More Food in Portugal

I hope you'll excuse the cynicism with which I begin this article.  I know there are excellent European restaurants everywhere in America, so I'm not trying to belittle them.  It's just that having eaten in many other places, I think it would be much nicer if we had a wider variety to choose from, particularly in place of chain restaurants that work so hard at not offending anyone's taste buds that the result, while certainly not offensive in most cases, is not really great food, but is relatively expensive.  I'm reminded of a Sunday afternoon meal at a newly opened Red Lobster in Waldorf, MD, in which the dish I had was over salted and still not hot in the center as if it hadn't been microwaved long enough.  This was easily 15 years ago and the meal for two of us was over $65.00.  The very next weekend, we went into Bethesda and ate at a favorite place, not part of any chain, and had a truly delicious meal for less that $60.00. 


Italian food is well known in America - Chef Boyardee is often the way it is introduced to American children when they are really young and then they progress to pizza delivered in that flat cardboard box, so by the time they are in high school, they know Italian food.  In fact, their mother is often overly proud of her spaghetti recipe, particularly if it includes meatballs the size of silver dollars.


French food is a little bit different.  Most American youngsters have heard that escargot is really a dish of snails (ewww), that the French eat frog's legs, and that every meal in France is served with French fries.  Lets not forget Mom's great chicken cordon bleu, preferably made with Velveeta.


Spanish food has been recently introduced to America in the form of tapas, but American children are still rarely, if ever, put in contact with any food from Spain beyond olives and Spanish peanuts.


German food in America is often limited to pastries, schnitzel, sauerkraut and bratwurst.  Every grandma in American has her own version of German Chocolate Cake.


Greek restaurants have come to most cities, so American's have heard of souvlaki and moussaka, although the percentage of those outside Greek communities who have actually eaten them is probably small.  


The gist of this introduction is to point out to the reader that most Americans can say they know something about foods of Europe until you mention Portugal.  In an earlier blog, I mentioned grilled sardines, stuffed squid and chourico mouro, blood sausage, and while I suppose I really didn't say anything that would make one run right out and look for a Portuguese restaurant, just reading back over that blog make me salivate.  Conditioning, Pavlov would probably say.


One of my favorite places to eat in Portugal is a place named "Restaurante Derrapagem" which is on the corner of a busy coastal highway and a narrow two lane street that leads to a train station and a bustling shopping area.  The corner on which the restaurant is situated is sharp, thus the name which roughly translates to "Skidding Tires Restaurant."  They serve a fish dish that consists of two 6" or 8" fish placed in a circle so that the tail of one is in the mouth of the other.  The fish are crisp and tasty, served with a crusty bread, some boiled potatoes, and a small salad.   Wine is available only in a pottery carafe, whether you order red or white - the only bottle wine they sell is vinho verde, a slightly effervescent white wine, vintage yesterday.  This is a family restaurant - I remember seeing a young girl, perhaps 12, sitting at a small table doing her schoolwork, occasionally asking the lady in charge for some help.  Her older brothers would come in from time to time and the last time I was there, one of them waited on me.  That fish dish has it's own real name, but I've always thought of it as "The Fish With Its Head Up Its Ass," and in spite of my name for it, it has been delicious every time I've tried it.


When you have a home that you only visit once a year or so, when you arrive, the first thing you need to do is pull the covers off the furniture, open the windows, and let the place air out.  Such was our little one-bedroom apartment on the Marginal in São João do Estoril.   Our choice of flights usually put us into Lisbon's Portela Airport around 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning.  By the time we'd retrieved our luggage, wound through customs, and picked a rental car, it would be close to 9:00 AM.  A shorter route to Estoril is available via the A5 Auto Estrada da Costa do Estoril, but it is rather like driving on I-85 through Georgia - fast but not much to see, so I've always preferred to drive into Lisbon and out the Marginal.  I'd be tired, but seeing the city, driving along the coast and seeing the sights, no matter how familiar they'd become, was the way I'd want to start my stay.  We'd get to the apartment, unload the car, open windows, make the bed, hang up clothes and then get back in the car.  We'd drive on up the coast through Estoril, Cascais, past the Boca do Inferno, and out along the Guincho beachs.   By this time, we'd be ready for lunch, so we go up into the hills though the eucalyptus grove to the small town of Malveira da Serra and a restaurant named O Camponês that was always busy, but always seemed to have room for us.  


Before the waiter would even bring the menu, he would place a half dozen or so appetizer plates on the table.  If you ignore them, no charge.  If you eat from a couple of them, you are charged for the plate, but not the others.   In other words, they ain't free like the nachos or bread sticks you get in American restaurants, a fact I learned the hard way.


The house specialty is a dish made from dried cod, potatoes, onion and cream called Bacalhau com Natas.  While the Portuguese say there are more dried cod recipes than there are days in the year, this is by far my favorite.   It is rich, creamy and delicious.


The owner of this particular restaurant also owns another one nearby, a bit more upscale and my choice over the two for dining at night.  The second one, Adega do Zé Manel, features a stone facade and vaulted stone ceilings inside with small rooms all about a central hall, providing a sense of privacy in a rather popular restaurant.  The times I've eaten there I usually had whatever cod dish was available and once had their Vitela Mariscos (Veal with Shellfish) that melted in my mouth.  However, neither the cod nor the veal are what comes to my mind when I think of  Adega do Zé Manel.  The first time I was there I was introduced to Bolo de uísque, or whisky cake.  Hardly a fancy pastry, it was a piece of hardy chocolate cake with a creamy chocolate frosting served in a shallow bowl.  In the bottom of the bowl was a healthy dram of scotch whisky.  Just typing this my mouth begins to water.    


My (now former) brother-in-law had a neighbor who owned several restaurants in Lisbon and often insisted that we all come to one of them when we were in town, and he always insisted on picking up the check.  He found out that I had a particular liking for Bolo de uísque and would serve me his version, which was a piece of good chocolate cake served with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black. 


That same neighbor once sent lunch to that same brother-in-law when he knew we'd be there.  The contents of the main meal escape me, but the standout was a small (8" or so) wheel of Portuguese mountain cheese that had been warmed in the oven and wrapped in foil.   After the main course, we opened the foil and cut away a circle of the rind on top, revealing a warm, smooth, rich, creamy cheese that we could dip out with a knife and eat on crusty bread.  I ate too much of it and afterwards had to sprawl out on a sofa for an afternoon nap.  Or maybe it was because I drank more wine with the bread and cheese.


There are many other Portuguese dishes that I like.   Caldeirada de Peixe, a fish stew is a delight to those who like fish.  Cataplana, a seafood stew with chorizo, linguica, clams, shrimp, mussels and fish.  Lingueirão, razor clams or jacknife clams (because they resemble a closed pocket knife), served steamed with a crusty bread is a favorite, particularly in some of the seaside restaurants out in the country.

The foods I've written about here are not the Portuguese version of haute cuisine, but rather the kind of food you get in their down-home version of a restaurants.  Sort of their version of comfort food.   Even  Adega do Zé Manel which I described as more upscale isn't as terribly expensive as the places in touristy Cascais or on the Praça Dom Pedro IV in Lisbon.  


For readers who live near Athens, GA, I'm afraid you'll either have to look up recipes and cook the dishes yourself, or do without.  There are no Portuguese restaurants in the area.  For readers in Maryland or thereabouts, one of my favorite restaurants in your area is Nova Europa in the Kemp Mill Shopping Center in Montgomery County. A little pricey, but worth it.   If you happen to go there when the special is braised veal shank, look no further.  It is as near to heaven you'll get without going through the Pearly Gates.

Let me not leave without dispelling the notion that I might only like Portuguese food.   In future blogs I plan to talk about a favorite Greek restaurant (alas, it is no longer in business) in Waldorf, MD, some Italian restaurants I've enjoyed, a seafood restaurant hidden away in New Hampshire, and other dining delights I've known.

Thank you for reading.  Pleaser feel free to comment in the space provided if you so desire.

Food in Portugal

I've spent more time in Portugal than any other country outside the United States except Germany and perhaps Vietnam, and I've definitely eaten better there than Vietnam. I was married to Herminia (Mimi), a Portuguese lady, for nearly twenty four years, and although the marriage went bust, my taste for Portuguese food remains. The first time I went to Portugal, my (now - ex-)wife's niece took us out to lunch the very first day we were there. We went to a place in Cascais that was somewhat crowded with people who appeared to be on their lunch hour. Mimi and Anabela ordered without letting me have any input, and even when it was served, they wouldn't tell me what it was. On the plate were three tubular shaped things (for lack of a better word) that were stuffed with a combination of something chewy and some chouriço with garlic. Also on the plate was some salad and boiled potato chunks. Immediately, Anabela offered me a small pitcher and told me it was to pour over my potatoes. One taste told me it was a very nicely flavored olive oil. To this day, I prefer olive oil on my boiled potatoes. When it was obvious that I was really enjoying my meal, they told me it was stuffed squid. I chided them both because Mimi especially should have known that I am willing to try almost everything at least once.

That day also happened to be the Friday before the annual Festa de Santo António, or Feast of St Anthony, a Portuguese Saint, and we'd been invited to a family get together in the country. After a brief afternoon nap, Anabela picked us up at our hotel and we went to the party. Now, while Mimi and I had been married for a time, I'd never been to Portugal and had never met any of her family. Well, that night changed it all. There were cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, babies, old folks, teenagers and this one American who spoke no Portuguese other than a few phrases. The country home where the party was held was a decent size small villa, about the size of an American ranch-style brick house, only square rather than rectangular, and covered with stucco, and a large back yard, completely surrounded by an 8 foot stucco wall. The ground was mostly bare from grass and tamped firm, but along each side there were two large oak trees from which hung two small wooden barrels. As I was introduced around, one family member or another would hand me a tasty bit, sometimes on plain bread, sometimes a small, rolled-up pastry stuffed with bits of meat, and always, my wine glass was kept full from the barrels hanging in the trees.

As the party moved into the yard, I was approached by two pretty, young ladies of college age, who spoke perfect English, albeit with an accent that suggested London more than New York, Washington or Atlanta. In exchange for telling them about life in my country, they kept me fed. The most interesting course was grilled sardines about the size of the brook trout I used to catch in New Hampshire. The fish is prepare by washing under cold running water to rub away the tougher scales, salted with a heavy salt, and grilled. Note I said nothing about gutting the fish. They don't. You hold the grilled fish by its tail and peel the meat down both sides to a piece of crusty bread. When you've peeled away the meat, there is a small, curled up bit of flesh inside the rib cage, the remnants of what they don't clean by gutting. But - the fish is delicious. Not just tasty, it is delicious. Rich in flavor, decidedly moist, and slightly fishy. Delicious, it is by far my favorite Portuguese meal.

They had been roasting a pig all day and it was the next course. Not unlike our barbecue, but without the sauces that are so common in my country, you just get the smoky, rich goodness. Following that was the only course I didn't like, blood sausage. My mother had liked it but my father apparently didn't and I'd never eaten it until I was an adult. It's not the name that turned me off, it was the taste and texture. I just didn't like it, so to be polite, I ate the serving I was given, but politely declined the offer of seconds. When I'd lived in Germany, I had tried several different types of their Blutwurst, and the Portuguese experience just reinforced my opinion that it was not to my liking.

Once the various meat courses had been finished, out came the sweets. Arroz doce, or sweet rice, a rich pudding made with rice, eggs, milk and a lot of stirring, was an early favorite, along with cakes and pastries of all sorts. Then came the topper. Pastéis de nata, an egg custard pastry that is to die for. Nothing had prepared me for it - were I not stuffed full of red wine and sardines and pork and sausages, I'd have eaten a dozen.

At this time, the fire over which they'd roasted the pig was stoked up, more wood added and the younger children began leaping over it as if it was a traditional game. I was surprised that no adults seem to be paying them much attention, as if they knew what the kids were up to. I found out later that a couple of the older boys were watching pretty closely.

Soon, the fact that we'd spent the entire previous night in an airplane over the Atlantic Ocean became apparent and we started hinting that it was time to go.  We finally got back to our hotel around 3 AM, exhausted.