Five Things I Hate About America

Authentic Brazilian cooking!

I don't hate America. Far from it. But having lived in Brazil for over two months now, I’m starting to get to the point where I’m a little homesick and little sick of home. And recently, I've been reflecting on my experiences here and thinking a lot about the United States.

So I decided to make a list:

Five Things I Hate About America

1) Chain restaurants

When I walk down the streets of São Paulo and pass a McDonald's, a Pizza Hut and a Hooters -  it makes me want to punch Uncle Sam right in the nutsack. I have no problem with shitty chain restaurants completely homogenizing the Midwestern United States (let's be honest - it had nothing going for it anyway), but when I see this shameful part of Americana invading other countries - it makes me livid. Brazil has such a rich and wonderful culture that it kills me to see it being watered down with such bland, reheated dreck. If this trend continues, the entire world is going to look like a Cleveland strip mall by the year 2018.

Are You Ready For Some Futebol?

It's like Parachute Day in Gym Class - except replace the Second Graders with riotous soccer hooligans

Like many Americans that grew up in the suburbs, I spent much of my early childhood playing soccer in a local town league. Every Saturday, wearing shin-guards, Umbro shorts and a colored T-shirt emblazoned with the name of a local pizzeria, car dealership or weird fraternal organization (i.e. Knights of Columbus) – I would chase the soccer ball around like an idiot while my parents watched from the sidelines (pretending to be interested). Even at that early age, I was mostly looking forward to eating orange slices at half-time or going to the post-game pizza parties.

By the time I entered Middle School, my interest in soccer was already waning. I was playing on my school's intramural team, where the extent of my participation involved hanging back on defense and toe-balling the shit out of the soccer ball whenever it came near. I just wanted to go home and play GoldenEye.

Once I reached high school, I could officially give two craps about soccer. Every four years, I'd watch the World Cup, but mostly used it as an excuse to party. Or even worse, watch the Women's World Cup for the same reason. (PS: I guarantee no one will remember stupid Abby Wombach's name two months from now).

...that is, of course, until I moved to Brazil.

Eat, Pray, Crap

Most pictures of people with their food are boring. Case in point.

Brazilians love their food - and with good reason. The food here is ridiculously good. Every meal in Brazil is a decadent schmorgasboard of beef, pork and carbs. And dessert? A must. In order for Brazilians to eat what they do every single day, they must have the highest metabolism out any population on the planet.

However, that isn't to say that Brazilians are skinny by any means. Before I arrived, I had pictured a bunch of Miss Universes walking around the streets of São Paulo - with their long legs and flat stomachs. In reality, most women here, while certainly not fat, sport a lovely paunch - which is only emphasized by their preference for tight belly shirts. The men, meanwhile, can be best described as chubby, doughy or pudgy. It seems whole health-food craze of the United States hasn’t even scratched the surface of the Brazilian consciousness.

But honestly, who can blame them? I love the food here, exactly as it is. So instead of writing a dissertation (dessert-ation?) on Brazilian dietary reform, I wanted to celebrate this country’s food - in all of its artery-clogging, high-blood-pressure-causing glory.

(Also, please excuse that "dessert-ation" joke. That was really bad.)

An analysis of each major food group below…

Eu Quero Te Beijar ("I Want to Kiss You")

Just imagine this is one giant school gymnasium...with a chandelier

After spending many nights in São Paulo's most exclusive bars and clubs (obviously), the scene in Brazil can be best summarized in the following way:

Freshmen year homecoming dance

Brazilians love making-out. Or more accurately: sucking-face. At any bar or club in Brazil, you`ll find at least fifteen "couples" in throes of passion, seeing who can shove their tongue farther down the other person's throat. If this was Teen Night at Joey Harrison's Surf Club in 1999 - I would be ecstatic. Unfortunately, trying to navigate around two grown individuals playing tonsil-hockey can be a bit sickening. In the United States, such Public Displays of Affection are relegated to the darkest of corners, and last only about five minutes before someone makes the "next move." Not so in Brazil. Make-out sessions here take place in the middle of the dance-floor, or right in front of the bar, or over the dinner table, and last the entire night. The only "next move" here is stopping and finding someone new to make-out with.

Her Name Is Rio And She Dances On The Sand

So I went to Rio.

Arriving in Rio De Janiero (or as the locals say. "Hee-oh Jeejeaierjhoiewreo"), your first thought is "Now THIS is what Brazil is supposed to look like." Palm trees. Beaches. Big Ol' Jesus. Malaria. Everything.

Rio is, without question, a very gorgeous city. Long stretches of beautiful beaches are framed by humongous granite mountains and jungles straight out of Jurassic Park. Atheistically, I would say that the only downsides are the man-made structures (excluding Big Jesus), as every building looks like the United Nations Headquarters or the Contemporary Resort in Disney World. Well, that and the large fat men in speedos (more on that later).

Regardless, on the cab ride to the hotel, it’s difficult not to have "The Girl From Ipanema" playing on a continuous loop in your head. It’s also the perfect way to prepare you for your stay at the hotel, where the "The Girl From Ipanema" will playing on a continuous loop in the elevator.

São Paulo: The Ugliest / Nicest City You’ll Ever Meet

(This) x (1,000)

São Paulo.  How do I describe thee?

Well – why don’t we leave it to the experts:

“São Paulo is enormous, intimidating and, at first glance at least, no great beauty – a difficult city for the traveler to master and one that, initially, may not seem worth the sweat.” – Lonely Planet, Brazil

Uhhh...okay then. Let’s try another… 

“[São Paulo] is not a pretty city by any means. In fact, to be honest with you, it’s pretty damned ugly. Big. Crowded. Terrible traffic. A climate, although nice, isn’t exactly the Brazil of dreams… It’s been said, uncharitably, that São Paulo feels like LA threw up on New York.” – Anthony Bourdain, No Reservations

One more try… 

“São Paulo’s reputation tends toward extremes. Enormous wealth coexists with appalling poverty; gleaming skyscrapers loom over crumbling edifices; newspaper headlines are devoted to an uneasy mix of glitzy celebrity parties and violent crime… São Paulo’s jumble of self-contained worlds reflects the ongoing tussle between youthful progress and decaying chaos.” – Time Out, São Paulo

Yes - it’s kind of true, unfortunately. São Paulo, or “Sampa” as the local Paulistanos call it, is a huge, sprawling ugly city. To get an idea of what the city is like, imagine a bunch non-descript whitish-gray apartment complexes and office buildings. Now multiply that image by 1,000 and throw in some shopping malls here and there. That is São Paulo.

Now, while it sounds like I’m shitting on the city, there are many things I’ve got to see and experience in this past week that I actually really loved. So what the city may lack in aesthetics, it makes up with a great personality (much like many ugly girls I know).

So although I’ve only been here a week, here’s a quick list of all the things I’ve loved so far:

Olá. Com licença. Desculpa. Obrigado. Tchau.

Home Sweet Home

Location: São Paulo, Brazil

Time: 12:30AM Saturday, August 6, 2011

I made it. Here’s the breakdown:

30 Minutes = Drive from Manhattan to JFK Airport, incessantly checking my printed Google Map directions

45 Minutes = Insanely packed shuttle ride from the Rental Car booth to Terminal 4, getting very close and personal with some overweight men (the Tram was broken)

1 Hour = Waiting in line to check-in for my flight with a gaggle of gorgeous Brazilians

1 Second = Trying to speak Portuguese to check-in and failing miserably

1 Hour = Waiting in line to drop off my luggage for security / Waiting in line to go through security / Waiting in line to board the flight / Waiting in line to get to my seat

5 Hours = Falling asleep and waking up somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

1 Second = Trying to order juice in Portuguese (“suco”) and failing miserably