I started to post on social media about the top five things I ate in Portugal, then I started to scroll through more photos and it turned into the top eight, then onto the top sixteen things, then into five hundred words about the things I ate, and then finally realizing maybe a better format for that information would be something like this.
We had done our due diligence on reading about the general cuisine of the region, but no amount of researching beforehand prepared us for how much meat, cheese, fish, and bread the Portuguese consumed. It’s baffling.
Breakfast? Meat, cheese, bread, maybe fish. An espresso. Lunch? Meat, bread, cheese, light beer. That order. Dinner? Meat, wine, cheese, bread, fish, olive oil, canned fish, grilled meat, bread, soft cheese, hard cheese, wine, grilled meat, wine. It may sound like this is a complaint. Because I agree, a green vegetable or two sounds like a welcome party to this cacophony of yellow and beige. But it’s not. This is a celebration. This is a revelry and this is a triumph.
Superbock. First the beer, then onto the food. It’s the best light beer I’ve ever had. End all be all. Emily went to a gift shop in Porto to buy me a Superbock shirt. She then went back to that gift shop to get another one because it didn’t fit right. I’ve already checked to see if Total Wine carries it. They don’t. We are superfans. It’s the perfect accompaniment to grilled sausages, canned sardines, or a walk along the Douro River. Until next time, Superbock.
Sardine on Sourdough. One of the beautifully unplanned things about our trip is that the first day we arrived was the national day of Portugal. We had been traveling for 16 hours and ended up getting on three different planes, both of us had headaches, I accidentally made Emily cry, etc. But when we finally got there, Lisbon was a party, so we had no choice but to party with them. Superbock everywhere. There were pop-up charcoal grills on seemingly every street corner serving sardines, pork sandwiches, sea bass, you name it. The key to eating a grilled sardine is to cut the head off, remove the spine, and then indulge on the flaky, salty grilled meat underneath the scales. 1 Euro. A perfect snack. Best eaten on June 10th, the day of Portugal.
Pastel de Nata. An egg custard tart set in a flaky, crispy pastry cup. Very yellow. They’re on every street corner and even at McDonalds. The key to finding a good one is to pick one with a good amount of char. It’s truly a perfect pastry. Unassuming, slightly messy, and usually eaten in three bites. Emily and I had one almost every morning.
Grilled Branzino (sea bass) and Potatoes. More yellow and beige, I know. The host sits us next to two lovely folks from the U.K. “Get the vinho verde,” they say. We did, and for 2 Euros our server presents us with a full pitcher of tart green wine. 20 minutes later and halfway through the pitcher, the lovely couple leaves and is replaced by a couple from Portugal. Our fish comes, we chat, they don’t speak much English, but I think there’s a universal language for the recognition of a good dinner guest. One thing leads to another and our new friend is cutting off slices of her pork and putting them on our plate. We think about sharing our wine, but we’re selfish and we don’t, and we delightfully chat for another hour or so amidst our severely broken Portuguese and their admiral English. We leave, say obrigado, and are replaced by another couple waiting for a table. The cycle continues. She said her pork had too much salt but I think the seasoning was perfect.
Bifana. Color scheme checks out. It’s a thin pork steak simmered in white wine, garlic, vinegar, paprika, and bay leaf. It’s then grilled to order and stuffed in a roll with mustard. Think of it like the Portuguese answer to an American ballpark hotdog. I don’t want to be the guy who goes abroad and claims that “they just do things so much better over there,” but not even my love for a hotdog outweighs my affection for the simplicity of this sandwich. Sometimes three ingredients is all you need.
Grilled Linguica (sausage). Presented in a clay pot with the bottom filled with alcohol, then lit on fire. Served with cheese and bread (not pictured but you can guess the color). You use a fork to turn over the sausages to your liking. We ordered this in a town named Óbidos from a local celebrity Bruno who owned the place. All day he serves these sausages while pleasantly smiling at the tourists (Emily and I) who exclaim “OOOOOH!” and loudly clap when he flicks the lighter underneath the meat to start the fire. In most situations I try to not be the tourist, but in this one I had no choice. Come on. Just look at that flame.
Canned Mussels and Octopus. Finally, some color! Most people shudder at the idea of tinned fish and truthfully I was the same not long ago. I’m happy to say this converted me. Famous Lisbon establishment Sol e Pesca served us these two beautiful bowls of oily preserved fish. You pick whatever can of fish you fancy from the wall and ask for it “house style” and wait for whatever “house style” is to hit your table. These were mussels with tomato, parsley, and chives. Then there was octopus in olive oil and tarragon. With a side of some guitar and saxophone from street buskers next door. One of the most lovely lunches we’ve ever had.
Bacalhau (salted cod). Affectionately nicknamed “loyal friend” by the Portuguese. This is basically the national dish of Portugal. It’s served in soups, on sandwiches, canned, tinned, raw. On every menu you’ll see. The funny thing is that codfish doesn’t even exist off the coast of Portugal. It never did. Bacalhau was brought over by Newfoundland fisherman in the 1500s and the country never looked back. Traditionally it’s cured, dehydrated (to survive to trip across the Atlantic), and then rehydrated to serve. We had bacalhau many ways, but this was our favorite. Served razor thin with parsley, garlic, chili oil, and eaten on crostini.
Francesinha. The quintessential yellow and beige food of Portugal. There is no short description for this behemoth of a sandwich, but the name translates to “little frenchie,” and it’s native to Porto. The late Anthony Bourdain famously said “good lord look at thing” as it hit his plate at the famous Cafe O Afonso. The one we had was at the same restaurant, because it’s Bourdain, and why wouldn’t you? This was the best thing I ate. It’s almost exhausting to break it down, but I’ll try my best: steak, mortadella, linguica, chorizo, and cheese stacked on top of white bread. Covered by more cheese and another slice of white bread. THEN, this already 1,000 calorie culinary beast is layered with four more slices of cheese, topped with a poached egg, and drowned in a tomato/beer/port wine/worcestershire (whatsyoursister) gravy. Wide eyed, we silently dove into this dish with a fork and knife and resurfaced 10 minutes later. A pure dream of indulgence.
Thanks for reading some of my rambling. I hope to make some of these dishes for friends and family soon. Cheers!
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