Mandioca, (mɐ̃ˈdjɔkɐ, or "man-JOH-ka"), or perhaps more commonly known as cassava or yuca in English (different from yucca, another species), was a staple food of many Native American populations long before the arrival of European colonists. It's a starchy root, similar to a potato, high in carbohydrates, and easy to grow as it's very resistant to drought. The inside is usually white in color, sometimes yellow, and most varieties are long and narrow in shape. When prepared properly (to ensure removal of toxins) it is a fortifying source of carbohydrates, and popular in many forms throughout Brazil.
Depending on the part of the country, it may go by
different names, and appear in numerous forms. I'll share a few that I've
experienced here in Saint Joseph of the Fields.
Fried mandioca is pretty much just like french
fries, only with much thicker cuts and a texture that invites the oil to singe
an infinite number of tiny pockets, making it simultaneously soft, rough,
spongy, and crispy, delighting the palate. It's a common side dish, great on
its own with drinks, or perhaps with fish or meat. Other than a little salt,
fried mandioca doesn't need anything else--ketchup would be unthinkable, and I
wouldn't dare douse it with vinegar like I do with french fries back in the North.
Some restaurants offer a garlic mayonaisse, which adds a layer of cool to a
soft, hot crunch. Being the odd gringa that I am, I'll occasionally dump hot
sauce on them--only a house mixture--usually one with honey. But they are
really quite amazing just as they are, and made best by my mother-in-law.
Then there's vaca atolada, which means "cow
stuck in the mud." (I'm not sure if I really want to know about the
origins of that name!). It's mandioca with beef ribs, cooked in a pressure
cooker until very soft. It's like a stew, and reminds me of the New England pot
roasts of my own family heritage, only more flavorful, more earthy. Maybe it's the "mud."
Mandioca can be ground into a flour that is
toasted, and often mixed with a bit of flavoring. It gets sprinkled on foods
like rice and beans, or it serves as a foundation on which to lay
freshly-grilled meat. It adds it a bit of a texture and a very subtle crunch.
The flour, called farinha, is a household staple, often kept in a canister next
to sugar, salt, and coffee. I remember my husband's disappointment when he
asked if my parents had any while preparing a barbecue in Maryland.
There are many kinds of breads and cakes that are
made with mandioca flour. My husband's aunt once introduced me to one that must
have been passed down the family, likely from indigenous origin. It was
prepared through a long process which involved fermenting the flour. The cake
was simple, strong, crude in form, yet amazing with a cup of coffee and the
giddy laughter of our tia. Surrounded by the trees and reservoir, way out in
the roça, far from the groaning traffic of São José, things just take on a
different flavor, all the richer with tradition. Somehow, it makes me think of
my family's New England tradition of Johnny cakes, cornmeal pancakes, another basic, slightly
sweet comfort food.
There are endless uses of mandioca, and I hope my
Brazilian readers will add some of their favorites in the comments, and clarify
anything I might have missed. I'll end by sharing the form of mandioca that I
most commonly enjoy, tapioca.
Though a cousin of the little gelatinous
eyeball-like thingies with the same name that appear in puddings and bubble teas, what we enjoy here
takes on a very different form. Ground mandioca goes through a strenuous
process including squeezing and evaporating, becoming a coarse flour that
reminds me of polystyrene pellets, with a fermented kind of smell. Not what you
would think to make a sandwich out of. But the flour is sprinkled onto a pan
and toasted over low heat, and then filled with anything--sweet or
savory--before folding it over into a crunchy sandwich with a soft middle.
This snack gives lots of energy while being low in
calories, so it's a favorite for fitness. However, it's the fillings that add
the sugar and calories, often cancelling out the health benefits.
It's common here to enjoy tapioca filled with
chocolate (perhaps with together with strawberry), or Nutella®, or sweetened
condensed milk with coconut flakes. It can also be filled with cheese, egg, or
shredded chicken, perhaps with Catupiry®, a super-rich creamy cheese. It can
also just have butter. That's how my nieces in the United States like it. One
loves it slathered in butter--the texture is so different from bread! Another
one sincerely loves it plain, not even with salt. I don't know anyone here who
would approve of that, but you like what you like.
My favorite fillings for tapioca include:
Savory:
- Shredded chicken and light cream cheese (not the Brazilian one, but the stuff Americans put on bagels), with any kind of veggies I may have--shredded cabbage, carrots, or maybe arugula and tomato. For flavor I'll add oregano, basil, and maybe hot sauce.
- Cream cheese, regular sliced cheese, sliced cucumber and tomato, dill (which I bring from the U.S.), basil, and oregano.
- Just an egg or two, with lots of hot sauce, and maybe some sliced tomatoes.
- Two tablespoons full of tapioca can be mixed with two eggs to make an omelet. My sister-in-law sometimes rolls it up with caponata, an Italian cooked eggplant salad, which my husband likes to make. I've done the same thing, filling it with any veggies I have on hand, including packaged, pre-cooked Indian spiced okra (which I also sometimes bring from the U.S.).
- It's messy, but tasty to add chickpea curry, which I make once in a while, to a tapioca, rather than cooking rice for one person. I'll have to try it with dahl, a flavorful Indian lentil dish.
Sweet:
- Peanut butter or almond butter (which can be found here, but I prefer to bring from the U.S.), with half an apple, sliced thinly, and cinnamon sprinkled on top. This is probably my favorite, because it's sweet without sugar. I'm notorious for bringing this to school for other teachers to poke fun at.
- Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. It's a New England comfort food to eat the two together on white bread, something I grew up with, but it's even better on a warm, crunchy base. I don't love marshmallow fluff enough to bring it here, but I did indulge in this concoction in my parents' house last time I was in town. I would say it rivals Nutella®.
- Peanut butter or almond butter and honey. The honey seeps through the tapioca, making it sticky, though. Maybe that's part of the fun.
- Cream cheese, a drizzle of maple syrup (the real
kind, from the tree, also brought back from the U.S.), with small pieces of
walnut. The syrup also seeps through this one. I think I've only made it once
or twice, (walnuts are expensive) but it brought a taste of the North that I
was craving.
Maybe I'm shamelessly appropriating other cultures. Or, maybe my gringa-fication is an example of innovation at the intersections.
What I do know is that who we are today is a composite of many stories of the past. Some stories recount struggle, others hope and endurance, and others, sadly, are marked by oppression. Some stories give hints of having suffered injustice; other stories have clearer roles where those who went before us took part in that same injustice. We can't escape our history, but we can learn from it, and use our knowledge to make change now.
What we eat says a lot about who we are and where
we come from. Next time I'm swapping stories over a meal with my mother-in-law,
or with my Brazilian aunt in the roça, or with my relatives who boast New England
roots, I'll listen more closely to those stories, and consider how the past connects
to me. Our backgrounds are often complicated, sometimes messy, but still very
much a part of our identity, and always worth contemplating.
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