Stopped at the tiny A Ginjinha Bar (recommended by Rick Steves, no less), established in 1840, counter open to the street. Here, purely in the interest of scientific exploration, my brother-in-law bought two shots of the only beverage on sale: one for him to share with my sister-in-law, and one for Dwight and me.
We stood on the sidewalk, sipping the strong cherry-infused distilled alcohol. The nephews might’ve had a taste, but I’m pleading the Fifth.