Fogo de Chão’s skewer- wielding “gauchos” bring an endless parade of meats to the table, trimming them onto your plate with high drama. Photo: Sara Hanna Photography
Story: Wendell Brock | Photos: Sara Hanna
You don’t have to brave the pampas of South America or the wilds of Africa to witness the most primitive form of cooking—and eating—on the planet. Every day of the week, deep in the heart of Buckhead, hunks of meat sizzle over an open fire, and grown men smack their lips and engage in gluttony as a kind of par- ticipatory sport. Beef, pork, lamb, chicken, sausage: It all glides down the hatch in a blur of grease, salt, char and artery-clogging primal excess. And boy, is it delicious.
At Fogo de Chão, you can participate in “a toga-stretching orgy of carnivorism that would make Caligula blush.”
I’m talking about the Piedmont Road location of Fogo de Chão, the Brazilian churrascaria—aka steakhouse or rodizio or barbecue—where a parade of indefati- gable gauchos are forever at the ready with ginormous slabs of fire-scorched meat. (They carve it off the skewer straight onto your plate, while you assist with a dainty little pair of tongs.) I’ve been smitten with this mara- thon style of masticating since the late 1990s, when I entered a Rio de Janeiro steakhouse called Porcão a churrascaria virgin and walked out a virtual Lothario of this manly cult of meat-eating. (Porcão is, by point of fact, the word for “big pig.”) So the Atlanta outpost of Fogo de Chão—it means “fire on the ground,” a reference to the gaucho style of campfire cookery practiced by South American cowboys for generations—has long been a personal-fave, special-occasion chomping ground for me. I love coming here to slurp caipirinhas (the Brazilian national cocktail of lime, sugar and the native rum called cachaça), inhale airy poufs of pão de queijo (cheese bread) and participate in the kind of toga-stretching orgy of carnivorism that would make Caligula blush.
At least I thought I did.
Though it’s not exactly a campfire on the pampas, Fogo de Chão’s fire-breathing stainless- steel cooker does the job of searing meat to a perfect state of crusty char and juicy pink interior.
Fogo’s salad bar is an extravagant smorgasbord of meats, cheese and salad fixings. But if you are feeling carnivorous, don’t fill up on the first course.
It’s been more than five years since I last visited Fogo, and though I can hardly issue a verdict based on one recent Thursday-night experience, it seems like the place has gotten all Vegas. While the salad bar remains super fresh and extensive, and the roundelay of meat quite encyclopedic, the carnival atmo- sphere almost makes it impossible to relax and enjoy the experience, which at $51.50 per person at dinner (for the unlimited salad bar and meat service but excluding drinks, desserts or tips) is not insignificant. There was a time when I considered Fogo a fine-dining destination, a place for getting dressed up and spending time with people you care about. Today it feels like a circus. Walking in, we had to weave around the phalanx of men having a smoke out front and wade through a bar/entrance area that looked like a peanut gallery (thanks to the straw wrappers littering the floor). Moving around the restaurant— say we needed to go to the loo or get a little more cheese from the salad bar—meant navigating an obstacle course of ravenous, tipsy patrons and skewer-wielding gauchos. Makes you want to flip the little sign you use to tell servers when to stop serving meat to the red—or “no”—position. Time out already! Call me a gaucho groucho. But I think a fellow needs a modicum of peace and quiet in order to chew and swallow properly.
Beef, chicken, sausage, pork, lamb: Why not try a little of everything? Wash it all down with a big bold red, and don’t miss the sides, such as the mashed potatoes, buttery plantains and fried sticks of polenta.
All that said, Fogo still makes a wonderful caipirinha and the salad station is a thing of beauty—a cornucopia of salami, prosciutto, smoked salmon, fresh mozzarella, salty- crumbly Parmigiano-Reggiano; Manchego (which I call “man cheese,” particularly in this context, which feels about 85 percent male) and on and on. Asparagus, Caesar salad, plain greens, mushrooms, a first-rate tabbouleh, and all kinds of mayonnaise-y salads. (Didn’t try the chicken sal, but my friend gave it a rave.) It must be said that you can fill up on this first course, and the restaurant allows you to choose a salad-only option, which many folks do. The standard sides that come with the full-meal-deal—cheesy garlic mashed potatoes, buttery caramelized plantains and fried polenta sticks—are also mighty tasty.
You won’t run out of food at Fogo. Start with a sugary lime caipirinha and move on to salads, cheese bread, sides and the non-stop meat experience.
If you need a tutorial on the meat, check out the explanatory flyer on the table. There are 16 cuts. I’m crazy about the garlic-scented picanha (the signature prepa- ration of prime sirloin), the perfectly medium filet mignon (which comes with or without bacon), and the juicy pink beef ancho (aka rib eye). In the non-beef mode, the lombo (Parmesan-encrusted pork loin) is a sensa- tional diversion, and I love the way the pork ribs are just a little crispy without being at all dry. (Just pick one up and munch.) There’s also chicken, sausage, lamb leg and chops, and several more cuts of cow.
Wow!
Dessert? Are you kidding me? (Then again, you probably can’t stand up at this point, so why not?) We laughed at the idea of something heavy like molten chocolate cake or turtle cheesecake. That signature papaya cream would surely be a more sensible option, right? We ended up with flan (good, though not stellar) and plate of brûléed pineapple with vanilla ice cream and drizzles of caramel syrup. Truly, it looks like they use an entire piña. It’s more than plenty for two and quite possibly enough for the table—our favorite dessert, hands down.
In sum, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Brazilian churrascarias, and I love introducing novices to the spectacle. (“It’s kind of a man cave, kind of a buffet, kind of an old-world oddity,” I might say, pointing to the after-dinner drink cart.) I’m not giving up on Buckhead’s Fogo, but next time I go, I’ll pick a time—maybe lunch—when the energy level isn’t so crushing. This anything-goes style of eating is not something you do every day. So when you do indulge, you want to take care to savor every fat little morsel.
Fogo de Chão
3101 Piedmont Road N.E. Atlanta 30305 | 404.266.9988 | www.fogodechao.com
Prices: Full service, including unlimited meat and salad bar: $51.50 (dinner); $32.50 (lunch). Salad bar only: $24.50 (din- ner); $22.50 (lunch). Kids under 6 eat free; 7 to 12 half price.
Recommended dishes: Caipirinha cocktails. Pão de queijo (cheese bread). Plantains. Picanha (prime sirloin), filet mignon, beef ancho (rib eye), lombo (Parmesan-encrusted pork loin). Brûléed pineapple dessert.
Bottom line: Meat lover’s dream. But beware of the crowds.
