I am, of course, a most dutiful and obedient wife.
*ignores sight of husband mouthing "yeah, when it suits you" from the sarky chair*
Therefore, if Mr Liz wishes to visit Bem Brasil for his birthday lunch, it is my role as a supportive and thoughtful wife to accompany him, even though big, greedy, all-you-can-eat meals are not really my thing.
*turns back on sarky chair altogether*
Anyway, we went to the original Bem Brasil, situated in the Northern Quarter and much smaller and calmer than its larger, brashier Deansgate sister. The weekday lunch deal here is frankly ridiculous value - £12.50 per head for as much as you like, and as it's a "Rodizio" - meaning "rotating" or "continuous" - you simply have to sit quietly at your table, drinking wine, while people bring skewers of meat to you and carve it straight from the skewer onto your greedily-waiting plate.
*looks at husband with loving, see-the-things-I'm-willing-to-do-for-you look*
There is a smaller selection at lunch than during the evening, but this is what arrived at our table during the course of our two-hour greed marathon:
- Leg of Lamb
- Rump Steak
- Garlic Steak
- Spicy Chicken Thighs
- Pork Sausage
- Beef Ribs
- Pork Ribs
- Chicken Hearts
- Garlic Bread
- Roasted Cinnamon Pineapple
I must point out that I did not manage everything (although I did have two helpings of lamb and rump steak), but as the birthday boy got up to 19 helpings of meat before he lost count, it seems clear that he did indeed perhaps go round pretty much everything twice. Your £12.50 also allows unlimited visits to the salad bar and hot buffet; I had actually learned my lesson from last time and wisely eschewed the potatoes and bread (for once), although I did slip up a little by having, ahem, three helpings of a gorgeous appley coleslaw that everybody else was ignoring.
The most impressive things about Bem Brasil? The quality of the meat, obviously. The value - our bill was a ludicrous £40, including drinks. And the staff - the young gentleman who did the bulk of the serving actually remembered, a good half hour after he'd brought round the first helping of rump steak, that I preferred the pink bits and Mr Liz preferred the meat slightly more well done.
*stoically resists urge to make hilarious pun re: "well done" to the waiter or similar*
And thus I have cemented my position as "most excellent wife", despite having to have a little sleep on the train home. Even more impressively, next week I have to do it all again, forcing myself to eat at Albert's Shed for my best friend's birthday - I only hope I have finished polishing my halo by then.