Canter Bridge

The most memorable dining experience of my life took place in Londrina, Brazil, among a party of twenty friends at one of that South American country’s famed churrascarías. The longing for a repeat performance has lingered in a modest, back-stage sort of way ever since.

With First Son home from his Seattle university, it seemed just the moment. Our party of four first sought out the somewhat budget-priced Brazilian Grill on the Circle City’s north side. FInding only indications that the Grill had gone out of business, I did what any self-respecting, red-meat-craving male with a car full of passengers would have done in my place: turned the Passat’s nose in the direction of downtown’s Fogo de Chao and pushed the pedal.

As a mid-sized city, Indianapolis is fortunate to figure among the relatively short list of this southern Brazilian chain’s venues. The location is modernistic, nicely lit in a subdued sort of way, staffed by friendly staff who move at a frenetic pace (of this, more anon) while dramatizing things via only occasional brushes with knife-wielding fatalities, and chock full of meat. The latter is, indisputably, the main point.

This gaucho institution is all about the meat.

The wine list is somewhat impressive but over-priced. In such circumstances, a bottle of one of rival Argentina’s Malbecs for me goes almost without saying. Not at the Fogo on this late-March evening. Sticker prices for this modest vintage made me opt for a glass instead while my three dinner guests converted to tea-totalers for the night.

The fun begins with a trip to a well-stocked salad bar. First-time churrascaría visitors often make the mistake of filling up on the good stuff to be found there. Churrrascaría veterans (and now readers of this review) know better. Enjoy the splendors of the salad bar with a light touch. You didn’t come for salad. A line of cows that must stretch—laid out horizontally, nose-to-tail—from here to Muncie awaits your palate’s call.

The traffic light on your dining experience is the two-sided red and green that is found at each table setting. Dare to turn the green side up and you’ll be pounced upon by a bevy of eager young men and women who announce the nature of their offering, slice the cut(s) of your choice onto your plate, and move on to the next person who has—intentionally or unwittingly—left that green side facing up.

Indianapolis’ Fogo de Chao was a busy place on this, my first visit. Yet four of us gathered around a table intended for six were able to converse easily. The wait staff blasts past at full speed, having been trained to keep those knives pointed in a safe direction. It’s a part of the visual entertainment which, if not managed carefully by the diner, leads to a steady acceleration of your eating.

All of which reduces the immodest practice of feasting as only a Brazilian steak joint knows you came to do. Eat slowly, savor every slice, play the field of cuts (not just steak, but chicken, pork, and lamb). Make an evening of it.

The price of all this is equally immodest. Paying the bill for four diners is not for the faint of heart. Diners eat at fixed price just under $50. Drinks and dessert are, of course, extra.

For my tastes, The Fogo de Chao is a welcome opportunity to experience one of Brazil’s wonders on a day when calorie counts can be left at home. The food was consistently good, the service excellent, the ambience well above average, and the entire spectacle about as bona fide Brazilian as one could expect in mid-sized, Midwestern city.

We’ll be back.