a feast in the sand

Under flapping umbrellas bleaching in the sun, young men with smoking grills shout out the names of fish in any language they think you might understand. It's always "verrry good!" and "très frais!"— and they aren't lying. We picked a faded green umbrella and got down to negotiating a price for a feast. As we settled on something around twelve bucks, a burly man approached us offering a pot of tea for a couple of dirhams. We were led to a plastic table by a boy who vigorously wiped it down, then scurried off in the sand to help with the scaling of our fish.



It's really so simple; fresh fish, a little salt, some lemon... maybe a few oysters or urchins? Wash it all down with syrupy sweet mint tea, and enjoy the sun.

oysters

In a restaurant on the edge of a turquoise lagoon, we found our lunch. Fresh from the Atlantic, we dined on spider crab legs, urchin roe, and a dozen of Oualidia's famous oysters— the largest oysters I've ever seen!



The oysters were served with lemon wedges, and a vinegar flavoured with onions and radishes— a beautiful combination of sweetness, tartness, and sea. Their cool briny flesh melted on my tongue, the sensation returning me to my early twenties in Rhode Island. On a whim, a couple of friends and I decided to pool our money together for oysters and martinis in Newport one day— a very, very rare treat for so-called starving artists. I think we managed a martini and two oysters each, though I seem to recall that we took more pleasure in the contrast between our posh surroundings, our combat boots, tattoos, and coloured hair. Here in Oualidia, oysters are offered to any passerby from baskets on the backs of motorbikes— men of all ages patrol the sands with blades, lemons, and the same baskets, with a "Huîtres? Huîtres?"



Lately I have become acutely aware of the passage of time— I suppose this is normal for someone nearing forty. So much has happened and changed since that day in Newport! I never would have believed it if someone had whispered to me then that I would find the love of my life in Istanbul, that we would one day be enjoying oysters on a beach in Morocco, and that they would taste so sweet.

a farewell feast

There was one stop we had to make on our way to the airport, and this was to look for some Trumpeter Finches in Juncalillo del Sur. When we passed a lonely penitentiary, I marveled at how birds can take you to some pretty random places; from the inside of a volcano in Eastern Turkey for example, to a sewage treatment plant in North Cyprus. I could have lived happily without ever visiting the latter.

At some point while watching a delightful troupe of finches inspect the vegetation, I began to feel hungry, and became anxious at the thought of missing the opportunity to grab lunch before catching the plane back to Morocco. Luckily Pedro seemed to read my mind, and we soon packed up the telescope and set off in search of food. Things were looking pretty grim with little more than dive bars on offer, until we came across a lovely little restaurant by the water called Mama Gata, which offered a fine array of seafood.

Octopus? Limpets? Assorted fried fish and papas? Yes. Yes. Yes— why yes, I'll give those little potatoes another chance!



Oh I was such a happy traveler!

thank you, my sea

And thank you dear ocean, for such lovely gifts! Fire, fish, salt, and lemon— is there a finer combination of ingredients? Well maybe some olive oil and garlic too...



Dare I say it? Morocco's seafood might have Turkey's beat— but then, I'm a real sucker for sardines...

it all began with a salad

Lucky for us, our friend E, who came to Essaouira with us, is as enthusiastic about fish feasts as we are!

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.

it's all in the sauce

Everyone knows that the words "French" and "food" are so tightly tied together, so we expected we would eat well in Toulouse. Our first night was an exploration of hearty, regional cuisine— a delicious duck cassoulet for me, and a tender hunk of pork in a honey sauce for Pedro, followed by a warm apple pie drizzled in chocolate.



The following night we dined on a delicately curried seafood salad, and Moules Marinières with frites— the sauce was so good that it was easy to spy fellow patrons scooping it up with the empty shells and sucking it out with a slurp!

i really do more than just eat

I realise that it looks like all I do in Portugal is eat, but I also look at art, visit historical sites, bird watch, contribute to collaborative doodles on paper tablecloths... But yes, it's mostly a lot of eating exquisite meals with family and friends.



I had no idea that Jello was so popular here!
I bet you're getting tired of food posts by now, no?

good food, good friends

There isn't much better in life!