MiguelCardoso

Alberto, I have a bottle of the 25 Macallan I keep for special occasions - it is indeed a luscious treat. When I said "over 25" I meant well over 25: 40, 50 and older. I've tried 50 year old Macallan and it was very thin and mellow - though, of course, still very nice. But the distillers themselves have little respect for such agings, which they consider an almight waste - a waste of what could have been a great 18-year or 25-year old. They don't rate collectors much either - though they pander to them. From my visit there I also learnt about the very young 7-year-old they bottle specially for Milan-based Armando Giovenetti (the man who, before representing Macallan, made 5-year-old Glen Grant the top selling whisky in Italy, beating even the cheapest, most popular blends). I've been hooked since. It's difficult to find in Lisbon (and costs about 30 euros, more than the 12-year-old) but it's very fresh and very, very Macallany. It really helps one to understand their malt whiskey. My comment about the whisky they used to fill up the antique bottles is based on the presumption that they probably used an old (but not 19th Century) Macallan. If this is so (I can't believe they filled it with Famous Grouse or something!) then the fact that the whisky wasn't over a century old would make it more sippable. A weak joke, I know... All the best, Alberto! Miguel

(Oops, sorry! Deleted to remove double post.)

I don't know about the forgeries but I visited the imposing Macallan distillery back in 1998 and was told in no uncertain terms what their distillers thought of any malt over 25 years old, including their own: only slightly better than cats' piss. As for the 50-year old, which sold for a fortune... Although I'm surprised such a reputable, high-volume firm would resort to such fakery, a part of me stubbornly refuses to be shocked. People who buy these antique bottles - think of all the cases of still great centuries-old Madeira they could buy and drink for the price - aren't really interested in the content. My bet is that the whisky that went into the old bottles was several millions times better than the original. Not the point, I know - but still...!

Dear David, Thank you so much for your kindness, knowledge and utterly unfiltered enthusiasm! A run of Old-Fashioneds has indeed been booked in your name! All the very best, Miguel

David/Splificator: I can't tell you how honoured I feel to share a thread with you. I've so often quoted you (along with all my friends and fellow columnists, so that you don't think I'm some sort of exception) that it's quite a thrill. Hey, if something's true, come out and say it, right? I'll have you know that it was your fearless and intelligent defense of straight rye whiskey that first intrigued me and led me, around 1998 or 1999, to a single-handed campaign to have rye whiskey available in Portugal. I fancy myself as a connoisseur of whiskies but, to be honest, I'd never actually tried it till then. Talk about shameful... Today, thanks to YOUR influence alone (and your denunciation of the Canadians' false claim to ryeness, still believed in a lot of lesser European countries which use Canadian Club to make Manhattans, Old-Fashioneds and Mint Juleps) my friends and I have managed to convince the all-powerful drink distributors here to offer Wild Turkey Straight Rye, 50.5% (Pernod Ricard Portugal - delicious!); Pikesville (Mercearia Nacional - godawful but definitely rye); Jim Beam "yellow label" Rye (rusty-tasting and diluted to 80 proof for Europe but still engaging in a couple of julep, with the right mint) and expensive brands like Sazerac and Van Winkle (from our meritorious Whiskey Clube). This was all thanks to you. In Manhattan itself - even in the best bars - rye whiskey was not only unavailable but seemingly unheard of: a scandal in the very country which invented the damn, blessed thing! Since I haven't visited for three years, I hope things have changed. Friends of mine have reported that the Bemelsmans Bar at the Carlyle Hotel now stock plain Old Overholt (I love it!), Sazerac and Wild Turkey. But not in the spring of 2001, where asking for "rye", even for a plain, classic highball, was akin to demanding Luxardo maraschino for your Aviation: reactions were worth photographing, believe me! I sincerely hope, if you're kind enough, you'll locate the "Esquire" article written by this outstanding bartender and, as you rightly say, gentleman. I'd very much like to write about him and renew our acquaintance, wherever he is. It was a longish essay on bartending, published, precisely, in the early Nineties, mentioned on the cover. The funny thing is that the "David" part may well have come from you! :)

David Wondrich is Splificator? Wow! No, let me say that again: WOW! His marvellous counsel - not only on the essential Esquire Drink Database - is one of the few eternally reliable and knowledgeable mainstays of us cocktail-lovers. If he doesn't know who the Algonquin bartender is... well, he should be ashamed! ;) Thanks ever so much, dearest beans! :)

My most unforgettable bartender, I was told by one of the useless drones who'd replaced him at the Algonquin Hotel in midtown Manhattan - one of which actually mixed my Martini in a cheap plastic tumbler and had the cheek to say glass was "inappropriate" - has died. Supposedly. I didn't believe the guy then - this was in May 2001 - and I don't believe him now. The woody, legendary little bar where he worked, to the right of the reception desk, had been closed forever - though there was a cat-flap at the bottom of the door, to where the lovely house cat, a Maine Coon called Mathilda, who enjoyed lounging on the desk, retired whenever over-enthusiastic guests stroked her too much - and all that was left was the denuded, deracinated, declassé and ridiculously expensive "Blue Bar" accessible from the street. When I was almost 30 - in the mid-eighties - this suave, philosophical and witty bartender, on my first visit to the Algonquin, introduced me to the joys of well-made Martinis, Manhattans, Old-Fashioneds, Whiskey Sours, Aviations and, for my very first time, Margaritas. For which, very understandably, I shall be eternally grateful. He was tall and slim - I'd say in his late forties - very distinguished, well-spoken and literary, with a fascinating and much-travelled life. Among his quirks were using a drop of Pernod in an improvised "pipette" (a straw) to enhance his Martinis (something I still do to this day) and keeping what was left in the shaker after making a cocktail, to fill up when you'd had a sip or two. He called this "the dividend". I went back to the Algonquin three or four times and I won't pretend he wasn't the main reason for my staying there - I even resisted when the Royalton, just across the street, had opened. His conversational "nous" and his worldly intelligence were as stimulating to me as my best Oxford tutors'. Like all expert bartenders, he welcomed every client as if they were the only human beings who not only enjoyed but sincerely and direly needed a cocktail. There was no special treatment, though every one of us felt special. Every afternoon, around five, I'd enter the bar and place myself in his hands while he chose "sequences" of classic cocktails (he was an expert at this, being able to serve four different cocktails in an increasingly agreeable crescendo, with no unpleasant effects or drunkeness) and regaled me with his observations of the world. He wrote a long, riveting article for "Esquire" about the bartender's art but, a few years later, when I managed to return to New York, the Algonquin had been bought by some Japanese corporation and then by some equally faceless American chain, the small woody bar he worked in had been shut forever and my most unforgettable bartender, to borrow the classic Readers' Digest phrase, according to the obnoxious plastic martini guy, had passed away. I suspect the fact that I didn't tip him (didn't drink the Martini either, as he refused to mix it in a proper mixing glass) may have had something to do with it as, just before I asked about the now mythical bartender, I caught him whispering "Cheap!" to his similarly uncouth colleagues. For years now I've searched for that article - if only to remember his name (which I'm almost sure was David something, but we all know the havoc that memory allows) and honour him properly and the role he played in my life, not the least of which is the weekly cocktail column I write for the "Diário de Notícias", Portugal's oldest daily newspaper. Perhaps some older eGulleteer can help me track him down - or someone with access to the complete "Esquire" archive. Perhaps not... Still, I'd very much like to hear similar stories of extraordinary bartenders who have opened your eyes, taste buds or minds with their expertise, patience and generosity. I shouldn't wonder a lot of them are quite young - only three years ago, the chief bartender at 58/58, the New York Four Seasons Hotel bar, a cheerful, superbly gifted Trinidadian ex-boxer called Chris, gave me and my wife a fortnight-long crash course in late 20th Century cocktails - to lasting effect, bless him.

Thank you so much, Shaun! Actually, you cleared the mystery once and for all! I had, in fact, just been scooping the octopus out of the boiling water for less than a minute and then dropping it back in. I had no idea you had to let it cool before replunging. This was the detail that my friendly chefs - grrrr! - omitted, thereby ensuring my frustration. I shall be using your method from now on, starting Sunday - and we shall raise a glass to you and yours. All the very best! P.S. Your idea of leaving octopii in the sea is indeed a good one as all the fishermen I know hate them because, in lobster pots, they invariably devour all the crustaceans - and then escape. If you're foolhardy enough to put a live octopus in a seawater-filled bucket with other shellfish (your morning's catch), you'll inevitably find, once you get to shore - or back to your restaurant - that the beast has sucked out all the meat from its neighbours, though their appearance (apart from the telling hole from whence the extraction proceeded) is picture-perfect. Still, they're too delicious. And by leaving them in the sea all they'll do is gobble up an ever greater amount of shrimps, lobsters and crabs. That's why they taste so good, the bastards! :)

I wouldn't abuse your extraordinary kindness and generosity if I weren't desperate. I've boiled octopus in all the ways recommended here in Portugal, by everyone from fishermen to great chefs, namely: 1) Freezing fresh octopus first; then boiling it for 15-20 minutes (or until an unpeeled potato is tender), lifting it three times out of the boiling water for a few seconds and then re-submerging it. Result: always too tough and rubbery. The alternative (i.e. leaving it for another two hours, the theory being it's either 20 minutes or 120 minutes) makes it tender but mushy and tasteless. All the goodness leaks into the broth - so we end up making octopus rice. 2) Beating the hell out of fresh octopus, as fishermen (and Greeks) do. Result: mushy octopus, tasty but with no bite. 3) Putting frozen octopus into a pressure cooker, no water and a cork ( Don't ask! Nobody knows why). Result: worked well only once. Other times it was disagreeably burnt. 4) The brief Japanese method - too chewy and tough, unless you slice it very thin. I've tried sea water, unsalted spring water and even octopus stock from previous fiascos. No such problems occur with squid or cuttlefish. What's your method? If you're like Portuguese cooks, you won't say - and I'm used to that. I know however you won't do the Portuguese trick of giving incomplete instructions, so that you seem friendly without actually encouraging competition. Many thanks beforehand! Miguel

my gut tells me it will be a long time before the very traditional forces firmly entrenched within Portugal allow much movement. Either that, or the few modern-leaning chefs have to keep getting better, keep refining their work, keep fighting the odds to the point that their excellence and brilliance is undeniable within two of these three segments 1) within the professional chef community--which is VERY traditional and against change(...) Many thanks to chefette and to Steve for the superb report from Pica no Chão (which tallies perfectly with my experience there, thanks to a recommendation from Steve himself) and for the wise words - spot on! - about the prospects for creative cuisine in Portugal. Above all, I'm touched by how gracious you both were. As I've said elsewhere, wherever I went I heard very endearing reports about your stay in Lisbon and how open and welcoming you both were. I should say, however, that although there are a handful of very good modern chefs working in Lisbon (Vítor Sobral and Júlia Vinagre are world-class), Portuguese cuisine is indeed VERY traditional and VERY conservative. It all depends where you stand on this question. For the record, I'm all in favour - there are so many places in the world where you can get innovative cuisine. In Portugal - a small country, remember - it's good that we stick to our guns and obsessively reproduce a cuisine that has stood the test of time. Very fresh ingredients, "simply" cooked ("simply" is an illusion - it's actually very, very difficult and requires years and years of experience to correctly grill, steam or boil fish, for instance) and served in an unpretentious setting, for prices substantially lower than the rest of Western Europe. Portugal is divided into several very distinct regions and there are thousands of great dishes which are complex preparations and require even more expertise. Most great restaurants and cooks have been specializing in one (rarely two) dishes for decades. They know what they're doing and no other Portuguese restaurant can come close, obviously. We don't experiment; we have no taste for novelty - all our curiosity is devoted to the traditional dishes of other countries, of which we are avid consumers. What we want is predictable, reliable, delicious-tasting, freshly-made (and served only on that day of the week!) food, well served and as cheap as possible. This may be lamentable to some but it's just the way we are. :)

Curlywurlyfi: what an absolutely wonderful expression "a bit of a bane in them" is! Please thank your mother for me. Potatoes, imported from mysterious South America, were long regarded as poisonous by suspicious Europeans, frightened of their close relationship to the deadly nightshade. So it took an embarassingly long time for us to cotton on to their all-round goodness. The same happened with tomatoes and peppers... Your mother's comment is all the more intelligent and apposite considering that there was a long, intermediate phase when raw potatoes were still considered a poison, although thoroughly cooked (i.e. overcooked) taters had been cleared. So the Portuguese passion for toothy, waxy potatoes - we hate floury! - has finally been defined. In the cheap and wonderful Clube da Pesca, no less. Very fitting! But the Scottish expression is sublime because it implies a sort of risk, of putting-your-life-on-the-line bravery which would be ideally applied (and have no doubt I will apply it next time I partake!) to the enjoyment of "fugu" sashimi with just a hint of that gum-numbing, sometimes fatal poison from its delicious liver. Not to mention uncertain mushrooms and certain meals in dubiously hygienic - but delicious - dives. "Bane" will be, from hereon, my favourite word for 2004. :)

Vserna: accepted. Whereas you're choosing one of Madrid's most expensive restaurants (one which I'm itching to go to as often as I can, as reports from fellow shellfish-lovers here in Lisbon, as well as on eGullet and in the Portuguese and Spanish, are invariably very enthusiastic), I'll happily put forward a cheap seafood shack where the owner's father fishes everything himself on the night before. Or several other sawdust-and-beer cafés owned by working fishermen and their wives who do nothing - and their forefathers nothing else either for centuries and centuries - except boil shellfish and cook cockles and clams. It's not onemanupship and it's not nationalism: it's complementarity. There are so many great Spanish ingredients and dishes which are simply the best you can get. With many, the Portuguese do try to compete (with the cured ham, for instance) and can't be said to be at a disadvantage in terms of livestock or millenia of know-how. And yet the truth remains that even right across the border, in Jabugo, the ham is far superior, effortlessly almost, to all our best efforts. Geography does matter. And serendipity. And a variety of other factors, like weather - the proper weather to eat certain things. Rather than propose silly contests (though fun for whoever gets to judge, as he'll get two fantastic seafood orgies!) ask Combarro where their crustaceans come from. Then ask yourself whether in Madrid the fishermen drift in to Combarro's kitchen, minutes after they've hauled their shrimp, langoustines and dozens of other ocean-fresh, 100% alive and kicking fish and take a few enormous containers filled with the cleanest Atlantic seawater in which to cook them. Asl yourself whether the Madrid climate - and the view - are anything like as appropriate as staring out at the Atlantic Ocean, with a briny, salty breeze seasoning whatever you smell and eat, where all these delicacies have been caught. You have generously praised so much from Portugal and I, not being nearly as knowledgeable about Spain as you are about Portugal, have shown how passionate I am about Spanish cooking and gastro-culture, in all its vast variety and creativity. Portugal and Spain complement each other. Surely it's absurd to compete. We can have both - and, by jove, we do. I apologize, though, if my tone or somewhat exaggerated style come across as nationalism. I love good food wherever it comes from or wherever I get it - I would never prefer something Portuguese even if it was only slightly less perfect. As I'm sure you wouldn't either!

I´m sure Miguel may say there's even better seafood in Portugal, but it's hard to image anything better than the gambas rojas from around here. The cigalas come in a close second. Bux: when you come to Portugal and eat live, just-caught, never-been-near-a-tank shellfish, you'll understand. It's not a question of opinion but of geography. The Atlantic coast of Portugal and, to a much lesser extent, of Galicia is where the best shellfish come from. Spain imports a lot of it but the best and the freshest are caught and consumed here, because the Portuguese are prepared to pay more for it. I'm looking forward to your visit to Portugal as I can see what a lover of seafood you are - by Jove, I'll personally chaperone you and your wife so that you can rid yourself of all these misconceived notions about Spain. Cigalas? Harrumph! When you try a pound-and-a-half "lagostim" just brought in, still covered in seaweed, you'll regret every word! ;)

Chef Gateau: that carrot mousse story made me cry with emotion. This is easily done with me, but not about food cooked by a stranger for another stranger. It's a wonderful story and the care you put into preparing the carrot mousse your customer asked for is a perfect example of Heidegger's concept of cura: the loving attention to God's gifts which represents the best of humanity. Well done!

this forlorn corner of southwestern Europe Hey! Watch it, Serna! :)

Here's the review. Most of the time, I find Patricia Wells altogether too easy to please. The list of all her all-time absolute favourites seems to change every week - and get longer and longer. My cynical bet is she'll only go back to La Cagouille in 2010 and then write another column about how she hasn't been for 6 years and what a mistake it was because the food is so tremendous. ;)

Seconded! Only those who've actually gone through the labours of writing a thorough synopsis or summary know how difficult it is. Yours, Alberto, was perfect. Many thanks!

Chef Gateau: it is indeed a privilege to read your courageous and highly intelligent comments on a forum where members are free to address themselves to you. Thank you! As a conservative gastronome, I'm very interested in the recent phenomenon of top chefs in France and (much less so) in the rest of Western Europe controlling their ingredients completely. There's nothing like a simple, expertly roasted chicken where everything the chicken has eaten from birth, down to the smallest detail, its exercise and even environment (it's a pity chefs still can't control the weather!) has been dictated by the chef who will eventually cook him. In the most interesting restaurants, a few pioneering chefs, unafraid to seem old-fashioned and unashamed of their heritage (for example, their mother's and grandmother's cooking, unimpressed as it was by high-falutin' chatter) are serving very simple dishes - but more perfect than ever - where every vegetable and ingredient has been supervised and approved by them at every stage. They experiment with different diets for the livestock and collaborate with agronomic engineers and the new "biological" ecologists, so that their "cuisine" starts at the very, very beginning. Does this painstaking, rigorous, uncompromising attitude have a future in this ever-uniform, globalizing world you decry? Can these brave chefs resist the tide of fashion and the frivolous desire for innovation and mere changes in texture and presentation; the submission to technology and empty chemistry; the appeal to "internationalize" and "customize" to the point of forgetting their precious memory and the lessons of the region where they were born? It seems to me that the future of "haute cuisine" is, ideally, to reestablish standards and the primacy of the goodness and truth of the best ingredients at their best. Play has a place, of course, but since when has classic cooking precluded personality? Great chefs' greatest quality, even before cooking, is their good taste; their exigence; their refusal to be hoodwinked or sidetracked; their insistence on truth of flavour, provenance and overall quality. I find it wonderful that a handful of enlightened and powerful chefs are becoming growers of vegetables and "criadores" (the Portuguese word is significant, I think) of livestock; as well as extremely savvy judges of the wildness and freshness (and "liveness"!) of fish, molluscs and shellfish. But I worry that these brave souls may be doomed, under a barrage of frivolities... I would much appreciate a word of yours about these tendencies!

I couldn't agree more, vserna. I was referring to live, wild-caught hard-to-find crustaceans like that plump red shrimp, percebes and small slipper lobsters. They're just too good to use in cooked dishes and wouldn't make a difference from regular, live tank-held or just very fresh but dead or, in the case of prawns, even frozen. Spider crabs and spiny lobsters are an exception as they're still plentiful. There a lot of fine Portuguese dishes - some very complex - made with shellfish, molluscs and fish. It's a bit like properly cut, very fresh sashimi: enjoying it raw just adds to the many pleasurable ways the fish can be cooked. Sixty years ago, shellfish was very cheap and abundant and resourceful cooks, sick of the taste of it, were obliged to seek out interesting ways of cooking it - some which successfully masked its original taste. Lobsters were so plentiful that a lot of them were just used as fertilizer. But times have changed, unfortunately!

Hello there, Steve! I don't suppose you could have asked an easier question after having wowed the chefs of Lisbon with your magnificent displays? It's not export demand because, so far as I know, no shellfish is exported - even to Japan - because of the high prices. The traffic is the other way - into Portugal and Spain - attracted by how much people here are prepared to pay. In the case of Galicia, which has excellent percebes and red shrimp, Portugal and (the rest of) Spain bid against each other. There's never any danger of not selling as "mariscos" are uniquely considered a luxury which must be indulged - people just close their eyes and open their wallets. Even at these prices, prime, live shellfish are difficult to find and turn up, at most, once or twice a week. The Portuguese would never eat freshly caught live shellfish any other way but simply boiled - although some heathens grill their spiny lobsters. For shellfish dishes - like the "arroz de marisco" - they'll use fresh (but dead) or frozen. I've had "arroz de marisco" made with live shellfish twice, made by an expert cook (in Porto de Santa Maria), because I insisted. I selected the poor creatures myself - but it was a huge disappointment, no better than the usual version. (The second time was because I couldn't believe the first, stupid and stubborn as I am). The Galicians have a wholly different attitude to shellfish and actually season them and cook them up in imaginative ways - which we deplore. Some of them still boil their pristine percebes with a leaf of laurel - perhaps a hangover from old times when they were a bit whiffy. Their wonderful scallops are rarely eaten without the addition of garlic or tomato or what have you. Delicious...but a waste, I think. Like the Japanese, we rarely eat shellfish at home. I like to, but I'm an exception. A "mariscada" is a joyous occasion where friends enjoy shellfish together and screw the expense. It's less fun if you're not in a crowded room, where someone inevitably will say "I don't care how much it costs - it's worth it!" It's this attitude which leads to the current, outrageous prices. Funnily enough, with any other food - including fish! - the Portuguese are notoriously tight-fisted. "Expensive is worse than rotten" is a popular saying. But shellfish is this great big exception. Damn, because it's so good! Perhaps, in some weird psychological potlatch-like way, paying so much for it and having to look so hard for it is part of the pleasure. P.S. After hearing about the courageous and brilliant version of "arroz doce" you presented to your fellow professionals here, to so much applause, I inevitably await your take on the "arroz de mariscos" which, though it's made everywhere, is very rarely as sublime as it could be! :)

You do that, Cathar. Bon appétit!

How sweet and trusting of you to actually follow my recommendations, MMerrill! That's definitely a sign of friendship in my book. And how did you find Solar dos Leitões? Even Lisboans get lost going there. As for Clube da Pesca, you're only the second party - out of about fifty - that have actually found it. Do you have some special navigational sense you'd like to share with the rest of us? I am so absolutely happy you all enjoyed the food - your grand daughter's demolishing of 25 clams shows there's hope for us all! Perhaps next time we can all gobble up good things together! Thank you so much! :)

Oh Adam - isn't that New Labour for you? In the UK, despite all the social progress of the 20th Century, you're still discarding your peasants. Here on the continent, whenever we can get our hands on one, we still consider them one of the tastier items of the field. :)

Do hurry, nerdgirl! :)

Docsconz: Still, it would be OK if you were sure of a supply. Say it's a big day and you want "camarão de espinho" and screw the expense. The truth, however, is that they're so hard to come by. As prices rise, overfishing becomes worse and it becomes a vicious circle. Mind you, I'm talking about live shellfish, caught on the very day and brought in in the clean sea water they were caught in. You get to examine them in the buckets and watch them plunge into the same (now boiling) water. A few minutes later, you're eating them still warm. No holding tanks - well, not for more than 24 hours. Shellfish starve in tanks and lose their flavour and energy. To gain access to these catches you must spend at least an hour a day phoning round (or answering the phone) so you're kept in touch. Usually, catches come in gluts, which means you eat what's available, in larger quantities than you otherwise would eat, because you know it may be a long time before the opportunity presents itself again. You can't just eat your way through a selection of shellfish, unless you settle for the "old" shellfish which has been kept alive in tanks. Or for the "stale" already-cooked, already-dead, probably frozen and almost certainly kept cold, which burns shellfish. Even two hours of refrigeration is enough to rid a simple shrimp of all its delight. I imagine scoring hard drugs is much easier and cheaper...