MiguelCardoso

My admiration for Luis Garcia just grows and grows. It's truly remarkable that the most requested restaurant on earth finds the time to carefully go through every application and goes to the trouble of not only acknowledging one's e-mails but of actually responding, in such a courteous way. We have now been offered a firm reservation in Mid-May (greedily accepted and confirmed, of course!) and, since I asked no one to intercede in my favour, I am very impressed and humbled, being a complete stranger to El Bulli. I was told by many friends that you could only get a table if you had connections - something I always refused to believe, given Adrià's and his team's philosophy. I'm glad to be a witness that the "mafia" slur is indeed a load of tosh. Those I know who've actually been there all say they made their way on their own or with a friend who invited them. El Bulli could easily take the easy way and fill their restaurant with establishment types, insiders and media people - or just fill up with the classic first-come-first-served. But no - Luis Garcia makes a point of reading each submission and answering them personally, so that enthusiastic people like me who will make the trip at any available date just for the experience of dining there won't be forgotten, even if this means refusing so many more local customers. I think this is admirable and I have to say, even before the first bite, it's contributed most positively to the El Bulli experience. Seasoned diners know that the way one's treated as a complete stranger is an integral part of the enjoyment. "Getting in" through subterfuge or connections somehow taints the pleasure. Furthermore, being unwilling to assassinate the beautiful Castilian language - much less make a mockery of my purely instinctive Catalan - I always wrote in Portuguese, my natural language. I was perfectly understood and received elegant replies in lovely, old-fashioned Castilian. I imagine the same would have happened in English, French or Italian - in El Bulli's case, its cosmopolitanism is absolute - another wonderful example. I would encourage others not to attempt garbled or perfunctory Catalan or Castilian and go with their own languages - given their sincere internationalism, it might even count as a plus when considering submissions. The "little old me factor" is extremely important and bless Luis Garcia, Ferran Adrià and the whole team for showing such solidarity and not forgetting themselves - the privilege of true nobility. P.S. Thanks for the suggestion, Rogelio - it sounds ideal!

Oh Molly, those scallops are our absolute favourites too... They don't always have them - I'm so glad you were lucky! You really should open a Foodies' Detective Agency - your combined skills are amazing. I realize you have a strong local network of spies and scouts - the kind the CIA dream of having! - but it's the way you direct them in a pragmatic, no-nonsense way, obtaining results with seemingly no effort, that makes the team. I'm running out of puzzles (but please don't benefit the world wide web with their phone numbers!) but I'm preparing a few for your next visit, with considerable prizes. I can't deny a secret wish that at least one will floor you - an unfriendly thought but inspired by your proficiency. If you are unable to crack it (oh what joy!) I myself. as penance for harbouring such "schadenfreund", will spell out all the details - including here. Do have the scrambled eggs with "farinheira" (a soft, floury pimento-flavoured sausage) when you go to Galito! Thank you for your reports - I'd move to Portugal if I didn't already live here. :)

Pedro: You can certainly find the Consorcio anchovies (indeed from Santoa) here in Lisbon in the Club Gourmet, so I imagine they export them to neighbouring Spain. ;) A word of warning: the big 250gs tins, though much cheaper, aren't properly packed: they're too loose and the layers are separated by ineffectual strips of waxed papers. I'd go every time for the small 50 gs tins - though they do work out annoyingly more expensive. My favourite anchovies are still the Ortiz anchovies, in small jars, those with their silvery skins still on. You usually get a very nifty free anchovy fork with each one. Considerably cheaper but still superb are Imperio del Oriente and even Miau. All these brands are listed online on the Corte Inglés supermarket website - no need to go to the Club Gourmet: have them delivered! When I do need supplies which aren't listed (generally because they're in the Club Gourmet) all it takes is a phone call and they'll include it in your order. Including all the wines and olive oils, of course, as well as freshly cut jamón ibérico and even live lobsters. It's no exaggeration to say I don't know how I ever lived without their superb delivery service. In the summer, they now deliver to the Algarve. I'm sorry if this sounds like an advertisement. I once wrote a long article extolling the pleasures and wonders of my twice-weekly online orders to the Corte Inglés (which include, of course, back-breaking hectolitres of bottled water - in glass, of course!) and how agreeable it was. My father-in-law's disdainful comment: "Rica vida...!" (translation: "It's a hard life, to be sure.")

Here's a funny thing. Being Portuguese, I'd never normally dream of trying Spanish olive oils as I'll die before I've tasted all the many olive oils of Portugal. This happens with an enormous amount of foodstuffs we share, so that Portugal is certainly more ignorant of Spanish products than, say, Hungary. It's easier to find Spanish food in Lithuania than it is in Portugal, because both countries tend to produce the same things. They are very faraway countries and I don't think you can appreciate either without understanding this. However, this is a great tragedy. I learnt the sadness when I was a student in England and, much against my upbringing, was "forced" to buy Spanish olive oil - not after I'd tried Greek, Turkish, French, Italian, Morrocan and found them wanting for my culinary purposes. In Portugal, Spain is known as a mass producer with little attention to subtleties and individuality - it's just this big, enormous, flyblown, irredeemably greasy and mostly arid and unhygienic country which annoyingly stands between us and France like a gigantic buffer zone, made up of several proud nations that should, by rights, be independent. I'm exaggerating but not much. Spain to Portugal is "flyover", like the American Midwest. Being so close, it's amazing how much we miss. How can we ever understand Europe without Spain? Not for lack of trying. It's these horrid preconceptions we're currently fighting, thanks to democracy and the EC - but they're there all the same. Given this framework, I was quite taken aback when tasting Spanish olive oils. In Portugal, we're ultra-sensitive to the slightest distances - so there are at least nine distinct regional styles in olive oil - but here we were ignoring a spectacularly diverse country ten times our size. Anyway, olive oils all depend on the particular olive trees (and variety of olives of course) and climate and, when properly made, are as unique as wines. The Spanish olive oil we use at home (as Portuguese, used to beautiful olive oil) is absolutely delicious and inexpensive and should be available through export, as I buy it in the Spanish El Corte Inglés: al-Manzar (de olivares centenarios) made by Aceites Viana, in Garciéz (Jaen, natch) by Damián Salcedo. For instance, to slowly cook those piquillo peppers (shaking the frying pan to create the sauce) you asked about. There are a lot of far superior olive oils but you can only get them outside Spain if you have a friendly grocer. P.S. El Navarrico is a very good, reliable brand for piquillo peppers. It's what larders are made for!

I agree with Luís, although Portucale is an acquired taste. I love it as it's pure 50s (Sr. Eugénio de Azevedo, the maitre d', is an institution) but the food is pure 50s too, i.e. very rich and a little over the top. If you want a taste of the 19th Century at 19th Century prices, with old aristocratic service, Chanquinhas in Leça da Palmeira is magnificent. The Bull and Bear is indeed wonderful, thanks to Miguel Castro e Silva but he's often somewhere else in Europe so I'd make sure he was there when you go. He's an amazing artist and his food is unique. Porto is full of great restaurants. Matosinhos is to fish restaurants what Las Vegas is to gambling or Mecca to Muslims: a hundred or so superb establishments, practically door-to-door. You can't really go wrong but I'd recommend, for shellfish, Marisqueira Antiga and, for very simple fish expertly cooked (and ridiculously expensive, but worth it for the atmosphere which is Spartan to say the least), Rosinha. Fernando is enormous and canteen-like and gets through a ton of fresh fish a day, though the quality is very high. It's interesting because it still acts as if fish was a cheap alternative to meat - a rare experience. You must try the hake and octopus fillets at Aleixo, in the Campanhã - unsurpassable and the best-seasoned salad in Portugal too. Another cheap, all-round restaurant with ridiculously high standards is Casa Nanda. In Porto, you want to enjoy the coexistence of truly bourgeois cooking (Chanquinhas); new Portuguese cooking (Bull and Bear; the beautiful Norte overlooking the Douro) and resolutely traditional food (Nanda; Aleixo; Mariazinha mentioned by Luís; Rosinha; Fernando). For the best octopus and rice I've ever tasted - a secret recipe involving red wine, bacon, onions - you should definitely go to Veleiros. It's always full but you can get in if you say you support Benfica as the owner, Senhor Mário, is a fanatic. The fish which is best around Porto (better than anywhere else in Portugal, which is saying a lot) is black hake (pescada) and flounder (rodovalho). The small, red shrimp (camarão da costa) is astounding and now in season, though you must phone ahead (Marisqueira Antiga, for instance) to assure there's a catch that day. In Porto all fish is eaten practically the moment it's landed - many restaurants (the best) make a point of not having refrigerators except for wine, ice-cream and other non-perishables. Be wary of recommendations from friends in Porto - they're so used to eating well that they're fascinated by cool and trendy new places and tend to forget the reliable stand-bys where they go when they're truly hungry. Finally, the Infante de Sagres is lovely, truly old-fashioned but efficient. It's my mother's favourite hotel in Porto (and Amália Rodrigues' too!). I usually stay at the Méridien, which is also great - and I mean great. I hope you enjoy your trip!

For what it's worth, I did what I usually do when a reservation is difficult and my interest is high: I will take any day, as long as I have a week's notice. Then I'll plan a whole trip around the meal. I figure it's much easier for me to adapt to El Bulli's impossible schedule than vice-versa. I've done this only twice before and, thanks to serindipity and a lot of pleasurable planning (which I love), I've been rewarded with very memorable gastronomic excursions. In case I'm lucky, I wonder whether it would be smarter to fly to Barcelona from Lisbon and hire a car or drive directly from Lisbon? My instinct would be to drive, as I very much enjoy picking up enormous and heavy quantities of food supplies and other useful stuff. When I travel, I do absolutely everything to reduce stress so I don't move from hotel to hotel. Where should I be based? I'd like the most comfortable hotel or parador within decent distance of El Bulli. I appeal to my Spanish brothers for the name of a nice hotel with an interesting radius of not more than 50 kilometres. I'd much rather extensively explore the area around El Bulli than have to drive longer distances (as my wife and I do enjoy our wine) or have to move luggage from onr place to another. What I usually do is trace a 50 kilometre circumference with a compass and choose the central point which has access to the the greatest number of interesting restaurants. In the case of El Bulli, I'm stumped. Does any kind soul have any ideas? Thanks beforehand.

Oh well, Victor. Perhaps one day we'll agree on something. :)

So far as I can see, they're definitely carabineros - though, as Pedro implies, it's shocking to see the heads removed as this is one prawn it should be illegal to behead, such is the goodness of the head - possibly the best of all living crustaceans. I know I'm not trendy - and I do appreciate Alain Ducasse tremendously - but I find it irresponsible and even barbaric to serve carabinero tails. Wasn't it he who memorably and truthfully said "wild turbot without genius is better than genius without wild turbot"? Well then: so much for coherence. By mutilating carabineros ("carabineiros" in Portuguese, but we only have them in the Algarve so they're practically Spanish), he's serving up ignorance and waste (for the sake of colour, perhaps) and he should be condemned for it as, meat-wise, a good langoustine or even a tiger prawn would have been just as effective. What the hell did he do to the heads? I bet he just threw them into one of his shellfish stockpots, the miserable bastard! ;) Carabineros are much better when they're fresh but it's so difficult finding them outside (high/Indian) summer that the delicious creatures seem to stubbornly make a point of keeping their juices and flavour when they're frozen and slowly thawed. They really should always be eaten on the plancha, as Pedro says, with no seasoning except rock salt. Some people cheat with a (very, very) little butter but, again, they're up to it. The best part, I think, are the juices that ooze from the head while they're being grilled and when you separate the heads with a blunt knife. I always sop them up with small nuggets of very porous country bread. Their flavour is astounding: hazelnutty, luscious, heavy with what I can only describe as sweet, briny cocoa paste. The bread then goes in to the cavity in its merciless mission to soak and rub the shell dry. Describing it as a "head" (as well as Adrià's mischievous ongoing references to "gamba brains") has the unfortunate effect of putting off quite a few potential devotees. There are no brains - crustaceans don't have them to speak of. What you get, mainly, are the organs, of which the liver is the most delectable. Another strategy - which does require some will-power, is to forego the bread and do what we Portuguese call "rain on the wet", meaning "adding something delicious to what would already be delicious enough on its own": use the tail (the "lombinho") to dance around the juices with a forkful of meat , coating them in the lovely chestnut brown sauce. Oh my - this is such a cruel topic to bring up in November, Pedro, when the waters have become cold and it's all about shrimps! ;) P.S. I have to defend Alan Davidson - the only British author, along with Elizabeth David, whose books I've reread too many times to count. All his classifications are based on first-hand knowledge and the truth is that the big red Mediterranean gambas are often passed off as carabineros. My father was director-general of fisheries in Portugal for 20 years and then secretary-general of NAFO (the North Atlantic Fisheries Organization) for another 10 before he died. His fishing library was enormous and had all the unpublished FAO and NEAFC classifications and he always said he (er, Alan Davidson) was the only one who knew what he was talking about. Since he's died I'd spent a lot (sometimes $300 on one single volume!) on multilingual official fish classification dictionaries, to keep the library minimally up to date but, day to day, Alan Davidson's books are the ones I find myself reaching for. His "North Atlantic Seafood" is priceless. P.P.S. Jancis Robinson is indeed gustatively challenged - vserna is right. She has managed to fashion a hellish cocktail of ignorance and bad taste which is capable of the miracle of not striking one single chord with anyone who's ever enjoyed wine outside Burgundy. She wrote a considerable book on Portuguese wines about four years ago and it was very encouraging and flattering - except she chose all the wimpiest and most boring wines. A quick critique soon showed she'd tasted nothing except what a small minority of winemakers had sent her. Her husband, who writes for the FT, is very sound though, and well worth following. I expect he pretends to prefer beer when they dine together. ;)

How kind of you to offer, Molly! Fortunately, we have a loyal food-swap pal in the States who, because she regularly needs vast quantities of dark chocolate, sends me all I need. But thanks a lot and do enjoy yourselves! Miguel

Hey, MMerrill! Are you a difficult customer or what? :) Being so assiduous and smart - and that Portuguese son-in-law keeps me law-abiding, no mistake! - here are some suggestions, all duly tried and retried, where you should mention my name as your friend. (Nobody else try this - two strangers already have - because, if you're not on the list, they have orders to treat you like scum. Still very good - but not the best. ;) This time I think you should investigate the following places (Bux would kill me if I suggested you e-mail me for those which cannot be publicly announced): For a great "bacalhau assado" (an enormous "posta" of grilled salt cod, surrounded by hand-smashed roast potatoes in a classic olive oil and garlic sauce) in a healthy, pleasant proletarian setting, at ridiculously low prices, go to Marítima de Xabregas (tel: 218-682-235). The food there is all good but the "bacalhau" is exceptional, as are the gigantic racket-sized veal chops. For autumnal (fally?) home-made food made by a great cook in an enchanting little restaurant in Campo de Ourique, you should try Tasquinha da Adelaide. Be sure to book first, as it's small and very popular. It's moderately expensive but great value. I suggest whatever the cook suggests. Anything made in the oven is sublime. For the experience of a no-frills, absolutely pared down luncheon experience (very cheap), you should try one of the market restaurants. I suggest the one in the Mercado do Lumiar. Go at midday or twelve-thirty at the latest. Great fish and traditional dishes. On the opposite side, for a treat, be sure to make the trip to Guincho where the best seafood restaurant around Lisbon is: Porto de Santa Maria (21-487-9450). Ask for the manager, Senhor Galveias. Lovely service; view; everything. Again in Guincho, for the best fried Dover sole (I've mentioned it before and Rogelio reported brilliantly on it) is João Padeiro (21 487 1007). A little away from Guincho (but nearer on the A5 from Lisbon) is a very typical Sunday ranch, called Farta-Pão. It's hidden away near Malveira da Serra and there are always long lines but, if you arrive around midday or after two-thirty, you should be OK. Here what you want is the magnificent "cozido à portuguesa" which you will compare to the Castilian, Galician, Austrian and Italian versions of boiled meats and vegetables and most probably conclude that this is *cough* so much better. Don't forget to ask for the "caldo" (the broth) beforehand. The bread is legendary. A great Alentejan restaurant in Lisbon, where the cook, Dona Gertrudes, is 80 years old and has written a seminal book, is Galito. It's near the Estrada da Luz; her son is called Senhor Henrique but I'm not going to say more. In Estoril, for a marvellous Chinese restaurant which operates at a loss just because the owner, billionaire Stanley Ho, needs a place to receive his business partners and guests, go to Mandarim in the Estoril Casino. The cooks and the cooking are exquisitely Chinese and the prices, for such luxury, are paltry. If you'd like to try a rustic fisherman-and-son restaurant (the father fishes every night; the son serves) with pristine fish and a lovely setting, try to find Bataréu in Setúbal, which is a secret. It's near the ferry and is only open for lunch but that's all I'm saying. After all, you did deduct the way to the most-difficult Solar dos Leitões (to which you should return, for an ever better meal), so I'm not prepared to make it easy for you. I hope this helps and that you all enjoy yourselves! Love, Miguel and Maria João

*giggle* Alas nothing, Lucy... And after all that trouble, too. Aren't these French grannies the most consummate and infuriating "allumeuses"? :)

Here is a story that happened with me at the Brasserie Lipp in the Spring of 1999. I smoke cigarillos (Azorean, handmade) during the day but, after lunch or dinner or at chosen moments when I'm working hard I reward myself with a good Cuban. Of course, if I were wealthier I'd forget about the cigarillos but I can't really afford more than three robustos a day. Sitting in the front room at Lipp with my best friend, we naturally tried to light up before and during our meal (since the waiters and notices encourage all smoking except by pipe) but were charmingly put off by a couple of delightful women sitting right next to us - both well over 70 - who made faces in the most seductive ways. So we went out into the Boulevard to puff away, thinking ourselves real gentlemen. After we'd finished our choucroute, coffee and old Calvados - or whatever it was - we duly brought out the box of very fresh, almost "green" Cohibas robustos we'd just bought a block away, drooled over it and, with no sacrifice, made to get up as we were anxious to check out the new arrivals in the bookshop over the road. However, the lovely ladies, beautifully arranged - with which we'd been talking with in the most animated and interesting fashion - instantly placed their delicate wrists on our hands. "No no", they both said with a heartstopping smile, "these we insist you smoke next to us, as we enjoy the aroma very much". So their protest wasn't against tobacco smoke as such - only against lesser cigarillos and cigars. We puffed away and they made a point of saying it had made a positive contribution to their meal and coffee. I must say we felt quite proud!

John: I wrote on the day or day after Louisa posted her kind reminder.

Thank you so much, LKL Chu, for the heads-up! This is just to say that only two days after I e-mailed asking for a reservation, I received a reply from Luís Garcia: "Apreciado Señor, Le escribo sólo por su tranquilidad de que recibimos su mail. Acabamos de iniciar la gestión de reservas para el 2005 y son incontables las peticiones que están llegando. Tardaremos un poco en leerlas y organizarlas todas pero intentaremos darles una respuesta lo antes posible. Debo explicarles también que la demanda es extraordinaria y nos será del todo imposible poder atender la gran mayoría de peticiones recibidas.Le ruego me indique para cuántas personas desean reservar. Gracias por su interés. Atentamente, Luis Garcia" I thought this was very polite and prompt, arguing against those who've imagined it was useless even to try. I wish a lot of lesser restaurants were as careful and gracious. Kudos to El Bulli! I hope it encourages other eGullet fellow members to keep up hope and get their bids in.

I agree with every sentiment expressed by Victor and have a complete hatred not only of terrorism but of violence and crime of any kind, however subtle and supposedly victimless. Even its "milder" forms - its bullying, arrogance and prepotence - is frightening and corrupting. However, I do think it's gratuitous (and far too harsh) to vehemently blame the victims of these pressures : they are not paying for terror, even though the money they pay may be used for the worst terrors imaginable. Some sympathy should be extended to those chefs (or other people) who just want to get on with their work. With celebrity chefs from the Basque country, the media attention tends to present them as Spanish chefs and a lot of their most outspoken fans come from the richer, more powerful parts of Spain, such as Castile and Catalonia. They are therefore easily seen, by extremists, as potential traitors to the Basque cause - or, at least, sell-outs. They might be viewed as contributing to the projected idea of Spain. So they must be under a lot of pressure to show that - in a sick way - their hearts are in the right place. Mainly, I imagine, they're simply frightened out of their wits. They live there. They know. Many of their customers will be nutjobs and blood bosses. Why should chefs - restaurant owners too - be expected to put their livelihoods and talents on the line to make what are ultimately political points? We all know that Spain is a multinational, multicultural and multilingual state. It's a big problem - even without the bloodthirsty terrorists who are a shame to their own nations. Spain is a problem, even though it's lately followed an intelligent and pluralistic path. We all know, for instance, there's an "understanding" whereby Basque terrorists - due to some perverse fellow feeling for other nationalist aspirations - "go easy" on Catalonia. The same happens, btw, with Galician extremists and Portugal and, back in less civilized times, with the IRA and Ireland. Foodies should get a grip and start trying to get a feel for all the centuries-old sensibilities and aspirations which lie beneath what they casually catalogue as Spanish or British. Both adjectives are equally fraught. Why should we expect of these hardworking people - who live to add to our enjoyment - that they take a stand? They have taken a stand, in their chosen profession. They've excelled. In their own valuable way, they've made Spain more united. Political agendas should be spared them. They - like us - have the right not to participate. All I'm saying is they deserve a little leeway - at least imagine you were in their shoes, wanting to get on with their own work and being threatened by stupid, unreasonable murderers who could unthinkingly kill people in your restaurant. If it is "protection money", as it seems to be, isn't our anger misdirected? Those who cave in and go along with the threats are merely normal, timid human beings. Would we, in the same situation, refuse to be cowered and stake our lives on it? Surely our ire should be focussed on the system of threats and, above all, on the thugs who extract extorsion from those who are merely going about their business. Victims are victims: they're the ones who are frightened and threatened; they're the ones who pay up. Basque culture is far older than all other Iberian cultures and it's not a pacific issue. For extremists - and even democratic nationalists - the attention these chefs receive as being mainly Spanish - from the Basque country, as if it were a region like Extremadura or a state like Texas - is seen as a trump for what they see as the imperialistic, federalist way of Madrid. It's no wonder they are under such pressure. Why shouldn't they just choose the easiest way and pay them off? I'm sure they know how wrong it is. But it's still human. People should be respected according to the happiness they give others. All the accused, as far I can see, can go to heaven on what they've already achieved. They fucked up for the sake of convenience and lack of trouble. Is that such a crime? A little understanding is in order, that's all I'm saying.

I have a few cardinal rules. One is allow every employee his or her dignity. Don't try to befriend them, which actually is a fairly common occurance that Americans are guilty of It works both ways! For every embarrassing American in Europe story there's an equally embarrassing European in America story. I'll never forget, the first few times I was in New York, I thought I'd developed a real friendship with this charming, very knowledgeable bartender at the Bemelsmans Bar at the Carlyle Hotel, before eGulleteer Audrey Saunders took over. We'd had so many conversations - during the emptyish, afternoon off-hours I was there - I kind of thought we were buddies. This also happened with a handful of waiters I'd befriended at other well-known restaurants, bars and hotels, but this was quite shocking. First reaction: "What a sucker!" Being Portuguese, I like distance and formality - there being a very sharp distinction between real friends and the cheery but ultimately artificial and self-serving relationship with favourite waiters and owners - so I was quite unprepared for the friendliness of American (and, even more, Canadian) waiters, specially as it's quite clearly genuine and intelligent, though less plainly conditioned by the particular circumstances and situation. It's very disarming. In her marvellous latest book ("Eat My Words") Mimi Sheraton, when remembering the genesis of The Four Seasons, actually pinpoints the origins and the person responsible for the old "Hi! I'm Michael and I'll be your server for this evening" habit. So imagine how subversive it was, when it first appeared and was expertly employed, to old Euro-foxes like me. Anyway, in another bar I was happy to chance upon this great bartender and naturally said hello. What a "faux pas"! It was like it started raining or something. Although I'd always tipped generously (having been a bartender while I was at university) and brought him books which where according to his interests, what he did was remind me he was off-duty now and, politely, ask me to leave him alone. He was quite right, of course. It was worth the sulk. As a writer, I know how bothersome it is to have people come up and act as if they're old friends, because they've read books of mine. But books hang on, whereas good service is wondrously ephemeral - and easier to get used to... There are roles and places for everything. American waiters are just the same as European waiters: their jobs must be respected and it's just silly to suppose the relationship is special just because they're good at what they do. When it comes down to it, French waiters probably like American customers more than they let on and American waiters like European customers a little less than it appears. In either case, there's no hypocrisy whatsoever - only professionalism. The only difference is in conceptions of distance. Europeans enjoy distance - it allows them to concentrate on their dinner and dining companions. Americans probably prefer comfort and friendliness - it creates the agreeable impression of equality and relativity. Either way, the lesson should be the same: just enjoy. Tomorrow it might be you or me who's serving that European or American waiter in our professional capacity and the very least we could do is try to offer the same quality. Or revenge...!

The greatest obstacle to relaxing is anxiety. The polite, knowledgeable and appreciative American newcomer is particularly prone to anxiety. He (or she, although women are naturally better diners, being more at ease) might: a) be over-excited at the prospect of finally experiencing food they've read a lot about, resulting in over-attentive edginess, worrying whether what they're getting is the best, to the same high standard; fretting over choices and worrying that that one meal might not encapsulate the restaurant's essence; b) be far too self-conscious about being an "outsider" and therefore either be too deferential and accepting (the English, bless them, are experts at this) or, with the same red-hot degree of nervousness, be too critical and even aggressive. Trying too hard to "fit in" is just as annoying as making a point of standing out, as it places unreasonable expectations on the restaurant. c) internalize false expectations of anti-American feeling and compensate by going into ambassatorial/Jimmy Carter mode, apologizing for the imagined sins of their countrymen and making a point of showing "them" that some Americans are just as civilized and sophisticated as that Dominique de Villepin geezer; d) regard what should be an enjoyable occasion as some sort of test, where "they" (the waiters) are a mixed army of dastardly enemy agents out to shame them and "show them up" and friendly, understanding, truly cosmopolitan connoisseurs whose job it is to make them feel confortable; e) in many cases, be afraid of being taken for a chump and "ripped off". This nagging, anxiety-making suspicion is a real killer and its manifestations - an excessive examining and questioning about prices; conference-whispering when unordered items arrive (usually gifts) - have equally deadly consequences, as the restaurant feels its honour and honesty are being questioned; f) burden that dinner with a tremendous "make-or-break", all-or-nothing atmosphere, something unbearably final and decision-making. I often hear charming first-timers tell the head waiter they've been waiting all their life to eat there; have read all the reviews; know the history; own the book. What's intended as praise comes across, in a more formal and less sincere culture, as a massive aircraft carrier warning shot: "So treat us properly - or else!" Good restaurants pride themselves on their service - quite rightly, as it's so difficult (and takes so long) to establish and maintain. Each restaurant will insist on its own "signature" style of service, within the constraints of the classic system, but these particularities are easily negotiated and are part of the personality and fun. Political correctness aside, the whole idea of dining out in a luxurious restaurant is to be waited on. The waiters are there to serve the diners. They're the ones who should be anxious and fearful, not us. They're not buddies or accomplices and most would be offended if they were treated as such. They get paid because they do their job very well. You pay for the meal. Any attempt to sabotage this crucial distance and recognition of roles (specially when you're sitting down and paying and they're running about and being paid and you therefore have a gigantic, unfair advantage over them, starting with the right to complain) not only defeats the long-established formal beauty of the arrangement but also shows (however innocently) a lack of respect for the whole system of service and insouciance towards the dignity of each station. A common "gaffe" is interfering when a head waiter reproaches one of his charges, supposedly to "defend" the waiter who seems to have been unfairly scolded. Most of these exchanges are for show anyway, to make you, the diner, feel important. If you then protect the guy, you humiliate the head waiter and guess who gets it when your three hours are up. Since anxiety is the main obstacle, it's not much use to just say "relax". Looking around to see what more experienced diners are doing and trying desperately to mimic them is even more nerve-wracking. The best strategy is to thoroughly enjoy your outsider status - you're a fresh face, a potential new loyal customer - and enthusiastically explore all that's new to you. By all means, say it's your first or second time, but the idea should be that you'll soon be back if you enjoy yourself. Don't be afraid to be "educated" (ha ha, I know, but a lot of restaurants actually believe they're pedagogical institutions which the Ministry of Culture should be subsidizing for its inestimable services to gastronomy) - waiters love to show newbies their little ways. Plus, as a first-timer you're allowed certain liberties, some of which can be feigned, of course... But, above all, forget about the waiters. Mind about the other diners - they're the ones whose comfort you should care for. No need to worry about where to put your hands - they'll wait. That's what waiters do. Good service can acommodate an enormous variety of different behaviours - from tiny children to eccentric old coots. That said, don't try to change a restaurant's style, just because you don't like it. That's just the way it is - that rhythm; that distance; that form of speech; that insouciance or rigidity - and either you like it or you don't. Why be anxious if all that's at stake is a lot of money spent on one solitary meal which one, n the end, didn't enjoy? Sometimes it costs to know where *not* to go. It's much more fun to just go in with an uncomplicated attitude: "OK, here I am, you've got me interested, now show me what all the fuss is about." And just leave it to them and take it all it in. I'm sorry, I meant to chip in with a brief remark and seem to have been carried away, like one of those over-chatty first-time customers who go on and on....

As life goes on, one should add to one's stock and the only decent objective is to have everything that could possibly be wished. It's a gratifying fact of life that you can only drink one drink at a time. I.e., whether you have twelve gins or a hundred whiskies or just one of both, you'll use the same amount. It therefore makes sense, in home bars, to have as wide a variety as possible - the expense is cumulatively the same but the choice is always more pleasant. The truth is, once you've established a generous selection, the price of replacements is dictated by popularity and is, in essence, the same as if you had only one gin; one vodka; one cognac or whatever. At home we can offer a far wider range than exists in even the best cocktail bars, where commercial considerations are often taken into account. Spirits have the great bonus of keeping well for a long time and so it seems silly to treat them as if they were wine. It's true that guests often prefer the more well-known brands - mimicing their ordering behaviour in bars - but the sight of a an expansive selection will entice them to try the unfamiliar and untried. Even with the most ordinary cocktails - Margaritas, for instance - it's interesting to offer a few dozen different tequilas along with a variety of orangey liqueurs (Cointreau; the several Grand Marniers; Mandarine liqueur; Mexican and French "triple secs") to spike. Rather than assemble a "basic bar", it's far more rewarding to offer the greatest possible selection, knowing that the cost is the same. It's only a question of time. Sure, it looks luxurious but, when you think of it, your guests' choice consumes the same amount of spirits and has almost no effect on the final financial tally since - I repeat! - nobody can drink two drinks at the same time, so the total expenditure works out as being just about the same as if you only bought five brands and kept replenishing them.

"The French are a very formal people in any social setting. It's no surprise that dining has evolved into a prescribed ballet, and no greater surprise that it makes some outsiders uncomfortable." Well said, Bux but, within the specific cultural context, it actually makes diners more comfortable as they too go through their paces, leaving more time for the important business of conviviality. These conventions were designed - and have evolved - to reduce and abbreviate friction and personal idiossincracies, so that exchanges are ritualized and become weightlessly automatic. It is not a "ballet": what you experience is the result of centuries' experience in trying to please the paying customer. What might seem effete to a newcomer is, in fact, a form of being unobtrusive and even invisible. It's not at all about challenging or provoking: good service is, on the contrary, all about self-effacement. Those questions, queries and recommendations aren't conceived to unsettle the customer: they're tailor-made and proven to reassure and make it easier to order and enjoy. There's this ridiculous idea that waiters in good restaurants enjoy "showing up" inexperienced customers. Nothing could be further from the truth. Inexperienced customers should just sit back and take it in. It's quite amazing how quickly one learns to play the King - it's easy. Just relax and be difficult! I'm often dumbfounded by American and British friends of mine who complain about what is - in essence - proper service. The idea is exactly opposite: to find an unobtrusive way to convey your personal quirks and desires. This includes deference - i.e., when you're lucky enough to consult someone who knows more about wine than you'll ever know, you'd be stupid to inhibit his or her suggestions with your own far-flung experiences. Trust is a crucial element of good restaurants. This often means delegation and the confession of ignorance. No shame there - rather the opposite. I wonder how many sublime gastronomic experiences have been missed because diners were unable to simply surrender - this is what we pay for, after all - and, for some weird reason, felt that the waiters, rather than serving to the best of their ability, were somehow "putting them to the test". Everyone's interested in enjoyment and pleasure: it's the only rule. Leaving it to those who know better is very, very easy. You just ask and listen for a short while, with absolute selfishness, and then get on with what matters: that particular occasion; that meal. The food, however good, should always be secondary and classic European service echoes this fundamental truth.

Thank you for your kindness, John but, in all honesty, you're the one who's amazing. You are, quite simply, the ideal guest and a joy to receive. You're so knowledgeable, yet as curious as a child, with the enviable capacity to start from zero with every meal. You have no hang-ups or preconceptions and yet your standards are high. Your deep respect for different cultures, cuisines and cooking and eating styles is profoundly civilized. It's no wonder you and your wife enjoy yourselves so much. You entirely deserve to have the world laid at your table and the fact that you go to so much trouble to share your pleasure with others is uniquely generous. I hope you realize yours was probably the first report ever written about Ramiro though it's been open for 70 years or something? I've never seen (or written) a review, in Portuguese or any other language! They really liked you at Ramiro too - an impossible feat, since it's a frantic, working-class, no-frills, no-favours shellfish joint which just gets on with its job. I'm truly sorry we were still up in Porto, conducting our own fishy, shellfishy and general gastronomic investigations and were unable to meet you both. I hope next time, when you have more time, we can embark on the full voyage. You passed the test of fire - no blandishments, no scenery, no fancy footwork - and are now ready for all the easy-to-like stuff! :) P.S. The white shrimp are the native "gambas" of Cascais or of the Algarve. These look like the Algarve variety as the Cascais ones have noticeable white stripes. The reason they're delicious is that they're alive when they're boiled, so they're absolutely fresh. Bigger "gambas" come from all around the world - the ones we eat here from Mozambique - and are, of course, frozen. I agree about Portuguese oysters - they're big, stonking, tasteless beasts, like an early failed prototype or something. I hate them and I also hate it that they're sometimes sold by weight, which means paying 250 grams for 1 gram of meat. Better restaurants sensibly import their oysters from Brittany. I adore oysters and, when visiting France, Ireland, England or the U.S., I try to eat as many and as varied as I can. I always swoon when I walk into the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station and can never resist having at least 3 of each - which is a lot of oysters.

I too would like to make a proper Mai-Tai before Ai Dai. I found this recipe for almond orchata (please scroll down a bit) and I'll give it a try, if you will. I wonder whether it would benefit from adding some bitter almonds, though fresh whole bitter almonds are getting harder and harder to find. But how many? Here in Portugal we use a bitter almond liqueur, around 45 proof, for cocktails requiring orgeat syrup. The most popular brand is "Amarguinha" and it's not at all bad.

Probably the best comment on the "al dente" debate were Adrià's famous paralleliped vegetable gelatins, where the soft texture sent an "overcooked" message while the flavour was intensely fresh and "almost raw", leading those lucky enough to try them to epistemologically separate the (lack of) crunchiness from the taste, provocatively questioning long-established assumptions. I've often eaten freshly steamed fat, white asparagus and they've never - ever - been crisp. Like "piquillo" peppers, the best expertly cooked and canned varieties are indeed better than the freshly boiled/roasted versions. Definitely another opportunity for much-needed puncturing of the usual prejudices. I'd add anchovies too. I like them very much when they're fresh from the sea and lightly grilled or fried but they're not a patch on the preserved versions. The article in question seems to me to be gratuitously provocative, i.e. there's nothing to learn from it, apart from the fact that the writer doesn't like "ballsy" white asparagus. Flabby is good in white asparagus. Their joy comes from the fact that they have practically zero calories and yet taste rich and unctuous. Since I was a boy, it was always the first thing we had when we travelled through Spain. Even in the most modest roadside "tascas", they were always sumptuous asparagus (from a can, of course), simply served with a vinaigrette or delicious fresh mayonnaise. The Spanish very probably invented it (in Mahon) and this was long before the silly salmonella scares which have contributed so generously to the Hellman's empire. They're at their best, in my opinion, very lightly chilled. It seems foolhardy to universally apply an "al dente" rule which traditional Italian cooks limit to pasta and rarely extend to vegetables. Really good vegetables not only stand up to a little "overcooking" but have their own charm. Those who mention the old British way with vegetables don't seem to realize that it didn't involve 8 to 10 minutes in barely simmering water but, rather, more like 20 to 25 minutes. Of vegetables, there's British overcooking and there's European overcooking. The season for fresh green asparagus may not be long but, by God, do we get sick of the sight of them after the first month or so! I doubt there are many Spaniards and Portuguese who haven't found themselves reaching for a tin of delicious, reliable, flabby "cojunudos" (or their equally lovely smaller brethren) when the green are still in season...

I'm a self-confessed whiskey and soda lover so please bear with me and forgive any excess of information and heretical thoughts. Until the age of five I thought all cars tinkled when they turned, until I discovered the source of that delightful sound - the 24 bottles of carbonated mineral water (in a wooden crate) my father always carried in the boot, to swap the empties for new. A love for drinks like gin fizzes, mojitos and Camparis and sodas has since convinced me that the whole question of carbonated or "aerated" water is criminally neglected, since the type of whisky or whiskey or cocktail determines an intelligent choice of the fizz. It's a tragic mistake to use only one "soda water" for all drinks. Syphons, for instance, are lightly aerated and important because you can choose the mineral water you're carbonating. Some whiskies (I'm not only referring to the classic European light Scotch and soda in a highball glass, full of ice, but also to more delicate whiskies for which only a brief spritz is indicated) are better with saltier or heavier waters; others with lighter, more demineralized waters. Syphons allow one to choose from the whole gamut of bottled waters - a particularly forbidden pleasure was adding a little spritz to the water Glenfiddich used to bottle to go with their malt! - and so mix and match according to the weather, time of day, mood, etc. When I want a lot of aeration - as in a mojito, where I use only a little water, or in a summery pre-lunch gin fizz, because the density of the lemon juice weighs the drink down - I think Schweppes soda water is by far the best, as it's so damn bubbly. It's also keeps its bubbles very well and so appeals to the cheapskate in me. An old trick is to transfer remaining soda to a small, tight screw-top bottle, making sure it's filled to the very top. Aeration is also easily downgraded if you want less fizz - by refrigerating or, if one's desperate, by stirring it up a bit. However, for good spirits an appropriate water is essential. The best, in my opinion, are the naturally - always very lightly - carbonated waters, i.e., not artificially gassed up like Perrier, San Pellegrino or 99% of them. These naturally fizzy waters are quite salty and heavy but delicious with the better whiskies. Look out for the Portuguese Água das Pedras Salgadas or its lighter version Vidago. For an eye-opening sulphurous clean-out, guaranteed to wipe out the worst hangover, the Azorean Água das Lombadas is about as "heavy metal" as you can get. A good alternative is the French Badoit. These waters have the added benefit - probably unscientific - of being good for the liver...! Not to knock Perrier and other similar waters - they're nice on a hot day with a light Scotch. Every European country will have two or three brands that have been traditionally preferred with whiskey. Appolinaris, for instance, is superb and the Italians alone have at least twelve magnificent waters. They must be proper mineral, deep-sourced waters, however - not just fizzed up purified or distilled water disguised as mineral waters. In Portugal, where I live, the best is undoubtedly Água do Castello, from Pizões-Moura but Vimeiro, Carvalhelhos and Campilho are also superb. Generally, it is always best to trust the local bartender, wherever you are. In Madeira there's an excellent water for accompanying Scotch whisky (in a sub-tropical climate): it's called Miles and you can only get it *sigh* on the island. It's been made since the 19th century (the founder was Scottish, of course) and the bottles are really cute too. A syphon is important because most bottlers tend to over-carbonate their waters and quite a few of them only offer the "still" version. The only caution is not to let the water sit around for more than a day (or the gas capsule), as it will become stale and even brackish. Syphons should be used as you would a jug of spring water. Fill them up, click in a new capsule and serve. After use, throw the water out or use whatever's left for silly games. Until recently, Schweppes used to exchange full syphons for empties - but, unfortunately, they no longer seem to provide this service. Hope this has helped confuse and complicate the issue, JAZ!

Wow, Mimi! What a delectable, truly universal feast! I do believe - honestly - you have found a recipe for world peace! Thank you so much! Miguel

My sister has been living in Funchal for over 20 years and every time I visit, she and her husband, both demanding gourmets, make a point of surprising me with new delights and forcing me to admit that they are unobtainable on mainland Portugal. Madeira is truly a tourist destination, since long before the era of mass travel, so it's easy to miss out on its native cuisine if you go with the flow and stick to the well-worn hotel strip. However, 95% of the population actually live there - so it's essential, if you're after good food, to befriend the locals who, unlike their Iberian counterparts, are notoriously cagey about their culinary strengths. Although I must agree that they do love their "filetes de espada" to bits. Their "peixe-espada" is black and more deep-sea than the silvery one we love on the Portuguese "continente", as it's somewhat disparagingly called there. It's nothing like an eel - it's scabbard: a delicious fish with just the right combination of dry flesh and subtly gelatinous skin, best when simply fried in a little flour or grilled. Madeirans prefer it in the form of eggy "filetes", served with chips and one of their beloved bananas. The fact that tourists share this enthusiasm ("fish and chips") only seems to encourage this monomaniacal passion. Madeirans have it when they can't be bothered to choose something else - it's a staple, agreeable to children and adults. (Please note how I have refrained, in a spirit of tolerance, from facetiously adding a Lisboncentric comment along the lines of "Go figure"). I can't bring myself to extol the laudably persistent effort to create a semi-tropical Madeiran cuisine which elaborates on the "scabbard and banana" motif to include their many unique deep-sea fishes, sent on more or less blind dates with their other abundant tropical fruits, such as passion-fruit, chaperoned by their many outstanding fortified wines - Madeira Wine is a universe apart, obscenely underpriced because it's inexplicably less popular than Port - and their adamantly illegal but much-loved "vinho Jaquet", also known as "vinho morangueiro" or "americano" (strawberry-grape wine), which is ridiculously cheap. sweet and fruity, much like an adult version of Cherry Coke with its own built-in hangover. To eat well, you must go to the off-centre fish restaurants which serve expertly fried miniature versions of the most appreciated (and expensive) big fish we "continentals" are so fond of. We have a "posta" (a cut) of "garoupa" - they have a "garoupinha" all to themselves. We have "a posta" pf "cherne" - they each have a "cherninho". We share a "pargo" - they won't settle for anything less than a largish but individual "parguinho". We go to great lengths (and expense) to haul in these big Atlantic predators (roughly "grooper", "wreckfish" and "sea bream", this last the prized "tai" of Japan, "pagrus pagrus") and grill or boil them respectfully. Madeirans get them cheaply and with little effort from the deep, clean ocean that surrounds them and invariably and superbly fry them up in olive oil to a seemingly impossible of crispness - so much so that the whole fish is thoughtlessly consumed. They're almost always served with a big salad and equally crispy French fries, delicately scented with cloves of garlic which are shaken along for mere seconds when each batch is salted. Another treat are "lapas" (limpet clams?), grilled on an iron skillet and simply dressed with butter and garlic. I can never get enough of just-landed whole Atlantic fish that has been so well fried that there's never a hint of oil, its interior is as moist and luscious as if it had quickly steamed. As they're so abundant, it's normal to have two or three per person, each one fried the moment you've finished the previous one (a total of a kilo and a half is standard and easily affordable) and only ten or twelve of the chips. Although I've been taken to all the best places, I can't say the "espetadas" are any better than anywhere else, although I heartily enjoy the ritual (the butter dropping onto the hook; the difference in flavour according to the tree the skewer/branch comes from) and the traditional accompaniments: crispy little cubes of fried corn pulp and the wonderfully garlicky "bolo do caco", of which the best, by the way, is sold by the side of the road that leads from the airport to Funchal. If you're brave enough to venture into Cãmara de Lobos, delicious "petiscos", as well as the best "poncha" on the island, can be had in the fishermen's "tabernas". Funchal is also a paradise for drinkers and cocktail-lovers. Every barman has his own specialities, of which he's genuinely proud. Prices are about half of what they are in continental Portugal, although the same good brands of booze are used (they have their own, older-established importers) and still generous half-whiskies or half-gin-and-tonics are little more than half of the full version. Everywhere - the humblest café or kiosk - is a bar with an amazing variety of sophisticated drinks which the bartender will visibly enjoy preparing and correcting according to your taste. I haven't got time to get into the excellent rustic fare you get in the interior. I'll never forget a gargantuan "cozido à portuguesa", with added yams, that took us all of three hours to get through, as each of the many components was served separately, at short intervals, assembling on the plate according to each diner's preferences... Hope this helps - it's certainly filled me with "saudades" ;)