So many chickens, so little time

Eight tonight. Airport. My plane for the States takes off from Rio.

I’m mostly packed, and I’ll have about eight hours to kill once I leave the hotel. One thing I wanted to accomplish while here was to sample one of my favorite Brazilian bar foods, frango à passarinho (chicken in the style of little birds) which is marinated chicken chunks, on the bone, fried until crispy–the skin like crunchy bacon–then topped with a mountain of toasted/fried garlic. How they get the garlic so toasty without burning is perhaps the greatest secret held in Brazil. I don’t think I can do it at home. But it comes out flavorful, essential and strangely doesn’t leave the garlic breath you might expect. It’s a specialty at certain beer joints around the city, including a couple near the hotel. So, if I play my cards correctly, I’ll get to achieve this last, all important goal before I head to Tom Jobim Airport.

Later the next day:  I did NOT get the little bird chicken. Damn!