Tasting Home in Portugal

Nothing sharpens the appetite to such a formidably visceral state as the Atlantic Ocean air of northern Portugal. Especially after an early-morning flight from Amsterdam and after a four-day exposure to the culinary offerings of the Netherlands, the limitations of which are only superseded by their eternal blandness. My ballen were bitter after day two.

But Portugal, O Portugal, give me your long beaches of the north, your fishing villages speckled on the low dunes within earshot of the thundering Atlantic, the salty tang of your maritime air and the marvel of your culinary offerings.

Home for the next few days is Casa Sá in the village of Esmoriz, a quaint seaside town built on the beach where fishermen have for centuries, and still do, drift out into the sea to net an array of delectable marine creatures. Esmoriz houses eateries offering the ocean’s bounty, and I was hungry, but to set the tone for the evening’s dining, my host Joaquim Sá suggested a light snack of the meaty kind to set the stomach juices a flow and to stretch the jaw muscles.

For this, there is a trailer close to the beach specialising in the bifana, a renowned Portuguese sandwich known to cure all kinds of physical, psychological and spiritual maladies due to its simple, hearty goodness.

At the trailer one can order an enticing array of bifana offerings including ones drenched in melted cheese or made in formidable baguette-like breads. This being a pre-dinner stop, we headed for the bifana au naturel, meaning one straight-up.

What you have is a freshly baked bread-roll, sliced and filled with wafer-thin shreds of pork. The pork is fragrant and more tender than a broken heart, and has been marinaded in white wine and olive oil and bay-leaves after which it is flash-fried in a pan. As the meat lies on its welcoming fluffy bed of baked dough, the roll draws in the juice of pork and marinade sauce, along with a run of glistening fat.

The bifana is taken in four hungry bites, the combination of pork, bread and flavour ensuring these bites are accompanied by grunts of satisfaction between the eating and the sipping of a cold SuperBock stout beer.

A brief walk in the now cool Atlantic air revives the appetite, and we enter ao Sal, a lively eatery near the monument built as an honour to Esmoriz’s fishing community. The place is humming on this Friday evening, customers drinking beer and nibbling some good-looking things sourced from the ocean.

We are not to be left behind, and soon a kilogram of steaming clams is brought to the table. Now, of all the good things of Portugal, Atlantic clams are at the top of my list when it comes to eating pleasure.

Steamed in their shells until these pop open, the clams lie in a sauce of wine, garlic and parsley with what could be a bit of butter to add a cloak of gleaming density and touch of richness to the liquid. The clams are pounced upon hungrily, the succulent warm morsels sucked from their shells. Their taste is sweet, with a discernible oceanic freshness that makes the roll of the nearby waves sound louder. Bread, slightly toasted, is dipped in the liquor. A vibrant Aveleda Vinho Verde, cool and bright, is sipped in long draughts.

Next is a house speciality of ao Sal, namely Arroz de tamboril com Gambas. Namely, a pot filled with what initially appears to be a bouillabaisse sort of soup, the scarlet hue interspersed with blossom-pink prawns and white morsels of fish. Once stirred, however, the soup reveals its bed of rice that has drawn flavour from the broth.

The pieces of fish accompanying the prawns to form the base of the Tamboril is monkfish, that ugly, monster-like flat thing whose flesh is as delectably tasty as its appearance is ghastly.

This is good eating. The rice is accurately cooked to an al dente state, exuding the unrivalled flavour of fresh food from the ocean. Prawns, shelled, are tender, yet offer just the correct degree of resistance to the chew which is required to prove their freshness. The monkfish, too, is firm on the bite and bears a mild flavour slightly resembling crayfish.

The broth remains my favourite part, I spoon it directly to the mouth where it rests in a burst of flavour, with tomato at its core and skilfully given poise and depth with fish-stock, parsley, thyme, fennel and garlic.

As the ocean darkens with the expanse of night, the air becomes embracing, folding its arms around a diner who is well fed, sated and feeling, truly, he is now home.