MiguelCardoso

First, I must thank you for all the pleasure, intelligence and downright truth-telling you've given me with your writing and captivating personality. Your generosity in participating in this session doesn't surprise me (although your opinions are invariably surprising in the best way), as I've always admired how you treat your readers: kindly but with no condescension, as if we were good friends sharing a lovely lunch. With you, one never feels left outside, as is so common, the impression being that you've said all you had to say and aren't keeping more personal considerations for those you love and trust. Sorry, but I had to get that out of the way, Mimi! My question is in the form of a mental experiment. Imagine the whole of humanity depended on your success in the following task: A group of six unknown visitors, each one from different corners of the globe and all of them entirely ignorant of the great variety of food which is served in the U.S. (the whole caboodle of homes, restaurants and other purveyors and producers), wishes to try four or five dishes (or ingredients or products) which, whilst perhaps not unique, can truthfully be said to be American. If they like them, the planet will be saved. If not, well, it will still be saved but suffer horribly for a few days. It's up to you to choose the four of five American things which, independently of the various nationalities and cultures of the tasters, would most probably be appreciated. Extra points would be awarded for anything they've very possibly never tried before - though it's not a condition. To make things even more difficult, suppose that they're slightly prejudiced (though without justification) regarding American food, which they suspect is fast-foody, sugary and industrially made. What would you serve - presuming that, whatever you chose, would be made with the utmost perfection by whoever did it best? (No need, therefore, for indicating particular cooks or restaurants). Anything edible - be it a peach or an elaborate recipe - is allowed and, remember, it doesn't have to be uniquely or originally American: just acceptable as something that could be said to be part of the American experience of eating and cooking. I know I'd be hard-pressed to answer the same question about my own country (Portugal), so feel free to pass if it's too much bother!

Perhaps people don't appreciate just how big and multinational Spain is. Portugal, though it's linguistically and culturally homogeneous (a very rare state of affairs in Europe), doesn't have anything resembling a national cuisine and it's much smaller and much older as an independent political state than contemporary Spain. Regional cuisines are so different from each other that you'll gravely insult a cook if you say what they offer is "typically Portuguese". There is no such thing. Of course, every region thinks it produces the best food in Portugal (and makes a point of belittling the traditions of all the other regions) and, in this sense, if a practitioner is cocky and annoying enough, she or he might boast its cooking is "the true Portuguese cuisine". This competition is a very good thing, as it accentuates the differences and localizes culinary practices and tastes. In Spain, to make things even more complicated, you have a multitude of creative chefs who should be considered supranational or cosmopolitan in the richest sense. They go well beyond "reinterpreting" regional cuisine or "redifining" what their mothers and grandmothers cooked. This universality is a well-established trait of Spanish artists in general, rather than of Spanish art. Of course it's convenient to think of "Spanish Food" (or Spanish Cuisine) - but the more correct way to describe the totality in a book or article would be "Food IN Spain". Whereas with Portugal you can speak of a general, Portuguese attitude towards food, even along a simple conservative/adventurous axis., I can't see how even this can be done with the whole of Spain. Portugal could be said to be extremely conservative - but so is an enormous wedge of Spanish regional cuisines. It's just too diverse and, in many cases, open to change. To get an idea of Portuguese cuisine you'd have to not only list the several regional traditions but also their objections to each other. These (thankfully) are insurmountable. Simple ingredients like garlic, coriander or olive oil are subject to enormous variations. But it's not seen as a "question of taste": the way other regions use or don't use them is considered absolutely wrong and filthy. Although I have but a scant knowledge and experience of the food in Spain, I think the fact that it makes no sense to apply a national catch-all definition to a much smaller, neighbouring country like Portugal points to the folly of doing so with Spain. God, if it's argument you want, just take a peek into the intense polemics within the regional cuisines themselves! :)

Doc: Reservations, in Portuguese restaurant culture, are weapons. Since most people think booking is an admission of weakness and prefer to make a scene if they're turned away to being humiliatingly shown to their tables - a sure and risible sign of outsider status - phoning is still, as we say, "pregnant with possibilities" for those in the know. It's complex but here are some pointers. Phone on the day you want to lunch or dine - but relatively early. You want to get through before the first customers but after the last supplies. Say, 11.30 for lunch and 18.30 for dinner. Ask for something you know they won't have but are sorry (or ashamed) they haven't. This way, when they reply "Ah, unfortunately, not today..." you can advance with your heat-seeking missile: "Well, what else do you have that's absolutely fresh and arrived today?" They'll inevitably confess. Pretend to mull it over and promise to phone back (because your heart was set on whatever impossible delicacy you asked about and still hope you may find it elsewhere). This will give you time to phone the other three or four places you're interested in. Whatever you do, phone back. All the restaurants you've called, without fail. Phoning back is the really effective H-bomb, as no one expects it. If you've decided to go elsewhere, say a friend offered to get and cook whatever it was - or anything similar, as a friend can't be turned down. Do not - ever - mention other restaurants. If you're completely unscrupulous (it helps you're a foreigner as the Portuguese love foreigners and you'll never be caught out) express regret that you'll be unable to try whatever they suggested was freshest and most secret. Perhaps tomorrow, you'll coyly suggest. Even the most fashionable Portuguese restaurants are still telephone virgins and ripe for (well-intentioned, of course) abuse. It's very easy, even if you're a complete stranger (I do it all the time with an assumed name) to get them to spill the beans and reveal their daily best, just like they'd do with a regular customer who's being going there for years. Always arrive before the crowd, for the greatest pleasure. This means just after midday for lunch and just after seven for dinner. After that, you'll have to muck in with the rest of the crowd. Get your orders in (after a gin and tonic and as many "entradas" as possible) before the crowd arrives. Then, if you can, linger until they've all gone away again. Always sound hesitant and curious; undecided even; like someone who has to choose between thirty enticing restaurants. If you sound efficient and no-nonsense - or resolute - you'll be taken for someone who doesn't care what he eats; a tourist or a businessman; a schedule-driven slave. There are a lot of good restaurants here and choosing one is a big deal: act accordingly. Finally, wherever you go, act as if there's no question you'll be back the next day (you should if you're entirely satisfied) and have no curiosity whatsoever about other restaurants. If they think they're just part of a list, they'll treat you like an item on a list. (There are other secrets but I can't reveal them here. We'll confer when you arrive!) :)

Ha ha ha! Oh Marc, you had me laughing out loud, whilst shivering in terror - a new combo for me! <i>insisting on holding them when they were babies, and later kissing them (to my son's great embarrasment and discomfort)</i> Damn you for bringing back long-buried traumas of those smelly, whiskery kisses (Portuguese fisherwomen were way ahead of George Michael regarding designer stubble)! I too have tried disguise and entering by a different door but I then learnt that whatever fisherwoman I had been unfaithful with made a point of rushing over to my legitimate fishwife and proclaiming, hands on hips: "Ai, Lúcia, your fish must really stink if your customer has to skulk around looking for something a bit more decent..." This is a variation of the old sexual taunt, thrown at wives by mistresses: "It's your fault if you're not giving your husband what he wants and he has to seek his oats elsewhere!" These infidelities only strengthen the bond, of course, as it becomes one of those deadly woman-to-woman competitions where you are merely the pawn. Every little special treat is accompanied by a reminder of what a fool you were to wander but - what can they do, you're irresistible, she just can't keep away, that'll be 65 euros, my love... My mother-in-law, on the other hand, hates them all, takes everything back, even if it's perfect, just to keep them on their toes. They hate her but respect her. Hell, I doubt they even respect her. But they give her the best they have just to stop her raising a ruckus and delivering an impromptu lecture to all the other customers. She shops around and plays them against each other ruthlessly. Every time I send her something (yesterday beautiful Bravo de Esmolfe apples) she's on the phone to my wife about how important it is that I take them back immediately as they're rubbish and everyone else will suffer if the greengrocer thinks he can get away with it. A support forum would be nice. :)

Oh, I had to learn the hard way, Marc. I'm by nature a tourist and, in fact, that's what my Portuguese friends call me, having been burdened with a sunny disposition - a glowering handicap in melancholy, moody Portugal where, even when I'm forcing down my lip muscles to a grimace, the first irrepressible "Ooh!" at the sight of some particularly rosy turnips or langoustines, lights me up and makes me stand out in the morning market crowd like a fluorescent leper. My own father dubbed me a tourist when, after two years soaking up the sun and intense wild basil and lavender aromas of Manchester, I arrived back in Portugal for a month's Summer holiday and in my chronic homesickness, during an outdoor lunch of sardines, potatoes and pepper salad in Alfama ( to which we went straight from the Santa Apolónia train station, me still in my sodden student togs) dared express that "life in Portugal was indeed sweet." "Bah", the old mariner replied, his chin glistening with sardine juice, "you've become a tourist, like your mother!" My mother is English and therefore allowed to commit the crime of enjoying Portugal and having the bad taste to confess it, whilst my father had been born in the heart of Alfama and the Fado, only a few yards from where we were eating. The proximity must have brought on the accusation: "If you were a real Portuguese, like your brother, you'd realize the terrible, incurable pain Portugal causes and why the Portuguese are such a sad people." This kind of talk is universal here but I've always had the greatest difficulty in understanding it (even though my Ph.D thesis was about it) when it's trotted out after prolonged lavish lunches in gorgeous surroundings while gazing at their second large whiskies, probably brought on by the disappointment of the restaurant not stocking the particular single malt they'd set their heart on. In restaurants and, more menacingly, in markets I've been taken aside and berated for "spoiling it for everyone" because my touristy heart naturally leads me to being sincere in my appreciation. I used to say "How fresh! Is that all it costs? How do you do it?" The sellers think I'm being sarcastic but the other shoppers - grim-faced crones who noisily tut-tut their way through the stalls like sinister little mopeds - lecture me about how poor they are, not like me, Mr price-inflating, arse-licking dilettante Big Spender. I brace myself and, like a tourist apologize (God, I even propagate their philosophy here on eGullet, so don't talk to me about lily-livered, Marc). Then, smugly satisfied with my abjectness, they nod up and down, as if weighing whether to stick the knife in or spare the poor bastard, but this only makes them more rabid and they ask why I don't stick to my fancy restaurants and poncey pseudo-food (general laughter from the gathered audience) and what do I know about fish anyway since I just bought four dodgy red mullets that had been a fixture there for at least a week and a finger-pointing figure of fun for all serious shoppers and how they had to come to market every day just to avoid starvation (the bright-eyed head of an enormous scabbard-fish sticking out of their horrific tartan nylon shopping bags, as a speechless witness to the gall of its owner) and how they always switch to another channel whenever I'm on because I talk out of my arse and now they know this talent extends to shopping as well. But, of course, they were right. Real housewives - generally and genuinely poor - are being threatened by the restaurant buyers and the supermarket buyers and, yes, foodies with comparatively fat wallets. They can still get great fresh fish, vegetables and fruit at a price they can afford but they're legitimately afraid that one day they may have to do with the frozen and supermarket stuff which the younger generations are quite happy with... In a way, we owe them. It pains me to say it - and it's not because I'm lily-livered - but it's these uncompromising battleaxes who wage war not only on the vendors but on other shoppers whose attitude is too sunny and easy to please, who have kept Lisbon markets true and honest. I'm sorry I was carried away - just one last thing. You seem to imply that your bedazzled state in markets probably led you to pay higher prices. This is not the case - it's more complicated than that. The prices shown are respected - but they're the maximum price. What matters is the quality and freshness of what they sell you. If you are an innocent shopper, whether Portuguese or foreign - and specially if you're a stranger who looks like he won't become a regular customer for years to come - they'll give you the worse fish and a generous discount too. I've had several foreign friends who've bragged about getting stuff much cheaper than we do but, when you see the fish (although it's fresh) you understand why. Fishmongers are great liars - it's a feature, not a bug - and the game is to discover the whoppers and get to the truth. Price has nothing to do with it. But you can tell when you've got the freshest fish because, though you're paying full price, it will be the vendor who'll turn surly - because she lost that round. Which brings me to the last strategy if you're a visitor and want to buy the best. I'm afraid it involves lying - but lying is allowed in shopping and, if you're later found out, you'll be congratulated for your success: Always imply that you have moved to Portugal. Say "Olhe que eu não sou nenhum turista!" ("I'm not a tourist, you know"). A nice touch is to add wistfully "I wish I were..." Say you're living nearby and ask the sort of questions a new resident would ("When do you go on holiday? Does the stall shut?"). This will start the wooing process, which is to your advantage as she'll give you the very best, to hook you. It makes sense: they give their best to their best customers. I expect it's like this everywhere but here it's more ostentatious as the tradition is not to "shop around" - no, you find a regular vendor and, barring a mishap and a dramatic falling-out, she's yours for life. You can get the best fish from any vendor, however small, and the worst from any vendor, however big. If you're regular and shop around, then you enter the dangerous adversarial ranks of the battleaxes who rely on their knowledge alone and can't be outwitted. Suffice it to say, unless you've been going daily to a market for at least two decades - they memorize each stall, detect every new arrival and so know the day-age of any single fish (they often buy them for bargain prices, of course) - then it would be very foolhardy. I onced asked, while on holiday, why a vendor in a small market in coastal Alentejo was giving me the smallest crabs and he answered "What? Don't tell me you expect ME to keep the worst ones?" and audibly muttered "Que lata!" ("The cheek!"). God, I hope I haven't put you off, Doc! Or perhaps secretly... ;)

Dearest Doc: there are a lot of markets in Lisbon - almost every neighbourhood has one - and often the smaller, local ones are just as interesting as the largest. That said, there are two outstanding mega-markets where, technically, only greengrocers, butchers and fishmongers can go to. However, if you go very early in a taxi (crucial) and look appropriately bored and workaday, they're a cinch to enter. Once inside, you can buy in small quantities as vendors are tolerant towards party-crashers. These are real markets, though - not for housewives and much less for tourists so be prepared for intense hustle and bustle. I love them. For fish - a gigantic, endless mecca of everything at every size and price - it's the Docapesca in Pedrouços. Go between 4 and 5 in the morning. Prices are half (at least) of what they are in the local markets, which in turn are about half of what you pay in a fishmonger or, God forbid, in a supermarket. There's intense competition between buyers and sellers and, as is the case anywhere but more so in Lisbon, the big buyers (who supply restaurants and fishmongers) have already bought the best and cheapest, as they bid for the fish the moment it's landed and auctioned, around midnight. What's left, though, is so abundant and diverse that it's staggering; infinite; impossible to take in even if you dedicate four hours to walking through as many stalls as you can. I warn you though: it's hard-core Atlantic fish, daily brought in by an enormous artisanal and industrial fleet, plus all the fish from trawlers, long-distance fishing vessels which use all the modern onboard conservation methods and imports which you find in all big fish markets in the world. Portugal consumes more fish than even Japan and this appetite also means higher prices, as demand is high and constant - so don't expect any bargains. Just impeccable freshness. Also, you'll find it singularly unromantic - fish isn't something special or luxurious or "gourmet"; it's just food. Vendors are loud, rude, direct and violent. They want to get rid of their fish at the best price possible and that's that. They won't chat or answer questions. If you make a polite enquiry of a purely academic nature, i.e. if it clearly won't lead to a sale, they'll shout out to the other vendors, as a public announcement: "Olha este; olha este; a querer música!" ("Hey, lookit the gall of this guy, wanting to gossip!") The "new" mega-market, which sells everything else (including fish, as the idea is to one day concentrate everything there, though it'll never happen) is almost a city in itself and is outside Lisbon, about 10 miles away, in Loures: it's called MARL (Mercado Abastecedor da Região de Lisboa). You must go, even though it's even more violent and strictly business, because it's like the whole of Portugal on any one day. Greengrocers go around 4 in the afternoon and it's more difficult to enter but if you have a press card of some sort and promise you won't be buying, you'll probably get in. Then you have all the proper markets where any citizen can go. Again, you have to go early (well, sevenish) and, this time, your problem isn't the vendors. They'll charm you and woo you, call you "handsome young devil" and say they're so smitten they want to sell you something wonderful for half of what it cost them. No, your problem now are the other customers who act as ruthless competitors, elbowing and envious, hateful and despising. Don't even take notice - pretend they're not there. I'm only familiar with about 20 of the bigger markets, but these are the four best and/or most charming: Mercado da Ribeira - beautiful and yet still utterly business-like and huge, in the Cais do Sodré. Unmissable. There are different warehouses on both sides of the railway track; both indispensable. Campo de Ourique - a typical neighbourhood market, only midsize but has everything. Algés - the best for fish, as it's near the Docapesca. Outstanding - it's where the best Japanese itamae go. as they dislike getting up at 4 to go to Docapesca and don't trust anyone to buy their fish for them. Benfica - A large neighbourhood market; no charm whatsoever; but the real thing. Excellent everything, including fish. You must go to all of these to get a decent idea. You'll love them, I assure you - they're so rich and serious and the customers are so unforgiving, mean and demanding. It's the real Portugal with not one proviso or caution; one touristy note; one photographer; one web site; one (sigh) mention on eGullet. As the open-market "feiras" are just as important and professional as the markets (and cheaper), you must go to at least one. I'd suggest Malveira, near Loures - on a Tuesday or Wednesday, I think. Marvellous, marvellous produce and the authentic rustic attitude (as the farmers themselves are the vendors) which you don't get in cynical, single-minded Lisbon. Here even a photograph may be taken without an instant collective order to buy at least three crates of melons. The restaurants around there are astounding - and obscenely cheap. Try "Sagrados" (closes on Fridays), where you'll be hard-pressed to spend more than 10 euros, no matter how gargantuan your appetite and thirst. And that's enough markets for today! I'm looking forward to your visit and hope we'll be able to get together (I just had a brilliant idea: why not go out for a meal, teehee?). Lately I've been working too hard and indulging too hard and all my best social plans have been reduced to ashes. Just don't ask me to accompany you to any of the markets! I have a hard enough time as it is. If you're going just to gawp (a real taboo) at least walk about with a few plastic bags to avoid a lynch mob being formed. And, whatever you do, look surly and profoundly pissed off, be shocked with the prices, however low, and keep looking at your watch as if you'd rather be somewhere else. :)

You'll be here for the vindimas, Ann - always a merry time. Although Portugal is a small country, its wines are very varied and some of the best new reds and whites come from single producers outside the more traditional regions. This article by Jancis Robinson lists the current favourites and her 2000 book on Portuguese wines is easily available here, though I warn you they are judged very severely according to classic French tastes - a good thing in my book, but most wine producers and buffs bristle at the very mention of her name. In general, I'd advise you to just go with the flow and entirely trust the wine waiter or the head waiter, so long as you specify that you want what the Portuguese customers order when it's their birthday (it's a good strategy to say it's your birthday every day). They'll never be too expensive - check the wine-list after he's made his recommendation - as the mark-up here is only about 100% - double what it would cost in a shop. Another good tactic is to look around and find a table with middle-aged, overweight, prosperous-looking men with big appetites and a lot of time on their hands and order whatever they're having, as they don't mess about. Yuppies or intellectual types (at least over 30) who fret a long time over the wine list and seem disappointed that their favourites aren't on it (or, more commonly, the vintage they wanted) are also a sure bet. All Portuguese are intensely proud of their wines and will go out of their way to provide you with a (sometimes long-winded) distillation of their oenological life-experience. Your main danger isn't being served bad wine - it's being bored by over-eager strangers worried that you might not choose the very best available and, typically, starting fierce arguments among tables, with the owner thrown in, lamenting the unbearable trendiness of his customers. We drink more wine and alcohol than any other nation on earth so, unless you're poverty-stricken, everyone you'll meet will have a suggestion - and it'll be trustworthy, as it's a question of honour. Wine is almost always had with food, in large quantities, so food-pairing is theoretically important. But, in practice, people just keep ordering the wine they like best. The very best of the wine guides (the 2004/2005 edition comes out next week) is, in my opinion, João Paulo Martins. It's in Portuguese but go by the stars. His rating is spot-on. Don't, however, take his book to restaurants. Critics are universally patronised and even pitied, specially because they do tend to like the more expensive wines and everybody enjoys finding great wines at bargain prices. So you'll miss out on that wine which is exclusive to the restaurant (and really is!), as a special favour, because the producer is such a good friend (which he will be): people do not lie about wine in Portugal. In short: you'll have no problem at all. Enjoy your stay - 4 weeks are enough to get a well-rounded picture! Miguel P.S. In Viana do Castelo, ask a few passers-by and you can't go wrong as the food there (and around) is superb. In Évora, there are quite a few well-rated restaurants I hate, but there's one which many consider to be the best in Portugal. I've been going there for over 30 years and it's just absolutely perfect in every respect: it's called Fialho and, if you heed one word of my advice, do not be tempted to eat anywhere else while you're in Évora. Each meal will be like a different restaurant. And the wine, well...!

It's a new phenomenon and a touchy subject but I'd like to know if it extends beyond Portugal. The first underground restaurant I visited was opened in late 2002. Now there are at least 7 in the Lisbon area and 3 in Oporto that I know of. Most of them are normal restaurants during the usual hours but "open" clandestinely on their weekly "feriados". But there are two, located in the owners' homes, which are purely underground. I realize it's an ecologically sensitive issue, but these supper clubs serve shellfish, molluscs, fish and game which are protected, forbidden or considered extinct. Nothing exotic or cruel, mind you (no dolphins or cute creatures, I assure you):: merely traditionally appreciated species that have recently or not-so-recently been legally limited or outlawed. Funnily enough, this includes things as "banal" as eggs and "wild" chicken; free-roaming beef and boar; slipper lobsters; berried she-crabs; baby sea basses and other delicacies. They all have a very impressive range of artisanal wines and spirits which it is illegal to sell - but not to produce. A lot of what they offer is strictly supplied by the customers themselves. I can't, for obvious reasons, go into much detail but almost all produce is obtained individually, by individual divers and hunters. There's a network by e-mail which warns of each delivery and planned multi-course meal. All invariably gather an appreciative crowd of like-minded folk, keen to savour long-lost pleasures. Does this informal movement exist in Spain and Europe in general? Without giving the game away, I'd like to know whether similar underground restaurants are appearing in other countries, given the contradiction between the EU's stringent policies and traditional tastes.

Dearest Doc: my e-mail wires seem to be crossed as I can't reach you (I've been on an extended gastronomic tour where the Internet is just a fishing net). Would you be kind enough to e-mail me so we can arrange what I'm sure will be a happy, munchy, talkative and well wined reunion? Thank you! P.S. Of course you must not breathe a word of what I tell you in strictest confidence and learn to enjoy being blindfolded- ;)

Francesco: Madrid in August is lovely; you'll have it all to yourself. Unlike Paris (but like Lisbon) an amazing amount of the best restaurants are open but the general attitude and atmosphere is delightful. As is the food, charged with summer goodness. In August, contrary to expectations, almost all winter vegetables are available - and at their best. It's a wonderful month - you can park, not book, waft around on the slightest whim. As for the fish and shellfish...wow! Enjoy! (Thanks, fellas, for the great recommendations!)

This web site (in Spanish but with convenient illustrations) should help settle the matter. As far as I can tell, it includes all the most popular and widely available clams, including a few that are very, very cheap but very boring and bland too.

Dear Doc: The truth is you can go anywhere, but that kinda ruins the fun. Wherever you go in Portugal, at whatever time, you'll encounter the same philosophy of enjoyment. Perhaps a better word would be "mentality", as it's an overriding factor. It all depends on how long you'll be here. I assume it's less than a week. Well, for a crash course in the best of both I'd recommend you come to Lisbon. The North has good fish and shellfish, but it's mainly cold-water; the South has a different set, mostly warm-water. What is truly unique about Portugal is the Setúbal-Sesimbra-Lisbon-Guincho-Ericeira-Peniche mid-country Atlantic region which produces the best fish and shellfish in the world, as it's not too warm amd not too cold - but perfect. The fish you want, which have nothing to do with the insipid, mealy Mediterranean versions or the cold, tasteless Northern Atlantic ones) are: pargo (sea bream); carapau (horse mackerel); salmonete (red mullet); sargo (rock bream); garoupa (Atlantic grooper); cherne (wreck fish); linguados de Cascais (Dover soles); pregados(turbots); robalos do Cabo da Roca (real sea bass); douradas de Peniche (dourades); rodovalhos (brills). as well as sardines. These are all sublime. The shellfish list is longer but no less captivating. Come to Lisbon and, in Lisbon, for all the best fish, go to "Solar dos Leitôes" (say I recommended you) in the Calhariz de Benfica. It's a magnificent restaurant, truly Portuguese (cheap, familar, unpretentious) and the phone number is 21-885-1024. For the shellfish go to Ramiro, in the centre of Lisbon, in the Almirante Reis. The number is 21-885-1024. In these two places you can sample the best of Portugal. I hate to leave this on the Internet but, since I've enjoyed and profited from your contributions here, I couldn't resist. My ideal programme? At least 7 days. In Solar dos Leitões and Ramiro you can sample, cheaply and in typically familiar surroundings, the best of Portugal. (I shall erase this comment in 2 days time, so please jot down the details). :)

Yup, they're conquilhas in Portugal. They're still cheap (about 8 euros for a good-sized "travessa", though slightly dearer than cockles ["berbigão]) but they're as delicious and ever. In Portugal, they're always served "à Bulhão Pato", opened momentarily in olive oil, fresh coriander and garlic, which is the traditional way of serving clams. Cockles are best just steamed and sprayed with lemon juice. They can be very tiny but they're worth the trouble, as they're incredibly sweet and tender. As we say, they repay the "mão de obra" (the labour cost). In the Algarve - notably in the Vila Lisa restaurant in Mexilhoeira Grande, already referred to by members here - they make a delicious "sopa de conquilhas" (a garlicky broth) and and an "açorda de conquilhas" - a delectably mushy mixture of bread, fresh coriander and garlic. When I was a boy, conquilhas were so cheap we had them every day with our first evening glass of beer. They're still a tremendous bargain, though. Though not as easy to find as they used to be, of course. :(

This is true. Even those here in Lisbon came for more than the football. I've had many interesting gastronomic discussions with Spanish fans. One of my favourite "marisqueiras" - Ramiro, on the Almirante Reis - was always full of discerning Spaniards and it was really, really difficult to find things we disagreed about. Food is far better for bringing people together and it lasts a while longer. Besides, the gastronomically interesting neihbouring countries (Portugal, Spain, France, Italy) are playing really badly this year!

Great comments; very enlightening - thanks! As usual, Victor seems to have hit the button (although he should consider that there are at least seven, wildly different and even contentious regional culinary traditions in Portugal, stubbornly independent and individualistic). For us Portuguese, Spain is a foretaste of Europe. It's so diverse and rich that you can almost go to France or Italy there (North and South). Spain IS Europe. Although we have to travel less to change our cooking and food, we remain a mainly Atlantic, ocean-based country, but Spain's incredible geographical and cultural variety is unequalled anywhere in the world. We say here "No Spaniard knows Spain" and it's true. You want snow, greenery, forests? You want desert, aridities, plains? You have it. The same is reflected in the gastronomy. Spain is a competition all of itself. I'd go as far as to say that's it's more diverse than the rest of Western Europe. Languages; cultures; morphologies. "É um mundo", as we say.

I'm Portuguese but my mother's English so please excuse my exaggerations. For the last ten years, when visiting London or Manchester (where I studied for nine years, 1975-1984), I've found it more and more difficult to find restaurants that serve traditional cooking. I've practically made a home of St John's. It seems to me (as someone who had to buy his olive oil in small vials from Boot's the chemists) that the English have completely abandoned their culinary traditions. All of a sudden, everyone discovered garlic, olive oil and the ill-defined Mediterranean. The problem is that most (all?) cooks, both professional and amateur, have no idea how Medierranean ingredients should be used - so what you find, even in very expensive restaurants, is tragically over-spiced dishes, far too garlicky and hot - often suffering from both faults at the same time. These are people who grew up on bacon butties and Daddy's sauce and, all of a sudden, feel themselves experts on how to be Andalusian or Provençal... Watching "Ready Steady Cook" in Italy, Spain or Portugal is considered more humorous than "The Offfice" - those pasty-faced "chefs" loading garlic, peppers and garlic into every dish come across as surrealistically as Italian mothers who rely exclusively on Bisto and piccallily. The English seem gripped by a fever for Mediterranean herbs and vegetables - for which they have no feeling whatsoever - combined with an inordinate fondness for anything that's "spicy" It's considered "naughty" and "sexy", a sure sign it's being misused. Every single dish (and recipe) is an unholy alliance of far too many herbs and spices, masking tasteless base ingredients. Chicken, fish and now meat are regarded almost as a stretch of characterless canvas, waiting to be "livened up" by the usual battery of coriander, chile peppers and garlic. What you "do" to a perfectly good ingredient (of which the British have thousands) is what matters and the aim seems to be to make everything taste the same: hot, spicy and colourful. There can't be, anywhere, a less Mediterranean objective than this. In the native countries, the goal is to honour the ingredient - and get on with it, with the minimum of fuss or interference. Our weather is perhaps the single most important ingredient - er, it's not supposed to be served when it's rainy or cold. British trends now remind me of the pathetic attempts of Bradford residents of painting their living rooms yellow and light blue to "evoke" the Mediterranean. I, for one, lament that this pseudo-cooking, so unsightly and uncharacteristic,, has replaced the great traditions of English and British gastronomy. I miss it - and so do all Mediterraneans, who tend to truly respect and love British cooking, in its single-minded concentration on goodness and flavour. It has nothing to do with the British weather or the British landscape. It's, in fact, ridiculous - like trying to recreate sunshine in the rain. Even the best British food writers are obviously challenged when it comes to writing about essentially Mediterranean food. Food is about location; weather; tradition. Good cooks are formed when they're still children. Their mother's or grandmother's influence is the most important. How many English, Scottish or Welsh cooks have had this sort of essential eating experience? So why is British cooking behaving as if it's everything but? British cooking today, as I see it, is like the English way of enjoying the very occasional sun. It has a vest on; it's lobster-red and far too eager; it's not sincere; it's a waste of time. When one thinks of all the many marvels of English and British cooking - surely one of the European greats - and how difficult it now is to find it, the question arises: surely you're not expecting French, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese cooks to revive it? Cooking should be geography, truth, tradition. British tastes for Asian and Mediterranean cooking, badly and illogically served, is not an addition to international gastronomy. It's a subtraction; a fake; a con. Self-hatred has its place but good British cooking is far too valuable to put aside. (Sorry for the rant, but it was sincere).

There are few Spanish restaurants in Portugal; few Portuguese restaurants in Spain. There are more Russian, Polish, Italian or even Austrian watering holes and eateries than regional Spanish or Portuguese establishments. And yet Portugal is the country Spaniards most visit and vice-versa and, on these travels, food is one of the main attractions. It's true that things are definitely changing for the better and old rivalries and stereotypes are fading rapidly, as both countries (despite the football match on Sunday!) come to appreciate their differences as greedily and intelligently as their common Iberian culture. But, still, their gastronomic cultures are so foreign to each other that crossing the border is like travelling to some exotic Siberian hinterland. The Spanish are creative, restless, in love with spices, experiments and cooking, whilst the Portuguese are conservative, ingredient-mad and obsessed with freshness; the Spanish in love with the "new" and the future as the Portuguese are in love with the old and the past. Spanish cooking is individualistic; author-based and changing. Portuguese cooking is collective; tried-and-true and permanent. The greatest divide is innovation - the Spaniards insist on innovating but the Portuguese are proud of not interfering at all. The Spanish consider Portuguese food to be bland, simple, unadventurous and fresh. The Portuguese (mostly without reason) consider Spanish food to be greasy, over-spiced, complicated and preserved rather than fresh - but interesting all the same. So I ask: what really good Portuguese restaurants exist in Spain? I myself know of only one truly outstanding Spanish (Andalusian) restaurant in the whole of Portugal: Mesón Andaluz, truly magnificent. The few others which exist, mostly with pseudo-tapas, are definitely below the average Spanish standard. Why is this? It's strange, very strange. Perhaps non-Portuguese and non-Spaniards will be more able to clear the mystery than we are!

Heavens! Thank you so much! That has to be the most perfect, generous and considered answer I've ever read, never mind received. God bless you, kind sir!

Dear James MacGuire: Thank you for your generosity. For years now, I've tried to replicate the perfect, irresistible club sandwich, based on César Ritz's recipe, which Four Seasons hotels, from Toronto and Chicago to Milan, Lisbon and Paris have been serving for ages. I know all about the ingredients (bacon, tomatoes, lettuce, lightly hard-boiled eggs, grilled herb-inflected chicken breast, mayonnaise) and the layering sequence but, despite numerous attempts, our home-made club sandwiches are invariably soggy. mushy and tend to fall apart. This prevents cutting them up in the small triangular sections (a fourth of a freshly baked, square-shaped wheat loaf) which are so essential to their enjoyment. I'm Portuguese and have a vast variety of different breads to work with. Our "pão de forma" - a snow-white wheat loaf used for tea sandwiches and butter-soaked toast - comes in many shapes and compositions, allowing us to choose different combinations of rye, barley and wheat, as well as percentages of husks. A perfect club sandwich is toasted on the outside but is soft for about 75% of its thickness and doesn't sog because of the mayo or the tomatoes. But, even though we dry out the tomato slices and lettuce, the results are always disappointing. I'm sure it's a question of the bread's age. Too fresh (or wheaty) and it's too soft and absorbent. Too old (or chewy-wholewheat) and it's too ungiving and chewy. Do you have any pointers on this matter? How should bread be aged according to the kind of sandwich desired? How should it be toasted? In the oven? Grilled? In an electric toaster? I should add that we Portuguese always have a loaf or two standing by in a cotton bread bag, as many of our culinary preparations (like "açorda" or the slices of 3-day-old bread we put in our minty stews) depend on older bread. That's why it's so infuriating we aren't able to make a decent club sandwich! Any help you (or other eGulleteers) could offer would be very gratefully received. Thank you! Miguel

Off-topic: speaking of John Dory ("peixe galo" in Portuguese) I have at least six friends and several more acquaintances who have stopped eating it because of the loveable character in the Little Nemo Disney film. A strange reaction in a country that eats more fish than any other, is it not? My own befuddled explanation is that the movie's "message" (if it has one) is that eating fish of any sort is wrong because, hey, they're just like human beings - Disney's familiar but effective mantra. So, instead of wholeheartedly embracing this insufferable prohibition, sensitive souls have elected to single out the John Dory alone. The price of John Dory has actually gone down, but (unless it's my imagination) you don't see it on restaurant menus as often as before Little Nemo.

Many thanks for a magnificent lesson which was clearly conceived to address all possible questions and doubts. I can't wait to hit the market tomorrow morning so I can get cracking!

Heikki: I'm glad it caught your interest. Indeed the sangria you get in cartons and bottles - and 99% of what they serve in restaurants nowadays - is little more than wine and lemonade with some citrus juices and cheap brandy. A quarter bottle would be about half a 0.35 litre bottle. A wine glass would be nearer 3 ounces. But, like all cocktails, you should rebalance the final flavour according to taste. I'm sorry I was imprecise. Enjoy! Miguel

First of all, doggirl, a predated happy birthday for your Mom from another July-born survivor! Given the briefing, have you considered a lovely sangria - or "sangaree" in old mixological parlance? Real Spanish and Portuguese versions contain a fair amount of hard liquor, apart from the wine, and I think they're ideal for the Summer. Real sangrias do not contain carbonated sodas but, for those who wish to keep their alcohol content down (i.e. children!), filling them up in a highball glass with 7-up or Orangina and lots of ice is still absolutely delicious: think of it as a proper "wine cooler". The trick of sangrias - whether Portuguese or Spanish - is fermentation. This means you must prepare it at least 24 hours beforehand, though it does get even better 48 or even 72 hours later. I'm Portuguese so I'll give you the Portuguese recipe, but the (various) Spanish recipes are all delicious. For red sangria, you use red wine and red fruits. For white sangria (which I prefer in the summer), you use white wine and non-red fruits: peaches, apples, apricots, pineapple. But hey, it's absolutely flexible. Both red and white need a lot of oranges, lemons and lime. But, after that, it's up to you. The secret: you leave the wine to ferment in a lot of fruit and castor sugar, to which you've added generous amounts of cognac, fruit-based dry liqueurs (Cointreau is essential), dry gin and - if you like it - some anise liqueur, such as Marie Brizard - not Pernod. Leave it for 24 hours - peels and all. After that, you have your base. You're now free to add fresh fruits and whatever you think the sangria needs - it could be a little cinnamon, a lot of mint, cucumber... This works for red or white. But here's the Portuguese "sangria branca" recipe, for a big three-litre jug: - 2 bottles of very good, young (this means 2003 vintage), dry white wine. Sancerre is ideal, Muscadet just as good. Any good white wine will do. (A lot of people think that punches and sangarees are a good opportunity of using inferior wines and booze - big mistake!); - A quarter-bottle of cognac; - A quarter-bottle of Cointreau or Grand Marnier; - A quarter-bottle of decent dry London gin (Gordon's is the lower limit); - A wine-glass of Southern Comfort; - A wine-glass of Calvados, good apple shnapps or, best of all, Swiss or French pear-based eau-de-vie; - 2 tbs of anis (I hate aniseed but it works, don't ask me why): - Half-pound of white sugar; - Three fresh peaches, cut up into slices; - Two sharp green apples, eg. Granny Smith's, cut up: - A dozen fresh red cherries, stoned and squashed; - A dozen strawberries; - Half a pineapple, cut into cubes. Mash all the fruit and sugar with a pestle, adding the liquid little by little. Hey, you can also be careless and put it all in together as there won't be much difference. Leave the jug in a warm place, covered with a clean napkin, for at least 24 hours. An hour before the time comes to serve it, divide the sangria into two 2-litre jugs (or a big punch bowl) and add: - Three whole oranges, cut into slices (don't squeeze the juice); - Two whole lemons - same thing; - Two whole limes - same thing. - A lot (and I mean a lot!) of fresh mint, just the leaves, no stalks. To serve, you should have lots of ice and highball glasses. For those who want it neat, just lots of ice and fill it up. For those who prefer mixers (7-up, Orangina, cream soda, Schweppes bitter lemon, even ginger ale), choose the proportions accordingly. The truth is that the initial sangria base is so delicious that it's always good whatever you do. Never put ice or mixers into the mother lode! After the party, there will be a lot left and it'll just get better and better, fermenting and enclosing all the fruity flavours with the fruity alcohols. Finally, any fruit will do, as long as it's very fresh. Apart from the gin (I've tried vodka three or four times but it didn't work, though I suspect infused vodkas would be kick-ass), what you have, essentially, is fruit-based wine and fruit-based eaux-de-vie, mixed with sugar and fruits. That's why it's infallible! Hope you try all the suggested punches before July and choose the one you think your mother will like most. There's still a while to go before July but all the necessary fruits (think cherries too!) are approaching their best. Good luck!

On the plus side, the European Union is heaven. I used to fly to Ireland twice a year to buy cases of my favourite whiskies - which I would air-ship and pay duty on at enormous expense. Not to mention the eve's bare-chested all-nighter in my tape and cardboard-strewn hotel room just packing the bottles... Same with the cognacs, champagnes, grappas, Scotch whiskies and what have you. It was still a lot cheaper than paying regular duty. Now regular duty no longer exists and booze has become, oh, still about 20% cheaper than it was 15 years ago. I can stay at home and, thanks to the telephone (and the Internet) order anything from Spain, Italy, France, the UK and not pay a penny more. And that's if I don't simply order from one of the excellent Portuguese wine and spirits emporia. But, you know what? What does your typical Freud-would-understand-used-to-his-pleasures-coming-with-an-appreciable-dose-of-difficulty-European do? Why, he develops a fondness for American straight whiskies, of course: in litre and 0.75 litre bottles and at least 90 proof. Natch! ;)

I agree with Splificator. If you're limited to one bottle (seems a bit harsh, it used to be two) then what I want is something that a) can't easily be found elsewhere and b) packs the maximum wallop per sip. So I limit myself to the wonderful, esoteric world of "duty free bottlings". This always means high-proof versions of spirits I usually enjoy in the sad, castrated ghetto of 80 proof - and paltry 0,70 litre bottles - Europe. It can be Beefeater's 101 proof gin (called "Crown Royal" like the Canadian whisky, I think) or Bacardi's 101 (which carries an endearing "highly flammable" label in Europe), Laphroaig Cask Strength (or any other good malt whisky or Irish or American whiskey, bottled as nature intended, which sometimes means just over 120 proof) or one of the many overproof rums, Wood's Navy is indeed the best and the over 140 proof Austrian Strohl is the worst but the most fun - you can't even swallow the thing, it's all absorbed by the roof of your mouth in vapour form! There's a Finnish vodka - the extreme version of Finlandia - which is 142 proof. I still have the bottle I bought back in 1978 or something, though you have to use a laboratory device to seal the damn thing if you quite rightly want to deprive "the angels" of their evaporation share. All in litre bottles, of course - or, in the case of Strohl, in two handy half-litre flasks. Each one lasts a lifetime if you drink it straight. ;) The wine allowance also has to be considered for the best value-for-money deal but that's not the subject of the thread. (I used American proof measures. Continental European measure, alcohol by volume, is precisely half.)