The Perfect Formula 3in the bank. For consumers, meanwhile, learning not to succumb to
overeating was becoming a daily struggle.
Not until living overseas did I fully appreciate how culture can dominate
genetics at the expense of health. As soon as I walked out of the airport
in Brasilia, Brazil, and greeted my colleague José, he announced that I
was to dine with him and his wife that evening. During my last business
trip, I had teased José that Argentine grass-fed beef and asado (barbecue)
was the best South America had to offer. Not to be outdone by rivals to
the south, José had planned ahead. Brazilian pride demanded that we
eat at one of Brasilia’s finest churrasqueira restaurants.
Restaurants like these existed for a singular purpose—to serve as
much meat as patrons could consume. After we arrived and were seated,
José gave me a personal tour. Along an entire wall was a long open grill.
Sizzling on top were large skewers made up of appetizing cuts of beef,
pork, lamb, and assorted wild game. To titillate the senses, the choicest
cuts were being grilled with a thick layer of fat still intact.
While returning to our table, José pointed to the small salad bar
tucked off to one side. It was there just in case. For most of the patrons
filing through the front doors, lettuce and garnishes could wait another
day. They were there to sate their primal want for calorie-dense meat.
Leaving satisfied meant arriving early and staying late, while eating lots
of animal protein and fat in between.
As we settled in for the evening, servers circled our table presenting
hot skewers of meat and slicing portions onto our plates until we said
stop. The quality of the meat mirrored Brazil’s growing prosperity
and advancing food system. Brazilians had tamed vast land holdings
to produce food animals tailored to local conditions. The abundance
supported a vibrant restaurant sector and an enthusiastic meat-eating
culture.
Early on, sensory overload prodded me to try different cuts and
varieties. But as the evening wore on, I was no match for José, who was
more skilled at pacing and packing food away. At some point I blurted
out “Não mais,” as if hoisting a white flag in surrender. On the way to
the hotel, when he asked me if I was ready to retract my statement about
Argentine beef, I mumbled that I was too full to talk. Bursting into