidents

October 6, 2013

            Isabella spontaneously invited me over to eat Brazilian food at her house last Sunday. After more adventures in the parking lot of Colony Club, in which another resident walking around turned out to be Brazilian, knew where Isabella lived, and escorted me to her building, I finally got there. I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused trying to get somewhere: calling Isabella’s friend (since Isabella still doesn’t have a phone) to get the apartment building, hearing 8 instead of H, and not understanding where Call St. was in relation to myself. I am very grateful for the community of Brazilians in Colony Club and their willingness to help.

            Isabella had invited her friend Netu as well as her roomies, Caro and Nina, to eat with us. She first gave me a tour of her apartment, showing me with pride her kitchen (“My refrigerator!”), her bathroom, and her room. I was really touched by the photos on her dresser. “This is my boyfriend, my friends, my family, Jesus, and Mary. All the people I love,” she told me. Of her boyfriend, Fred, “I miss him so much! I talked with him today with Skype. You know how that feels,” she confided, gesturing to her chest and then to mine. “That feeling of missing so much.” I do.

Isabella, ready to serve!

            For dinner, Isabella served us a very common food in Brazil, beef stroganoff. The Brazilians showed us how to sprinkle shredded potato on top but quickly told us to take it off. “It is not the same! We didn’t read the ingredients carefully,” they told us (Nina and me, the non-Brazilians). I’m sure the potato is supposed to be fried but not hard, maybe just crunchy. Isabella fussed over her food, asking me, “What is polite? Do I serve?” She shook her head, “Is cold? Is okay?” It was adorable. We assured her it was delicious. The beef and mushroom was in a creamy, white sauce over rice. Nina served us cheap wine in large plastic cups. “We are poor,” Isabella told me sadly, shaking her head. “We don’t even have microwave.” They were resourceful, though, heating the food back up on the stove and borrowing each other’s plates to have enough. We ate simply, sitting on the ground around the coffee table because they don’t have a dining room table. It reminded me of college.

            I asked my friends about critical incidents, explaining them as embarrassing or confusing things that happen because of being in a different culture. I told them the story about the American guy in Britain asking for napkins. Nina told us that, because she is here on a Fulbright, she thought scholar meant student. When people would ask her if she was a student, she would reply, “I’m a scholar” (since Fulbright always refers to their recipients as scholars). “I didn’t realize that scholar means researcher and student means college student!” she remarked.

            When I first met Isabella, she told me about getting a “free” bike. She had been told by some Americans about a free bike, so she went to the bike shop. There, she was informed that they did free bike tune-ups. Isabella stuck with it, though, fixing a bike they had for a discounted price. When she picked it up, it was actually her birthday, so in the end she got it for free!

            On my end, I told them about a confusion I’d had in Ecuador: flagging down a bus to board it instead of waiting quietly at a stop. The conversation flowed into different styles of speaking. Brazil is such a big country that dialects can vary a lot, state to state. Caro’s state has a mix of all the people in Brazil, so she understands everyone. Isabella comes from a more rural state, and they have a distinct way of speaking. There’s also a word that Isabella uses for everything (like the word thing) that only people in her state use. The other Brazilians tease her about it.

From right: me, Isabella, Caro, and Nina. Netu was photographer!

            Netu’s name, it turns out, means roughly “the third.” He shares a name with his grandfather, so it’s similar to “Junior,” they explained to me. I told them about the English way of doing that, and it struck a chord with Nina. “Ah, like the English kings.”

            Isabella and I got giggly from the wine, and the others smiled at us indulgently. Nina said, “We should do this every Sunday! We could have German food, American food…” I wish I was sticking around to spend more time with my international friends! It has been so rewarding and fun to hang out with them. I’m going to miss them, especially Luis, Isabella, and Mehmas. They all came through for me when I taught my culture class and were so friendly and open. I feel so lucky I got to meet them.