The World Is Your Cloister

A few photos from Portugal.

Second day in Lisbon. Denial is a disease and so is the common randovirus. I had both. Therefore, dinner was gizzards, rotting Galician-style octopus and a flaming linguiça to settle the stomach. 

Photo by Klary, fire by magic

A very bad dinner

I needed to go lie down and contemplate the inconvenience of imminent death, but not before sending Nick and Klary off to get drinks at this place I'd heard good things about from what I thought was a reliable source. Turns out the drinks weren't any good, so it's a source I won't use again.

After 36 hours of feeling crappy, I was starving for something plain but substantial. We walked over to Bom Jardim for the frango with piri piri sauce.

We got a whole chicken.

I don't ever have anything nice to say about chicken breasts, including this one.

But we were really there for the hot sauce, having read so much about how spicy and great it is.

Lies! The hot sauce was lame and we decided that the meal needed 1) mayo and 2) pickles. In abundance.

Nick demonstrated the employment of dual faculties very competently.

We ended up in a little wine bar near the castle in Alfama.

Someone tried to give this underage child a huge glass of Vinho Verde, but we pried it out of his small brown hand.

Nick discovered ginjinha (sour cherry liqueur) here and loved it.

Everything smelled like orange blossoms.

We went to another wine bar, ordered booze and snacks, got happier.

And had a dinner so unbelievably nasty that it made us delirious with misdirected glee.

 A Casa do Bacalhau is a new restaurant in an old warehouse. It serves about 30 cod dishes and that's about it.

Cod tongues in cream were the only thing we managed to eat.

Skipping photos of the other dishes to get to the pièce de résistance, cod cheeks. There was a single scallop of meat on it; Nick got it, and it made him angry. There really is no way to overstate how bad this was. How do you ruin cod in Portugal, and how do you ruin cod cheeks, the most forgiving ingredient, like, ever? Sad sad, mad mad.

But we just got happier and happier, even Nick.

And then maybe we wanted to taste ginjinha again. I'm not sure. But happy may have turned into stupid at some point. And that was great too.

Conserveira de Lisboa sells nothing but tinned fish. Sardine eggs, smoked eel, gorgeous Portuguese Ventresca. It was crowded in there. Nick kept his distance and took pictures. And I ended up with about three kilos in excess luggage.

For some reason, we got this slice of apple and almond tart. I covered it with salt.

This breadstick was "the best Cheeto I've ever had".

He got excited about this art. Possibly real deal poop. The genuine article. Authentication pending.

Took the tram into Belém to try the famous dang natas, Portuguese vanilla custard tarts, at Pastéis de Belém. 

The custard tasted like a codfish with an infection. But we also still had PTSD from dinner.

 This was so good. Hake roe. Although nobody else was interested in it.

Veal chop.

Almond amarguinha that tasted like paint thinner. By this point, everything bad we ate or drank just made us more euphoric.

Couldn't get a plain ice cube at Cinco Lounge, so we got this. A taste of Gin Mare spoiled by this ridiculous looking Christmas ornament in my glass.

Mm. Queijada de Sintra.

And then I ordered it again, in a tea shop, for research purposes.

We fell in love with this sweet and salty yeast cake from Azores, especially for ham and cheese sandwiches.

Percebes

In the crab shell is a mixture of crab, guts, mustard, pickles and port

We liked it

Sitting across from Gallagher here had Nick picking crab shrapnel out of his eyelashes for days

He still smells like crab

Prego no Pão... "nailed" or tenderized rare steak on a roll. The only obvious way to end a lavish seafood spread.

 Oh yeah. We ate cheese too.