Inside this dark, cavernous churrascaria on the corner of Vine and Fifth streets, passadors (meat waiters) wearing poofy black pants tucked into black calf-high boots with burgundy shirts accented by ascots swagger from table to table with long skewers of meat. “Would you like a piece?” my passador says, smiling seductively. So the meat parade begins. Those skewers are filled with 15 cuts of beef, lamb, pork, chicken, and sausage. The pork loin with Parmesan and the filet mignon are a bit dry, but the juicy pork sausage and the house special, a tangy rump roast called picanha (pi-khan-yuh), more than make up for it.
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