{"id":4932,"date":"2022-01-21T02:18:39","date_gmt":"2022-01-21T02:18:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.eatmcr.co.uk\/?p=4932"},"modified":"2022-01-21T13:29:22","modified_gmt":"2022-01-21T13:29:22","slug":"brazilian-fine-dining-is-blossoming-in-ancoats","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.eatmcr.co.uk\/featured\/brazilian-fine-dining-is-blossoming-in-ancoats\/","title":{"rendered":"Brazilian Fine Dining is Blossoming in Ancoats"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Twelve years ago, on a piss wet through Thursday lunchtime, I was camped in the psychedelia<\/strong> section of Piccadilly Records, eyebrows lowered under a mop top of very fucking questionable hair, thumbing through a rack of obscure compilations from the ’60s and ’70s, mesmerised by the historical, musical, geographical and political education I was receiving from the sleeve of each LP.<\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was scuzzy Turkish garage, far out jungle grooves from South Sumatra and ultra secretive Xian pressings, recorded covertly away from prying eyes and ears during Franco’s Catholic facist regime in Spain. But among this mind altering landslide of LSD powered freakouts was the Holy Grail my 21-year-old wannabe vinyl experimentalist never knew he needed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

BRAZILIAN GUITAR FUZZ BANANAS<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Up until this seismic day in early 2010, my only reference points for Brazilian culture were sun kissed shots of Copacabana Beach and Christ the Redeemer from terrible early evening terrestrial holiday shows, the World Cup squads of ’94, ’98, ’02 and ’06, that Nike advert in the airport, City of God, the old Brahma bottles that were designed to curve perfectly into the grip of your hand and, of course, Bem Brasil on Deansgate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Admittedly, not a bad little assortment of sporting, artistic and culinary achievements, but hardly one that was indicative of a country as gigantic and diverse as the largest in Latin and South America. Now, here I was, eschewing the usual pre-pub playlist of mid noughties indie and pretty much anything where someone shouted ‘TERROR SQUAD’ or ‘FLIPMODE’, for a selection of Tropicalia tinged cuts that were as far removed from Samba as you could imagine. But between the extended, kaleidoscopic covers of the Batman theme tune and odes to Jimi Hendrix was a cover of Beatles penned Rolling Stones hit ‘I Wanna Be Your Man’<\/em>, by an outfit called The Youngsters. A two minute, 24 second slice of pure ’60s pop, only one that was now far raspier, grimier and let’s face it, far far fucking better having circumnavigated the Amazon and fought it’s way through favelas. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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