Barely anyone calls it Juramento 202. For most people, Jura does the job. The nickname suits a bar that works like an extension of the pavement and the public space around it. Everyone settles in with a glass of Viela craft beer in hand and their feet going wherever the samba, pagode, choro, jazz or whatever else is on the board takes them, announced in chalk right on the corner. The kitchen mixes Minas Gerais with the rest of the world. You find it in the okra skewers slathered in miso (no sliminess, promise) and in the goat's cheese and honey pastel, which goes down a treat. They say it is the kind of thing that makes you swear an oath. To the bar, or to someone.