the great momo divide

I love my momos steamed, while Pedro prefers his kothey—lightly fried.
How do you like your momos?

follow your nose

As we were studying the gulls at the marina in Vila Nova de Gaia, I suddenly became distracted by the scent of something delicious on the breeze. It was charcoal and fish, and my stomach began to nag me. While Pedro furiously photographed a gull that intrigued him, I began to search the sky above the nearby houses for any trace of smoke. I tried dropping some subtle hints about lunch, but the gull was far too interesting, and all Pedro gave me was an unenthusiastic "mm-hmm".

The idea of barbecued seafood got stuck in my brain, and eventually I declared it was time to eat. The scent had now found its way to Pedro's nose, and off we went in search of its origin.



Though I have a keen sense of smell, it was the smoke that brought us to an unassuming street corner tavern with a grill on the sidewalk and a line of people waiting to get in. With a nod of acknowledgement from a waiter who flew in and out of the building with plates and chilled bottles of wine, we took our place with the other hopefuls, leaning against a pole on the opposite side of the street. It was not long before a table for two opened up inside, and we were crammed in between a jovial group of thirty-somethings and a couple of intimidated Spaniards.

Would we like a salad? Of course. And some wine? Yes please. Yes to the cuttlefish, and yes to the skewers of assorted seafood.



I toyed with the idea of posting an unflattering photo from a series that Pedro took of my happy grin all coated in cuttlefish ink, but I will spare you the horror. It is pretty awesome though, and needless to say, the meal was incredible.



And we weren't done! There was dessert, coffee, and a mysterious xiripiti that the waiter was gleefully pouring into tiny glasses from a three legged can with a spout...



We joyfully swaggered out of the tasca, leaving behind a speedy portrait of the girl at the register, and Pedro's cartoon drawing of me with ink-stained teeth (which you can see in the above photo of the cake). The light was changing, and there were more birds to see.

dinner and a doodle

Portugal's paper placemats and tablecloths were meant for restless hands and their pens!

bitoque

It was in the seaside town of Nazaré that I enjoyed my first bitoque, a hammered steak (pork, in this case) topped with a fried egg and served with rice and chips. Oh yes, and an insignificant little salad. I normally opt for the sumptuous bifana when stopping for a quick bite, but this day, this was the day of the bitoque.



All that creamy yolk running down the steak, coating the rice...
So simple, and so very good!

emptying pens of their ink

your call is important to us

This is what happens when I get put on hold.