i'm incapable of not blogging about food. food is delicious. sometimes in portugal the food is delicious. other times, not so much. take my dinner two nights ago, explained to be "skewered turkey with peppers & onions." sounds tasty, right? hm. what if by "skewered turkey" they really meant dark, duck-like lardy meat and by "onions" they meant "slices of ambiguous animal fat that look like onion slices"? it took some pensive, thorough mastication before i realized that no, my onions were not peculiarly greasy and fibrous. cue five hour stomach ache, writhing and contemplating which receptacle i might vomit in if need be. lucky for my hostel owner, the bed-side crystal dolphin bowl remains sparkling clean.

last night i ate microwaveable squid. also, maybe not the best idea. as for wine, vinho verde! it is specific to northern portugal, fruity, fresh, and intended to be drunk within a year. and ah, sobremesa. you might think you can't go wrong with pastries, but the portuguese LOVE them their eggs, and many are too egg-heavy for me to even stomach i.e. bright yellow yolk-fest 2012. there is one, however, that changed my life. the pastel de belém, sweet baby jesus:



there are two other types of food here that i'd sell my first born for when famished. first, the octopus (polvo), straight up with olive oil, lemon, and parsley. i have become a serious octopus freak, and i'm not afraid to admit it. next, a portuguese sausage called alheira. alheira was originally invented by jews as a way to avoid the portuguese inquisition. since jews were not allowed to eat pork, it made them incredibly identifiable because they did not prepare and smoke the sausages in smokehouses. thus, they invented this faux sausage in which they replaced the pork with various other meats such as veal, chicken, turkey, duck, and/or rabbit, and then mixed it with bread. in these parts, you can still find alheira, usually served with potatoes, and sometimes an egg (surprise surprise). its flavor and consistency is like nothing else i have ever tried.

in love with banksy.

inspired by the prevalence of graffiti art in lisbon & porto, i have become obsessed. i'm especially smitten with large scale stencils. these vibrant tags which have defaced nearly every beautifully aged building in town, are abundant on both concrete and tile. while i'm not quite sure if the locals find this to be art or vandalism (i myself am not keen on the idea of destroying the already lovely hand-painted tiles) many of them are incredible, and oft times witty.




it is indeed conflicting because while i completely understand the desire to preserve history, the pieces can be undeniably charming and therefore all the more shocking given their surroundings. but why not? the streets are alive. just as i see bare skin as the perfect canvas to adorn oneself with tattoos, blank concrete walls are just begging for some character.

mute.

rachel freire.

oooooh.

Phillip Tournaire

nom nom nom.

this is what i ate for dinner last night. i’m not proud of it, but it happened. and it happened something serious, like a brick, like a delicious bundle of artery clogging joy. it’s called a “francesinha”, and is the token dish of porto. you can order it everywhere, and likely for under 4 euro. it’s as common as goddamn water…or mcdonald’s (which yago refers to as my “embassy”). as if being american isn’t embarrassing enough. anyways, this little number comes in the form of two giant slices of white bread filled with ham, chourico & steak, is smothered in cheese and drenched in a white-wine gravy. it usually comes with a mountain of french fries, but i figured i’d opt for the “diet” version. holy heart-attack batman; i can hear my ass growing. do you know what that sounds like?

but for serious, gorging on bread sopped with gravy is a nice change of pace for me. to be perfectly frank, i feel like i’ve been starving to death since i arrived in portugal. it’s been like fat camp, only minus archery and plus gypsies. all my blouses look like maternity-wear anyhow, so it’s unlikely that my adoptive family would take any notice. it’s probably their conspiratorial plan to make me more attractive, more european. yago’s mother must be 100 pounds soaking wet, and his sister too. and here is the american girlfriend, drooling over the second helpings she will not consume. oh no mr. & mrs. de quay, i swear, i’m really full. my two square inches of fish were incredibly filling, i mean it, i musn’t.

what have i learned? being consistently hungry can make a person rather unpleasant. and by “rather unpleasant”, i mean “god awful.” just imagine your worst PMS, times it by ten, and add a generous dash of fatigue. what you’ve got is a really fun time and sister insisting via skype that she express mail you costco granola bars. fiber one, she insists, your favorite. good times.

so to you, francesinha, i salute you. SHAH-WING!