Still, I despise pre-prepared fare cooling rapidly in chafing dishes and often find nothing I can tolerate. I'm horrified by the waste of uneaten food, both on people's plates and in the warming pans. And no matter how much I control my portion sizes, I always consume much, much more than is good for me -- which, ironically, isn't ever nearly enough to compensate for the amount of money I've paid for that privilege.
I've suspected these last reasons explain why I've never felt compelled to revisit restaurants that serve rodizio, the never-ending all-you-can-consume Brazilian barbecue that's practically a national pastime. I've liked it well enough to try each new one that comes to town; after all, Brazilian food is one of my favorite cuisines. But in the end, the dual discomforts of overindulging and overspending have always outweighed the Thanksgiving-ish satisfactions of the huge meal. Frankly, it's not worth it, and like most major and vaguely disappointing holiday meals, interesting only about once a year.
Then I visited the churrascaria Porca~o (Portuguese for "pig") in the Four Ambassadors Hotel on South Bayshore Drive and discovered the truth: I didn't know what truly good rodizio was before I sampled this one. Because when the meat, sliced tableside from skewers, is of such high quality, the salad so fresh and exotically complex, the service so outstanding, every meal is Thanksgiving. You don't worry about eating your money's worth. You wonder whether anyone will notice your twentieth nod to the man with the carving knife and the prime rib, how many desserts you can order without crossing the line into digestive incorrectness, and whether the valet will carry you and your groaning belly out to your car now that you're too full to move.
I recommend standing up once or twice during the meal. Not only does the gravity involved in this procedure allow you to correctly gauge how much room you've got left, but you need to indulge in at least two trips to the salad buffet. Salad bar, a rare treat indeed in Miami (as it is in Brazil, being an American habit that has been adopted there), is included with the meal, which costs $24.50 per person. And unlike at Porcano's predecessor, Scala Grill, no regular menu is offered. What you see -- the geometric, marble-top island of mixed greens, cold meats and fish, and prepared salads; the busboys and waiters briskly circulating with hot rolls, butter, and ice water; the endless meats dripping their luscious juices -- is no less than precisely what you get.
That buffet, I have to admit, presents a distinct challenge to my memory. The gist: The greens were lovely -- pale, unmarred endive, sprightly watercress, a mix of radicchio and romaine. Various gourmet toppings included whole artichoke hearts, stalks of hearts of palm, crab sticks, baby corn, and white asparagus. Prepared salads were excellent, many of them variations on a theme: shredded fish (or other seafood) seasoned with onions and peppers in a tangy vinaigrette; green beans (or other vegetables) in a vinaigrette dressing; potatoes mixed with mayonnaise.
Hot foods -- meats, pastas, rice mixed with vegetables -- were arranged on one end. I admired a flaked salmon salad until I discovered cold fillets of the fish with a mustard sauce only a few pans away. That's when I began walking slower and soon realized that every inch of the bar was crammed with beautifully presented trays of food and condiments. Bowls of fresh buffalo mozzarella floating in water. Sliced pickled white onions. Marinated quail eggs. An entire prosciutto (that's right, the whole ham) with delicate slices piled around it for the taking. I saw a man carrying no less than a dozen hard-boiled quail eggs on his plate and looking extremely pleased with himself. I couldn't blame him.
When you've eaten your fill of salad, you flip over the small round card you were given at the beginning of the meal. Color-coded like a stoplight, one side of the coaster is red, the other green. Within seconds of going green, at least three waiters were at our table, presenting various swords of grilled cuts of meat and poultry; at one point we had five waiters attending to us simultaneously. A maitre d' keeps an eye on the proceedings, signaling busboys to fill water glasses and remove empty plates. As a result, the service was fantastic, professional and efficient; we tipped the maitre d' on our way out, the first time I've ever felt compelled to do so in Miami. The only flaw: Not many spoke English.
Of course, as one of my guests, self-dubbed the Ominous Englishman after consuming a series of horrendous meals with me, pointed out, you don't have to speak to work here, you just have to sweat. A disappointment I've always experienced with rodizio is that the meat cools before it hits your plate, as a result of making several turns around the dining room. Not here. The swords are heated so that the interior of the skewered material remains the appropriate temperature; the servers' faces as they slice the meat and wait for you to grasp it with tongs prove this is hard, hot work.
The meats prove it, as well. Tender filet mignon and chunks of turkey breast were wrapped with bacon that still sizzled. Pork sausages were crisp-skinned and succulent, as were well-seasoned chicken thighs. Tiny chicken hearts, split in half by the skewer, were supple but resilient, a tasty Brazilian delicacy that nevertheless provoked the Ominous Englishman, a dedicated meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, to proclaim, "I'll stick with me bangers."
Each cut of meat was cooked ideally, according to its character. Lamb was medium-rare and free of fat; prime rib was medium in some spots and rare in others, permitting the diner to choose; short ribs were well-done and slid off the bone at the poke of a fork. Flank steak was medium-well, just cooked to a healthy brown, separating into hunks outside, tender in the middle like good pot roast. Roast rump was rare, red as a Florida sunset but with a crackling edge. And every single piece was highly seasoned, negating the need for the chimichurri (parsley and garlic sauce) served alongside.
To ease the carnivorous burden, black beans, buttered white rice, manioc (cassava flour), fried bananas, French fries, and fried yuca -- all delicious -- are included with the main-course portion of the meal. Not that vegetarians couldn't dine well at Porca~o: the salad bar alone ensures that no one, regardless of personal philosophy, will starve.
A la carte desserts, displayed at the table and served immediately upon request, were also tempting. We savored a puree of papaya, kind of a cold soup. And flan in caramel sauce was so good I'm not ashamed to admit we ordered another one, even after all that food.
An air of celebration -- something that was missing from the previous churrascaria Scala Grill -- permeates this lobby restaurant, tiled with white marble and hung with bright paintings. -- sign that hangs outside the hotel depicts a grinning, winking neon pig, which provides a good clue to the ambiance within. As the Ominous Englishman said throughout the meal: "This was a brilliant idea. Absolutely brilliant." I quite agree. And, for a change, I can't wait to repeat the experience.
