I am not generally in the habit of updating reviews with every single visit, being as it's rarely useful (places don't often change dramatically) and I don't normally have much extra to say. However, Fazenda is a different beast. Yes, this will mean that there's been a review for every single visit made, but hey. I love writing, I love eating, I love Fazenda and it's a a pleasure to re-live the moment in recounting the story once more. (It does, of course, leave one wanting as I'm not sat there right now filling up on flesh.) No, things have not changed, but yes- I've been back, baby, and it's just as amazing as ever it was.
Oooof. It was a dark and stormy night. We had just gotten back from the realms of the 'Shire (not in search of Tolkein's rings, it just happens to be my homelands) and my tradition now, to thank mein Papa for the lift Leeds-wards, is to take me Dad out for a ruddy good nosh. He's not au fait with great restaurants, and has been known to become ecstatic over a microwaved pub lasagne. But, since he's as excitable about edibles as myself, I'm slowly changing his world by introducing him to Leeds' culinary delights. Fazenda HAD to be on our list. Foolishly, he was ravenous on arrival - this meant that he had to be patient. I tried to explain not to fill up at the salad bar, but the stomach demons twisted his arm, and he half filled up a plate. (I've said before, it's not a totally bad choice - their salad bar is incredible.) I was afraid he'd leave no room for the gauchos to fill...
I'd put the cards on green before we even sauntered to salad. It was that urgent that this man be fed meat stuffs. It wasn't just their rep on the line, but my own -his last meal in Leeds had blown his mind, and this one had to better it. Within moments, we had our first cut. I sat, gleaming and beady eyed staring at him, awaiting approval as if I was 12 again and showing him my very first poem. 'See! It's AMAZING! They'll be back, don't worry. They'll bring more and you can ask for which ever cuts you want!' At first, I thought he was unconvinced. He had finished the morsel within moments. He was ready for more and they weren't there... Hurry Fazenda!
And then the lamb came-his favourite. We got him two chunks to tide over, and before you could blink, another cut arrived. (A special for the night, I believe.) He'd practically sworn his soul on the fact that lamb was his favourite, and this was the best he'd ever had, and then he tried the special cow. And then it was like the floodgates opened, just as he was saying he was always ready for the next bit, they appeared en masse. Oh wowsers. Oh my word, that was the kiddy. That was Shakespeare.
Literally. Melted. In our mouths.
I felt like I'd shown him some kind of god, shared the answer to life, the universe, and everything (it's not 42 - eat here and you'll see), and he kowtowed to the meat heaven, the indelible experience of such cuts. A fool, a disbeliever, a doubtful desperately hungry man, no more. If Fazenda had a bible, we'd have become disciples to the cause. We'd have preached in the streets, sodden and storm-laiden as they were. Despite being too full to breathe. He regretted arriving too hungry, but this only meant we'd require a return visit.
And so the accoutrements, as ever, added a final touch of excellence to the experience: the staff were heavenly, the setting was beautiful, the wine glorious. And this story may be yet superfluous to the praise on this page, but I revelled in telling it *almost* as much as I enjoyed being there in real life, wishing my stomach to be three times the size, so that I might fill up ever more. My only fear is that I might love it so much, that you'll actually expect miracles -don't, just treat yourself once in a while like I do, and savour the moment. Are you a believer? Praise be Fazenda, and all who dine within! read more