What to Eat in Manaus

Manaus sits where the Rio Negro meets the Solimões, in the heart of Brazil’s Amazon. A humid, equatorial climate defines daily life and what’s on the table. Markets brim with freshwater fish, cassava in many forms, wild herbs, and fruits gathered from forest and riverbanks.

Meals lean on river catch, grilled or stewed, and starches like farinha and tapioca for energy in the heat. Lunch is the day’s anchor, with snacks and soups appearing at dusk when the air cools. Street stalls and boats supply a steady rhythm of seasonal flavors.

Built on the enormous arapaima, pirarucu de casaca starts with salted, dried pirarucu soaked overnight, then simmered until tender, shredded, and sautéed with onions, garlic, and cheiro-verde. Cooks assemble it in layers: toasted farinha de mandioca (often the coarse, bead-like farinha d’água), ribbons of fried plantain (banana-da-terra or pacovã), the savory fish, and a bright vinagrete of tomato and onion; some families add sliced hard-boiled eggs and olives. The dish is briefly warmed to meld flavors, or served at room temperature so the farofa stays crunchy and the plantain edges remain caramelized. Salty depth from the fish meets sweetness of plantain and the grainy crunch of manioc; in Manaus it anchors Sunday lunches and celebrations, eaten at midday with white rice and a sharp molho de pimenta.

One of the Amazon’s most prized fish, tambaqui yields thick rib racks (costela de tambaqui) that take well to charcoal. In Manaus, cooks season the pieces simply with coarse salt, lime, and sometimes crushed garlic, then grill them slowly over embers until the skin blisters, the fat renders, and the meat by the bones turns succulent and gently smoky; it is served with lemon wedges, a fresh vinagrete of tomato, onion, and cilantro, and the beady, crunchy farinha de Uarini. The flavor is rich but clean, with gelatin near the ribs and crisp skin offering contrast, making it a favorite for weekend lunches and dinners along the riverfront or at backyard gatherings where sharing is the point.

Tacacá is a hot, brothy street favorite built from tucupi, the bright-yellow, fermented juice of wild manioc that is thoroughly boiled with garlic and chicória-do-Pará to make it safe and aromatic. Vendors ladle it into a cuia (calabash gourd) over goma de tapioca—gelatinous tapioca starch pearls—then add tender jambu leaves that cause a pleasant tingling and dried shrimp for salty depth; pimenta-de-cheiro or murupi chili often rides on top. The result is sour-salty, herbal, and lightly numbing, with slippery-silky textures that suit Manaus’s late-afternoon and evening pace when the air cools. You find tacacá at sidewalk stands and markets, a restorative stop between work and nightfall.

Breakfast in Manaus often includes x-caboquinho, a sandwich that pairs forest ingredients with a city staple. A crusty pão francês is split and pressed on a hot griddle with butter, then layered with slices of tucumã—the rich, orange palm fruit—grilled queijo coalho that softens without melting, and fried banana pacovã or banana-da-terra; some versions add a touch of black pepper or a smear of requeijão, but the classic is minimalist. The bite is textural: crackly crust and tender crumb, squeaky-salty cheese, tucumã’s nutty, almost almond-like fattiness, and soft plantain sweetness that perfumes the whole sandwich. Sold from early morning through mid-morning at carts and neighborhood bakeries, x-caboquinho is a daily anchor for commuters and students, typically paired with strong coffee or fresh juice, and a clear emblem of Manaus’s habit of blending Indigenous produce with Portuguese-derived breads.

Few plates capture Manaus like jaraqui frito, a small, bony river fish fried until irresistibly crisp. The cleaned fish is lightly scored, seasoned with salt and lime, and plunged into hot oil so the skin blisters and the fine bones turn crunchy; some cooks dust it with a whisper of manioc flour for extra crust. Served with wedges of lime, a bright onion-and-herb salsa, and a mound of dry farinha to pinch with each bite, it is eaten with the hands, the fatty flesh and crackling skin balanced by acidity and heat from pimenta murupi or another local chili. A saying known across the city—“Quem come jaraqui, não sai mais daqui”—speaks to its symbolism of belonging; you will see it at riverfront stalls, neighborhood botecos, and home tables, especially at lunch or late afternoon as a petisco alongside cold drinks.

Manaus cuisine leans on river fish, cassava in many forms—farinha, goma, tucupi—and bold, refreshing flavors suited to heat and humidity. Grilling, frying, and quick assembly keep meals lively, while jambu, tucumã, and pimenta-de-cheiro deliver unmistakable regional identity. Explore more food guides and plan weather-smart trips using Sunheron.com’s filters and destination database.