But when you get the real real thing, you might not be up to it.
From the same totally anonymous unheated cafe that, a few weeks ago, produced this glory:
It's served Thursdays only, and runs out in twenty minutes. Backup is this frango de guia (a small chicken, though no one can tell me whether it's young or just a smaller variety):
This time I had the Monday special, favas com entrecosto. Fava beans with spare ribs. If you expect it to include - or sidecar - other contrasting delights, e.g. some sort of carb or vegetable or tomago or lokshen kugel, or anything, nope. Favas with spare ribs is literally all it is (plus a couple near-transparent slices of tuckered-out chourico). No counterpoints, no distractions, no mercy. Just spoon after spoon of this wet dowdy duad.
Never has higher glory fallen more precipitously into tedium. Halfway through, I was desperately eyeing the exits. Grizzled locals contentedly spooned the stuff into their blithely eager mouths, while I was utterly failing to fit in. Sigh.
There was no problem with the dish. The fault was completely mine. I cannot hang with Fred Flintstone. I only like peasant food when it comes with, like, chili sauce and bread sticks and a nice microgreen salad and gravy seasoned by a modern, sophisticated chef who understands My Needs.
I discussed my trauma with a professional chef back in NY:
This is a completely under-radar, un-discussed, dowdy, locals-only eatery in a disrespected village known for hosting a mega mall and a national railroad station. It's actually quite a find (I still need to work through the Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday specials). And the same village also boasts the best suckling pig south of Barreiro (more on Barreiro's leitão here). Portugal is chowhound heaven, but more on that some other time.
3 comments:
Yes, the unpeeled favas are offputting, but, for me, the fries are a complete non-starter. I saw an ate those same bland fries across Portugal. They must be frozen or government issue.
I always thought Se de Garda in Alges, near the Mercado de Alges, looked incredible when we spent a few weeks in Alges. They posted their specials to Facebook daily. It seemed to be a great spot where workers ate.
How would you contrast this to cuisine that legitimately follows "let the ingredients sing" without artifice?
I can’t find a link to my standard argument on that, but it’s utter bullshit. You can sit out in your field massaging your carrot or rutabaga as it grows, and boil it with immense skill, and serve it cut beautifully on find China, but it ain’t gonna sing.
Food sings because you do stuff to it. You can hide your labors (and the best chefs do), but simple ingredients flairlessly cooked taste like dull ingredients.
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