Sal and I spent a jam packed day in the suburbs Saturday and it started by eating a Tocano's Brazilian Grill.
I've always wanted to try Brazilian food. There's something so American about getting served meat on a sword skewer.
The place is built for that point where you've had too much meat that you can't talk anymore.
Your breathing is heavy, you're somehow sweating even though the air conditioner is pointed directly at you, and the smell of beef is coming out of your pores. Breathing is even harder because you're still wearing pants, but you just don't have the energy to get them unbuttoned.
And in this cardiac crises all you want to do is tell the smiling servers that you just cannot eat another cut of pork or fried white fish. But since you can't tell them, they continue to cut meat and throw it on your plate that is covered with the juices of at least 4 animals. And because you're American and don't want to lose the respect of your fellow pain-filled diners, your shaking hand slowly brings that meat up to your lips, and somehow you choke it down.
To keep that from happening, they have this little token on your table. One side is green and one side is red. Red up means stop the meat train and green means all-aboard.
It was an experience.
Anyway, I try strange foods if given the chance. It's a great ice breaker.
I've had a bison burger on a bison conservation park in Salt Lake. (I still don't know how a park built to save bison can serve their meat, but whatever.)
I've had gator-kabobs in New Orleans, Octopus in Myrtle Beach, snoot in Alton (I still don't know what this is, I just know it comes from a pig) and now I've had chicken heart in St. Chuck.
It wasn't bad. It tasted like un-spiced chicken. It was incredibly chewy. I don't think I would eat it again, but I'm glad I knocked it off my list.
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