From 1976-1981, my husband was a barefoot child of a missionary in the fringe towns of Sao Paolo, Brazil. His fondest memories are of sneaking beer at church socials and watching the beef rotate for hours on the spit, tended by the local blacksmith and butcher's wife. We've searched for years for that essential taste, what he remembers of authentic churrasco, to no avail. We're looking for the real deal, no matter how hole-in-the-wall (in fact, hole-in-the-wall would be great...). If you've been so fortunate as to stumble across this meaty ambrosia in your chowtravels, we'd be so happy to hear.