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Right now I'm in A Mineira, an all-you-can-eat restaurant around the corner from Babi's house. Flamengo are playing silently on the screen at the other end of the restaurant and the score is 4-2 at half time.
When I arrived there was a queue to get in so I had to wait about 15 minutes even to get a clue as to what the place was about. I had no idea it was all-you-can-eat. When I walked in it was like walking into a furnace of hustle and bustle. The murmurings from each table that bit louder to overcome the rumblings from their neighbour. In a restaurant with about 100 covers that's quite a murmur. It's self service and the food is all unlabeled so it's basically a choice of one brown, meaty stew or another, things that look like roast potatoes but turn out to be a polenta-type thing, something that looks like cous-cous but is in fact a type of sawdust that sucks all the moisture out of your face, and other similar experiences. Actually, once you've gained a bit of nous about what's on offer a lot of it's pretty good. I have noticed a few people though who, to put it politely, seem to have spent a lot of their time working out their favourite combinations. The woman next to me for example had four full plates of meat and carbs of various descriptions. I didn't notice the pudding. For me, two mains plates and some fruit and cheese, accompanied by two chopp (draught beer, here it's between a half and a pint) and a cachaça reserva (brazilian sugar cane spirit), and I'm about ready for a little sleepie. Tch. Sunday, bloody Sunday, eh?*
*I know, I know. It's a terrible joke. No offence intended.
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