After waking in the night in the night feeling cold, I have to put my shirt on to get back to sleep. I turn down (or is that up?) the aircon to 20º C.
I rise at 6:30 again. Have a shower and write up yesterday. It's a very full life I lead.
Once more, the police show up to eat. Two blokes today. Parked with lights off. That’s very polite of them.
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| Another breakfast of scrambled egg, cheese, ham, orange juice and coffee. |
Just for a change, I go with scrambled egg, cheese and ham. I know. That’s what I have every day. Sorry, but I’m not going to east fucking cake for breakfast. Thomas joins me. He’s not eating breakfast cake, either.
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| The breakfast buffet with cake. |
I’m judging with Ana Paula Feitas and Wagner Falci. I know Wagner pretty well from my time in Bahia in November. What shall forever be known as the Broken-arm Trip. He’s a very experienced judge. Unlike me. I’m a total amateur, to be honest.
Quite a variety of styles again. Starting with Kellerbier. Most of which aren’t great.
In contrast, the second flight of Adambier is all pretty good. Swings and roundabouts, I suppose.
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| More judges judging. |
The morning ends with Breslauer Schoeps. Good or not? I've no idea. I’ve heard of the style. But don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like.
Lunch is in OX again. I eat with Chris, Gabi and Andreas (a Swede who lives in Leeds). It's a fun table. So I have a caipirinha. And I get the tomato risotto and grilled sirloin I ordered yesterday. Things are going so well. The caipirinha improves my mood even more.
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| Risotto and steak. |
We've got 90 minutes for lunch today, So I have a second caipirinha. And a coffee to finish. I now need a nap. Despite the espresso. I may have been sending my body mixed messages.
Back in the coffee corner of the judging room, Eduardo has a 10-year-old Brooklyn Kriek. Past its best, but drinkable. Andreas Kitzinger chips in with a spicy hop liqueur, which is really good.
They herd us all outside for the group photo. In our bright blue judges' shirts. The one they gave me was four sizes too small. I need fat bastard size. I swap with another judge and get one that's only two sizes too small. It's very figure-hugging.
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| A herd of judges in their blue shirts. |
A mid-round of ten US IPAs starts the afternoon session. They’re mostly OK, except for the Izal ones. Which hop is that? One that used to be really trendy. I can’t remember which. Just that I find the smell, er, off-putting.
We’re then served the styles left at the bottom of the bin Grodziskie, Sahti and historic beers. The last were a really odd bunch, style-wise. Though did include a pretty acceptable Lichtenhainer.
Our last flight is a single beer. A Gotlandsdrikke. I'm not really sure what to expect. There's smoke and juniper. It seems decent.
We finish a bit late - 17:30. By the time we get back to the hotel, it's after six. I'm totally knackered and just hang around in my room for a while. Staring out at the Space Experience and the skyline. Risking my eyesight with the cheapo cachaça.
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| Meat skewer action. |
There's already a whole crowd there. I've barely sat down and meat is being sliced onto my plate. Rather delicious meat. And it keeps coming. Every minute or so, a waiter arrives with a new skewer.
What do I drink? Well, it is Brazil. I have a caipirinha. Without sugar. I'm so health conscious. And with cachaça. They keep asking if I want it made with vodka. No, I fucking don’t. This is Brazil. Caipirinhas are made with cachaça.
I’ve no idea what much of the stuff on skewers is. Some steak, for sure. One was definitely chicken. Mostly beef, anyway. I politely refuse the pasta and rice when they’re offered.
I make sure to eat at least a little of the salad, too. Dolores would be very happy with me. I always imagine she’s looking over my shoulder.
Between mouthfuls of meat, I send the kids some photos on WhatsApp. “I see you're having a good time.” Andrew replies. What does he mean? It’s probably a reference to the picture of my caipirinha.
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| Blindfold pouring. |
On the way to the bog, I get a look at where all the magic happens. The giant grill where all the skewered meat is cooked. Very impressive.
I manage to drag myself away around 22:00. And share an Uber back to the hotel with Thomas Sjoberg. Who was sitting at the other end of our long table. He didn’t even notice I was there.
I unwisely stay up until after midnight. Drinking my cheapo cachaça. My eyesight pays the price.
Churrascaria Churras
R. Islândia, 240
Nações, Balneário Camboriú
SC, 88338-275.
Disclaimer: my hotel and some meals in Balneário Camboriú were paid for Concurso Brasiliero de Cervejas.
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7 comments:
The names of your fellow judges underlines how much European immigration there was to South America, especially Brazil and Argentina. We had our bathroom retiled the other week by a guy with an unusual Italian surname. He said he's never met anyone else here with it, but when he went to meet his Brazilian in laws for the first time every lorry they passed on the road had it down the side as it's the name of a major haulage company there.
Izal hops... I think not!
I'm curious about the Izal hop! I wonder if 'off' hop flavours are something different people taste to different degrees, like skunking. A hop that Marble were using in the late 00s smelled strongly of vomit, both dry and in the nose of the finished beer; presumably not everyone was getting that! Or maybe that's why they stopped using it. (PROS: consistent, very bitter. CONS: smells of vomit.) And again, I'd love to know which hop it was.
If any early 1970’s to mid 1970’s Tetley’s mild turns up as an entry you would be the best judge of it.
Oscar
I hadn't thought about the sugar in caipirinhas. I can’t imagine them being nice without sugar.
In my old home brew club in Queensland we had a middle aged guy Reuben from Sao Paulo, who grew up there in an Italian community and said he had difficulty speaking Portuguese, and knew just enough to get around.
Wow you just gave me a nasty moment there. I'm in Australia and haven't heard of that since I was a kid in Newcastle, and still remember the shiny hard horrible stuff with the urinal trough lolly perfume.
And for any Geordies reading this you'd remember winnets.
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