Foodie Heaven
Walking down any highstreet in the Algarve I can’t fail to notice the proliferation of expat estate agents. In Lagos, a flat will now set you back 170000�&mdash,not so different from London’s suburbs. It makes me wonder: will bullish Brits and Germans elbow out the local residents and confine them to the hinterlands in a kind of peasant super-ghetto? Or will the EU move in and put a stop to profiteering from residencial properties? I have waited a decade so I won’t hold my breath.
So—on to Setubal. I have two reasons to go there, the bigger of which is a population of bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) in the Sado estuary. The other is proximity to Lisbon. Staying in the commuter belt is easier on the budget. From a campsite in Setubal or one of the surrounding villages it should be straightforward to jump on a bus to go sightseeing in Lisbon.
Getting to the campsite was a bit of a song and dance but I thank my lucky stars (and planning) that I got here in the early afternoon so that I could spot the sign in broad daylight as the bus shot past. It dropped me at a cement factory a further 15min walk down the road. I indicated that I’d like to stay on and turn around at the final stop but the driver shook his head. From what I could make out the next bus was not due for several hours. It turned out to be the one I ended up catching after having walked back past the cement factory and finding that there are no shops around from where to get any supplies.
I want to escape my enforced canned tuna-and-cheese diet and Setubal is the place to do this. Roadside BBQs were already visible from the bus and a haze of charcoal smoke engulfs the city. There are brightly illuminated butcher shops (‘meathalls’ night be a better term) and an enormous supermarket. The selection of fresh seafood inside almost brings tears to my eyes. I yearn for a kitchen! But while there are no cookers on the campsite, there are BBQs. For a long moment I seriously considered hauling back a sack of charcoal but at the last moment I desisted, realising what a mess that would make in my tent. I played it safe by picking up some pre-cooked meat from the chiller. But even though my receipt says ‘Frango’ it isn’t, because chickens have no teeth. It turns out to be suckling pig.
It never rains but it pours—as I head back to the bus station ladden with meats, bread, fresh fruit and a fine vinho verde there is laughter ahead combined with music and the sizzle of BBQs. It is the last night of what seems to be a local harvest festival ‘Sao Martinho en Setubal’ which offers roast chestnuts, sizzling bacon butties and vinho novo straight from the barrel. I plump for the bacon and within minutes am surrounded by happy locals crowding around the table and chatting to me in Portugese. I make my escape.
So this is Setubal, foodie heaven. The tourist joints of the Algarve have largely been replaced by local restaurants selling the finest meat and sefood. There isn’t an English menu in sight. I discern some of the offerings in passing: bacalhau (salt cod), sardines, deep-fried cuttlefish, octopus in its own ink, swordfish, crab and two dozen other items of seafood for which I have to take out the dictionary. Chops and steaks, rabbit and mutton (etc) and grilled chicken with piri-piri sauce which is famed the world over.
The fishmarket, which will be open again during the week, is legendary and the shops stock the finest of the season’s fruit, including bananas from Madeira, mangoes from the Azores and the new crop of almonds, walnuts and dried dates and figs, in time for christmas. Olive oil gleams greenish-brown in 5l bottles. There are few pubs but countless pastelerias from which a delicious smell of buttery pastry laced with icing sugar wafts down the street.
Of course there is excellent food to be had in the Algarve, at a price, but here I have finally arrived in foodie heaven.
Tags: Portugal, Tag Index
Denni