Lagos: Cocktail Capital of Portugal
So this is how I spent the eve of my 40th birthday… at least what I can remember of it.
Eddie’s Bar is the spiritual home of travellers in Lagos. It was where I headed as soon as I was back in town; after checking my e-mail and writing a quick blog entry in a bar down the road. But before I left, I spotted a bottle of absinthe behind the counter.
“Can I try a shot of that?” I asked nervously. I don’t know why I was so nervous—perhaps I thought I looked underage or sad because I was all on my own—but absinthe has been banned in the UK until a few short years ago and it can still not be bought easily.
“Sure, right. Down in one!”
The stuff burnt down my throat like ignited rocket fuel and threatened to set alight my stomach juices. I felt instantly frazzled. “Whoa!” I said.
“Oh, that’s the weak stuff,” the bartender smiled: “I specially didn’t give you the strong stuff,” he indicated a dusty bottle on the very top of the shelf: “You care to try now?”
No thanks. I declined despite the 17 year old’s wicked grin. I’ll better act my age. A shot of absinthe had set me up nicely for the evening ahead, but it could also easily tip the balance. —Beware the green fairie.
So on to more familiar ground at Eddie’s. Every night a small, friendly crowd gathers here. With its wooden counter, stone floor and dartboard, Eddie’s looks more like a pub than a bar or club and the atmosphere is laid-back. But like all bars in Lagos, Eddie’s has an impressive list of cocktails. For reasons unknown to me, Lagos is the cocktail capital of Portugal and even the most modest establishment offers a list of about fifty. Eddie’s, in addition to this, also offers list of Jägermeister cocktails.
Jägermeister is a herb-infused bitter schnapps from Germany which my father used to swear is drunk strictly for medicinal purposes. It is one of a number of fearsome concoctions (Gammel Dansk and Fernet Branca spring to mind) traditionally drunk by huntsmen to warm up from inside when it’s cold outside. The last time I touched the stuff (Gammel Dansk on my 21st Birthday) is not an occasion I am likely to forget in a hurry. I scanned the list:
- Swimming Stag: Jägermeister dropped into Red Bull
- Homewrecker: Jägermeister & Southern Comfort
- Liquid Codeine (that did sound good): Sambucca, shaken over ice, with Jägermeister float
- Surfer on Acid: Jägermeister, rum, pineapple
- Black Death: Jägermeister dropped into Guiness
- Nazi Taco (!): Jägermeister, Tequila & Tabasco
- Jägermonster: Jägermeister, Kahlua, vodka—shaken
- Just Shoot Me: Jägermeister, JB, Jack Daniels, rum
The cocktails were clearly popular: the shelves around the bar were lined with one litre bottles—and the scary thing was that most of them were empty.
I wasn’t about to repeat past mistakes and stuck to white wine. Unsporting, I know. But then, not even on that fearsome cocktail list was there any hint that it would be wise to mix Jägermeister with absinthe.
To round off the evening with a little bit of excitement, I walked down the road to another bar which does great Caipirinhas. Portugal, with its strong Brazilian connections, does quite a mean turn on them. It is probably the only place outside Brazil where you can taste the real thing. And I had heard much about them. The Caipirinhas were cool and refreshing and seemed harmless enough. So I ordered more of them, until I felt no pain and was in a mood to dance the night away and reasoned it would be wise to weave my way back up the hill to the campsite.
Weave was the word. I promptly fell onto my tent and broke the central pole. I spent the night wrapped in the tent sheet and left the next morning without it. That tent had been with me for 20 years. It had been to India, Venezuela, Italy, France, Spain, the Faroe Islands, Sweden, Denmark and all around Britain. But I am sure that in the happy hippy camp of Campismo da Trindade it will live on for many years: forming parts of other traveller’s tents. Perhaps it will continue to travel the world with them. Somehow that is a more fitting end than leaving it to rot slowly on the loft. However, I shed a few tears. With it, a chapter of my life had ended. At forty, another was about to begin. And I wished I could re-wind the clock to my 21st birthday.
Why do I tell this story now? My birthday wasn’t all sweetness and light but it rounded off a good trip. It was warm and sunny on the Algarve—when I arrived there I took off my jacket for the first time in 10 days of travelling around Portugal. In fact, the weather was rather like it is now in Tadley. So here’s to a good summer.
Tags: Portugal, Tag Index
Denni