The Last Supper

Salvador, the capital of the Brazilian state of Bahia, is a fascinating, colorful, energetic, beautiful, and sad place. I can’t really explain why the city feels sad to me. Maybe my imagination is getting carried away or I’m projecting my personal feelings onto the place.

When describing Salvador to friends who have never been there, I generally compare it to parts of the American Deep South. It has a rich, African-influenced culture, and the people speak with a thick Bahian accent that sounds to my ear like a Southern drawl. Although Bahian foods (including Brazilian rice-and-beans and fried Acarajé) are very different from Southern dishes (such as fried chicken and okra, or dirty rice-and-beans), the cuisines of both regions are fantastically delicious and share similarities.

Wikipedia accurately describes Acarajé as a “dish of the Brazilian cuisine. It is traditionally found in the northeastern state of Bahia, often as street food. It is made from black-eyed peas formed into a ball and then deep-fried in dendê (palm oil). It is served split in half and then stuffed with vatapá and caruru—spicy pastes made from shrimp, peanuts, palm oil, and other ingredients such as tomatoes, okra, and cilantro. A vegetarian version is typically served with hot peppers and green tomatoes.”

About dendê: this oil is usually very unkind to American digestive systems. Many tourists avoid it at all costs. Personally, I found that my system grew accustomed to this oil, little by little. When I discovered Acarajé, and was taught how to tell good oil from bad when buying street food (lighter oil is good; darker oil is bad, due to overuse and possible rancidity), I proceeded to eat Acarajé at every opportunity—and on the streets of Salvador, Acarajé carts are more numerous than Starbucks stores in Seattle.

Another Bahian dish that I consider a gastronomic fantasy fulfilled is the dish called Moqueca. Again, I find that Wikipedia accurately describes this dish: “Moqueca is a traditional Brazilian seafood stew. It basically consists of fish, onions, garlic, tomatoes, cilantro, chili pepper (pimenta malagueta), and additional ingredients (such as coconut milk and dendê). It is cooked slowly, with no water added.”

My last trip to Brazil was my most memorable one. I had finally figured out enough Portuguese to get by—and although I was by no means fluent, I knew the streets, I knew the shops, I knew the food, and best of all, I knew the people. I mean, I really knew them.