He clearly wants to start the night on the right foot, and that’s admirable. Definitely a quality to tuck into the recesses of my mind… because I don’t know that now’s the right time to think about it.
We’re already pulling up to John and Maria’s place—a high rise apartment building. Their car is just turning into their underground parking lot.
“Good to know,” I say. It’s about all I can manage.
John comes out, and I offer him the front seat so I can ride in the back with Maria while Nate drives.
Nate reaches his hand over to the dash while he’s talking and turns on some music.
Amy Grant.
Exactly something I would’ve chosen myself.
Good taste in music,I think.
“So I’m taking you guys to this new restaurant that just opened near my place,” Nate says. “It’s built to look like an Italian castle—inside and out. My business supplies the meat there. I haven’t actually eaten there yet, though, so if the food’s bad… don’t blame me!”
We all laugh.
So, the meat industry. That tracks. Businessman and all.
When we pull into the parking lot and step out of the car, I notice the salt in the air. We’re only a few streets from the beach.
My mouth curves into a small grin.
The restaurant isn’t just inspired by a castle—it commits. It’s made out of bricks, and the entrance is a tower with an actual drawbridge. Clay roof tiles in the style of an Italian villa. At the top, a crest: a lion, a knight, olive branches, and steel lettering spelling ‘Il Castello’. Palm trees flank the building, as if Brazil and Italy have agreed to coexist.
I’m impressed this exists in the middle of Recife.
I don’t have long to wonder about the inside before we’re through the doors.
The owner must be waiting near the entrance, because suddenly I hear, “Nate!”
He’s a little shorter than Nate, with a warm smile, already pulling him into a hug.
“It’s so good to see you! I’ve been waiting for you to try the restaurant ever since we started working together.”
“It’s my first time,” Nate says, grinning. “I figured I’d bring some friends.”
The owner—whose badge reads ‘Leo’—turns to us. “Welcome, amigos! This man right here supplies the best meat in town.” He pats Nate’s chest. “Everyone talks about how delicious it is.” He beams at Nate.
Nate smiles—not arrogantly, just confidently. Like someone who knows his product is good and is pleased his customer agrees.
“Let me take you to a table and get you settled.”
As we walk through the restaurant, I finally get to take it all in. Couples laugh beneath arched ceilings. Stained glass windows glow near the tower. Big leafy plants fill the space. Cutlery clinks. Voices echo with joy, lighting up the dimly lit atmosphere.
In the center of the room is a long table styled like a five-star hotel’s buffet. It feels grand. Intentional.
I glance at Maria. “I thought this was an Italian restaurant?” I whisper, eyeing the spread.
“It’s more like an Italianexperience. It’s actually a rodizio. It’s meant to combine the feeling of Italy with the food of Brazil. A fusion, basically.”
“That actually sounds perfect.”
The buffet is arranged in tiers around a stunning floral centerpiece, filled with tropical leaves and vibrant flowers. Fruit spills over an afternoon-tea-style stand. Everything looks indulgent. Thoughtful.
And then there’s the dessert table.
