San Vicente de Alcantara: First Farm, First Impressions

On Monday, May 28 (our one month anniversary!), we left our cozy Lisbon flat and hopped the 10:30 p.m. train to Valencia de Alcántara where we would be picked up by our first farm hostess and taken to the pueblo of San Vicente de Alcántara.  I gotta say, even the train's cheap seats were pretty posh!  Reclining, squishy, comfy seats, heavy curtains to block the sun if you want to sleep, hooks for your purse above your head – seriously, the airlines should take notes!  For the next five hours, we read, dozed, played around on our new little travel laptop, and snacked on the last package of PigWizard lonza, dried apricots, Mary’s Gone Crackers, and the last chunk of Charlie and Rachel’s delicious wedding gift: red wine soaked, honey and lavender rolled, goats milk manchego.  Clearly we were roughing it! 

We washed the snack down with a water bottle half full of leftover red wine and half full of water.  Interesting choice of beverage, you say?  Well, back at the flat, Jonathan had found that one of our metal water bottles was only half full.  Knowing that I guzzle water like it is the elixir of life (wait, it is!) and being the thoughtful husband that he, he kindly filled the bottle the rest of the way full with water.  Only when he took a sip did he realize his folly!  Ah, well, the mixture was so nasty that it forced me to nurse the half bottle of wine for the whole 5 hour trip! 

Since it had been a while since I had been on a European train, catching the “red-eye”, I couldn’t remember the stop notification protocol.  As we rolled to a stop at the first station, there was no announcement; the train simply stopped for a minute or two and then carried on down the tracks.  Given that we were seated down the aisle a ways from our bags, and it was likely that we would only have seconds to gather up our belongings before the train took off again, as the hour drew near to our arrival time, we were a little anxious.  Every time the train slowed, we pulled the curtains aside and tried to catch a glimpse of the station sign.

Finally, when we saw the sign for Valencia de Alcántara, we gathered our day packs, Kindle and laptop, grabbed our bags and jumped off the train.  Seconds after deboarding, we were approached by a dark haired English woman in her mid-forties who could be non-other than our farm hostess.  It turned out that the reason she had directed us to get off at the Valencia de Alcántara stop rather than the San Vicente de Alcántara stop was that the train waits in this station for an hour and the drive to San Vicente from Valencia was only about 10 minutes.  Given that there wasn’t a chance that the train would take off any second, Jonathan thought it might be a good idea if he double checked our seats to make sure that we hadn’t left anything on the train.  When he came back holding the only light sweater I had brought to Europe and my new pick-pocketing resistant purse, I had no words.  Nice work, Nicole, great start to responsible traveling.

After triple checking that we had everything, we climbed into our hostess’s car.  One whiff and my first reaction was to quietly whisper to Jonathan, “This car smells like horse shit.”  I then checked myself thinking that this city slicker had better get used to questionable smells, etc. seeing as we were headed off to farm life after all.

After a short drive in the 3:00 a.m. darkness, we arrived at the finca (farm).  Our hostess opened the door and led us down a hallway with floor to ceiling windows lining one wall and into the newly redesigned kitchen.  A cornucopia of fruit and vegetables lay in baskets on one granite counter top, a mini meat slicer on another, and in the middle of the kitchen was a large family style wooden table with benches on either side.  This looked promising! 

Our hostess then led us through another door, down another corridor and into a little room at the end of the hall.  I looked around at the unpainted walls, the light fixtures hanging out of the walls by their cords, and what was that smell?  Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a bad smell per say, it just smelled like stuffy plastery weirdness.  She showed us the nice big closet (score!) that housed three hangers (uh, I'm gonna need a few more) and the unfinished bathroom and shower whose curtain was held in place with linked zip ties.  Ok, clearly they were remodeling or this was just a new part of the house that hadn’t yet been finished.  No big deal.

It was about 3:30 a.m. at this point, so our hostess bid us goodnight.  We stood in a slightly stunned, more tired than anything silence for a minute and then decided to check out the kitchen a little further since that seemed the most promising aspect of the house so far.  As we re-entered the kitchen I took a second look around and noticed the television sitting on pieces of cardboard surrounded by random junk: a broken fan, some papers, a dirty plastic box, books, etc.  I opened a drawer and found all of the silverware, sharp knives, and serving utensils thrown haphazardly in one heap, absolutely no organization whatsoever.  Why did I get the feeling that this drawer was a strong indication of what was to lie ahead? 

We opened a second drawer and quickly discovered the need for the mini slicer: a whole drawer full of vacuum sealed cured and smoked meats!  Ok, this couldn’t be all bad, let’s just get some sleep and we’ll see what happens tomorrow.

Up Next:  What Happened Tomorrow

Sucking Shells and Braising Bones: Eating Well in Lisbon

Baby Bird & PigWizard, Lisbon

How do you extend your European adventure, prolong the escape from reality, delay the inevitable return to the daily grind of go to work, go home, make dinner and do it all over again tomorrow, basically stretch your honeymoon to the greatest possible length?  Don’t run out of money!  This concept has to remain at the forefront of our consciousness at all times throughout this trip.  How do we remain thrifty and yet still fully experience our new locations to the best our wallets will allow?

"Two-Face Beans"

Nelson the Butcher

Our master plan for thrifty yet experiential in Lisbon, was to take full advantage of the kitchen in our flat and rely on the amazing local ingredients found in the Mercado de Ribeira and of course the fresh meat items from our new friend Nelson’s butcher shop.  In addition to his regular stock of meat (rabbit, quail, lamb, beef, farm chicken, pork, etc.), which he portioned to order, I might add, several days a week he also sold the beautiful flowers and produce grown on his farm including bok choi, lettuce, fava beans, squash, oranges, purple kale, and these unique dried beans whose Portuguese name translates in to English as "two-face beans". 

Breakfast: I made a giant Spanish tortilla with brown eggs from the local butcher shop, potatoes, onions and zucchini from Mercado de Ribeira.  Every morning we slathered it with chimmichurri made from parsley, cilantro, lemon, piri piri chilies, olive oil, etc. and ate it with a crust of whole grain bread from the corner bakery shop.  A couple of days we shook it up by melting a bit of cured goat’s milk cheese, also purchased from the local butcher.  This made for a quick and healthy yet delicious beginning to the day.  Oh yeah, and the four days worth of breakfast it provided cost about 4 euros in total.

Along the same lines, after walking around Lisbon all day, picking up ingredients along the way, we opted to relax in the flat with a bottle of wine or a few shots of Jonathan’s new favorite Portuguese liqueur made with wild cherries and cinnamon, Ginja.  Oh, the dinners that are born from fresh, exciting ingredients, a fluid idea of what time dinner should be served, and the enhanced creativity fueled by a touch of booze, which is necessary, I might add, if you expect a masterpiece without the use of any seasoning save salt, pepper, white wine vinegar, and piri piri sauce!  In all seriousness, we truly savored these leisurely evenings, balcony doors open to the warm Lisbon air, where our one and only mission of preparing and eating dinner lasted for hours of newlywed bliss. As the night air cooled, our tummies properly satisfied, the evenings of laughter and teasing turned to philosophical conversations and discussions of our dreams of opening a European style butcher shop/café.  By the end of the week, all the craziness and never enough time-ness of the last few months had completely melted away to just us newly married and very much in love little duo.

Mr. Farm Cock & Romano Beans

Ok, dry up!  Back to the food!  A few of said culinary delights included the leg and thigh of a farm cock from Nelson’s shop, bone in of course (we do not eat boneless chicks in our household), 100% pan roasted since we had not yet figured out how to use the oven (what kind of oven do you have to set the timer in order for it to work?), and served with a side of roasted potatoes (sprinkled with piri piri chili sauce in lieu of the holy grail (catsup) and Romano beans sautéed with red peppers and lemon zest.  Mr. Farm Cock, admittedly a new beast for me, while slightly tougher due to his free range frolicking, was might delicious in flavor; the salt and pepper merely enhance his natural chicken goodness.

Bezugo with Chimmichurri

Blistered & Salted Padron Peppers

Another Portuguese ingredient rich home cooked meal included a whole “bezugo”, a white bass-like fish purchased from the Mercado de Ribeira.   The lady fishmonger, with a halo of scales lining her brow, asked me if I wanted her to clean it for me and much to Jonathan’s displeasure, I declined.  Back at the flat, I drank some wine and supervised while Jonathan lined the small counter with mess-free plastic wrap and scaled and cleaned the fish.  I then sliced some of the amazingly juicy and sweet oranges, gifted to us by our buddy Nelson, and a lemon, and in a hot pan, infused the citrus flavor into already tasty olive oil.  Out came the slightly caramelized rinds and in went the bezugo, immediately sizzling and aromatic.  Flaky goodness served with a generous, drizzle of my famous chimmichurri and garnished with a bowl full of my absolute favorites: padrón peppers blistered in olive oil and tossed with a generous amount of sea salt.

So where does the experiencing the Lisboan cuisine and the aforementioned seafood smorgasbord fit in with our thrifty DYI meals and honeymoon extension plan?  Well, while we did breakfast and dinner at home, lunch was our meal on the town.  I have already described our snail and sardine feast.  Another lunch included gazpacho, “toasts” with melted brie, tomato, oregano and olive oil and a sangria like summer afternoon cocktail whose name our waiter pointed out rhymed with felice (happy) and then quipped, “The more (enter Portuguese word I can't remember) you have, the more felice you have!”  Turns out, he was right!

A week or so before we left California, Anthony Bourdain fortuitously chose Lisbon as the site of his new episode for his Travel Channel show “No Reservations”.   He talked about the traditional musical style of Fado, which reflects the regional attitude toward politics, loss and life in general.  He shot a few clips of a dark old bar that sold nothing but shots of delicious Ginga, thus the origin of Jonathan’s curiosity regarding the Portuguese cherry and cinnamon liqueur.  But, the segment that caught my eye and got me drooling like a mutt over a deer’s leg bone was Bourdain attacking a plate of conch shells with a tiny little instrument, digging the guts out of a crab shell and spreading them on toast, only to wash the meal down with a fried pork sandwich.  Like I said, the seafood was the most memorable aspect of my previous trip to Portugal and this scene of seafood carnage put me over the edge.  If we did nothing else but feast at O Ramiro while we were in Lisbon, that was ok by me.

As Jonathan no longer had his handy dandy iPhone in hand, it took us a couple of days to find the restaurant’s address.  I didn’t care.  By that time, the fish display at the Mercado de Ribeira, the snails and sardine meal, and the bezugo had whetted my appetite to the point that finding the restaurant had ultimately shifted from desire to obsession.  There was not a direct bus route or metro, and really, when you’re in a new city, why would you want to be underground?  As maps are always a little deceiving one way or another, we couldn’t tell exactly how far away the restaurant was from the flat so we decided to start out walking and just take a bus the rest of the way if we got tired.  So, we walked. 

Pounded Copper Still

Along the way we saw some cool stuff, like a traditional Portuguese sausage cooking device in which you fill the base with alcohol, set it on fire, and serve it table side while the flames lick the sausage!  If you can’t picture it, come to our house for dinner when we return!  We went into a hardware store that displayed pounded copper stills in the window.  Jonathan desperately wanted one so he could compare notes with a certain friend of ours who distills his own delicious rye.

After about an hour of walking, we stopped on a corner to consult the map.  Out of nowhere, a little Portuguese lady appeared and asked in English if we needed help finding our way.  We confirmed that we were headed in the right direction and she warned us to be careful as we were headed directly into the worst neighborhood in Lisbon.  Interesting that a restaurant of such presumably high caliber was located in the Lisboan projects.  Heeding the lady’s warning, I tightened my grip on my purse and Jonathan sharpened his eagle eye as we headed into what appeared to be the Lisboan China Town.  While weaving our way through the streets we did manage to evade several suspicious looking dudes before finding ourselves at the door of O Ramiro.  We had found it! 

It has been said that ultimately an experience is sometimes about the journey and not always about the destination.  While our journey was an eventful and educational one, judging by the display cases full of conch, clams, langoustines, crabs, goose neck barnacles, shrimp, lobster, etc., strategically placed facing the street in order to lure the chance passerby, I immediately knew that this would not be one of those journey beats destination experiences.  

Upon entering the busy restaurant, we were immediately led past more lobster and langoustine tanks to our table where the waiter handed us an iPad menu already set to English (how did he know?).  One glance and the exoskeleton and bivalve dominated menu (sorry, Chef Todd, you’ll have to live vicariously through us!), we immediately recognized the conquilhas (conch) with their multi-point shells, and the santola, the long legged spider crab that brought us here in the first place.  To round out the meal, we ordered the ameijoa à bulhão pato (clams in garlic) and the lagostim, the irresistible spiny clawed pale orange langoustine.

Since the prices on the menu were not by the plate, but by the kilo, we solicited our waiter for some help in ordering the correct portions for a satisfying meal (e.g. 300 grams of conch and 2 langoustines).  Quite satisfied with ourselves as masters of this seafood universe, we clinked glasses of chilled Quinta do Carmo, a moderately priced (€14) vinho de mesa branco (white table wine), and waited for our feast to arrive. 

And arrive it did!  But not before we were both armed with an arsenal of eating utensils: a hefty mallet and chopping block, a narrow long handled two pronged device, a tiny crochet hook looking tool, giant formidable shell cracking pliers, and of course, a knife and fork.  Out came the pão com manteiga, warm bread, crispy and soft at the same time, slathered in butter, shortly followed by the conch.  The tiny crochet hook was the obvious instrument of choice when attempting to get at the meat hidden deep inside the pointy conch shell, although I must admit, we were three quarters through the plate before fully mastering the art of extracting the long conch body in one piece.  Served cold, which in my mind was a surprising move, the meat of the sea snail was slightly firm, not to be confused with chewy, and tasted deliciously of the ocean, not to be confused with fishy.

Next came a steaming plate of clams, swimming in parsley and garlic laden broth.  The first clam went into my mouth and emitted an explosion of flavor.  The creaminess of a perfectly cooked clam, just the right amount of pungent yet sweet garlic, rounded off by a white wine and parsley broth…need I say more?  Even better yet was the spider crab, its insides removed, cooked in strange and devilish ways, only to be served in a bowl made from its own shell and served surrounded by its severed and steamed legs.  Ready for a surprise?  Also served cold.  I tell you, a scoop of cold crab guts spread on warm toast is like nothing your palate has ever experienced!  I mean seriously, the fact that O Ramiro has the balls to serve cold crab guts proves the superiority of flavor.  Not to mention it was arguably the best crab dish of our lives.

Next came dessert, and by dessert I mean two foot long pale orange spiny clawed beasts with  crayfish-like fan tails sitting side by side on a plate: the langoustine, also known as the Norway lobster or the Dublin Bay prawn.  With a crack (or two) of my hefty pliers, I dug a chunk of meat out of the very hard shell and placed it on my tongue.  As I chewed slowly, the delicate sweetness of the meat pervaded my senses.  This was unlike any shrimp, lobster, crayfish, any crustacean I had ever eaten!  It was sweet, rich, and simply boiled in what I romantically pictured as a bucket of sea water carried in with the morning catch.  As I found out later, these creatures, hailing from the north-eastern Atlantic Ocean and parts of the Mediterranean Sea, are traditionally eaten in Spain and Portugal only on special occasions, hence the price (approx. $20/ea).  Heck!  If a honeymoon lunch in Lisbon, Portugal to kick off a year plus of travel and adventure is not a special occasion, I don’t know what is!

As I was sucking the sweet juices from the head of the langoustine, the manager came to our table, took one look at the carnage, a mess of empty conch shells and crushed crustaceans, the juices dripping from both of our elbows, and said, “Impressive!  You two definitely know how to eat because there is not one bit of meat left on these plates!  Well done!”  Looking like idiots with our shell covered napkins tucked in our shirts, we beamed at each other with pride at what in PigWizard and Baby Bird land could not be construed as anything but the highest of compliments a patron can be given.  Having said that, when faced with one of the best meals of your life, who in their right mind wouldn’t extract every morsel from every crevice in every shell?

Now, you may thing I am being a little over the top in my lavish description of the flavor of a basic clam dish or a boiled crab.  Who hasn’t had the classic clam steamed in wine and garlic?  I have lived most of my life on the Monterey Peninsula and have had access to the freshest seafood prepared in a wide variety of ways by amazing chefs, thus the basis for my love of seafood.  There is however, a distinct difference between the pounds of seafood I have eaten at home and the kilos of seafood I am eating and will continue to eat on our trip, a difference which became more and more apparent as the meal progressed.  There was no butter, no oil, no fancy sauces and every dish was born of the simplest preparations.  Of course the key to cooking with simplicity, only using few ingredients to make superior meals, is first and foremost the quality of the products.  There was no need to add flavor, depth or richness to the meat through butter, oil or sauces, because these creatures, pulled from the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea, almost completely unadorned, just flat out taste better!   

After cleaning our hands with wipies, lips still tingling with seafood bliss, we figured we better sober up and cleanse our palates with a dessert of lime sorbet topped with a floater of vodka.  Perfect.  Three sips of espresso (cause who can resist real espresso?), paid our bill (equivalent to about $140), and we were homeward bound.  Before we could reach the door, the manager stopped us, shook both our hands and said, “We like people who know how to eat!  You come back anytime you want!”  That's us, PigWizard and Baby Bird, making friends and changing lives wherever we go!

Pork Shanks & Belly Chunks

Having admitted the cost of our lunch, you must be wondering what happened to the pledge of thrifty living and how did we managed to justify the equivalent of a $140 lunch?  In reality, the official “honeymoon lunch”, as we later deemed our O Ramiro experience, actually epitomizes our thrifty yet experiential concept.  Bite after bite, we continued to savor the simplicity and deliciousness of the new flavors and textures of these four shellfish dishes.  Bottom line, the meal was more than worth the price.  The thrifty counter balance?  After leaving O Ramiro, we walked the hour and a half back to our flat, bought some pork shanks and a few chunks of belly from Nelson the butcher, and slow cooked a fantastic meal of osso bucco and pasta.  A meal that I might add cost a total of 8 dollars and left us with enough food to share lunch the following day with our new found friend Nelson, and have another dinner for two! 

Thus ends our mini honeymoon trip to Lisbon, Portugal.  A few days before we had purchased our 10:30 p.m. train tickets that, after a 5 hour journey, would bring us to San Vicente de Alcantara, Spain, our first farm on what is hopefully a long list of HelpX farms that would love to host our skilled and able bodied selves.   

Adeus and obrigado, Portugal!

Up Next: Finca Los Tres Alcornoques, San Vicente del Alcántara, Spain

Discoveries at the Mercado da Ribeira

One of my favorite places in Barcelona is the great semi open air local marketplace, La Boqueria.  Even eight years ago, as a budding foodie, the place was like heaven and I frequently spent hours wandering among the booths of fresh fruits and vegetables piled high, everything fresh and top quality; cases of amazing Spanish cheeses; 15+ varieties of mushrooms that I had never heard of; displays of fresh and dried chili peppers hanging from the rafters; butcher shops that sold horse meat; barrels of nuts, seeds, and beans; ostrich, emu and farm eggs; fresh and dried herbs and spices, including saffron galore; and located smack dab in the center, with booths lining the inside and outside edges of the doughnut-shaped structure, the hub, the seafood domain.  Never in my life had I seen so many different kinds of fish: whole, filleted, portioned into steaks, you name it.  I had naively thought that shrimp were shrimp.  I knew they came in various sizes; I had bought every size from the yummy little shrimp destined to be doused in cocktail sauce to the monster tiger shrimp that my dad would sauté with mushrooms, sundried tomatoes and capers.  Needless to say, as I had never even heard of a langoustine, my eyes were opened to the many species that exist between the lines of shrimp and lobster.  “Sepia”, cuttlefish, was a new one to me and since it was pretty cheap, thinly sliced, tossed around in a hot pan, and added to pasta dressed with chimmichurri became a frequent meal.  Speaking of cheap, being poor was not a hardship when fresh mussels cost 2.50 euros per kilo! I’ll save you the math; that’s $1.36 per pound!  Pike’s Place, with your impressive fish slingers and monster crabs, you’re great, but you’ve got nothing on La Boqueria!

Now I realize that having La Boqueria as my first experience of these European marketplaces has set the bar pretty high.  Having said that, I was still super excited when on our first day of exploring Lisbon, we stumbled across a large building entitled Mercado da Ribeira and full of tables of fruits and vegetables!  Considering that it was probably around 6ish (as I said, when you catch the red-eye to a foreign country, don’t sleep on the plane, and then deal with an 8 hour time difference, time is really a state of mind), I wasn’t surprised that most of the wares were covered with cloth and the only traffic was a truck or two delivering stock for the next day.  I well knew that these markets were no Alvarado Tuesday market attracting evening strollers, tasters and onlookers; you get in early, Mercado da Ribeira opens at 6:00 am and closes at 2:00 pm, you select your produce or fish or whatever, and you get on with your day.  Oh yeah, and they’re all closed on Sundays.

The following day, taking into consideration our extreme sleep deprivation, the goal was to sleep in, eat a quick snack and get to the market before closing time.  Around 1:30 we slipped in the door to find the building half empty with only a few tables set up and the main attraction in my book, fish booths, cleaned up and long shut down for the day.  Apparently the posted 2:00 pm closing referred to the time that the doors of the building were technically locked shut.  Actual quitting time was clearly at the vender’s discretion.  Not wholly impressed by the wares displayed by the straggling venders, we left.  I will say, however, despite the half empty tables, that just seeing the inside of the building, the space that I knew had been crawling with seafood just an hour ago was a tease, a taste, just enough to whet my appetite.  I swore that tomorrow, no time change or catching up on missed sleeping or anything was going to keep me from my seafood bonanza!

The next day we woke up early (ish), showered and hit the cobblestones destined for the market.  When we reached the open doors, the bustling of shoppers, produce tables lining the interior, the smell of commerce was promising.  We skipped past the produce, I’ve seen leeks, peaches, herbs, and bananas…show me the strange and mysterious Mediterranean fish and shellfish made even more exotic by their indecipherable Portuguese names!   

On our way to the fish, I appeased Jonathan by consenting to poking our heads into the 5+ butcher shops.  We saw pig heads (the guy on the right even wagged the pig's ears at me for the camera!); hooves; innards that many Americans wouldn’t recognize as food; whole roasted suckling pigs; cured meat; smoked meat; whole pork bellies (instead of curing and smoking it for bacon, they slice it to order and send it home destined for the grill); chorizo; blood sausage; linguica; you name it,  the works. 

Cuttle Fish, Red Snapper, Sand Dabs, etc.

We then turned the corner and let me tell you!  Our persistence was rewarded with 20+ booths of shaved ice displaying the bounty of the sea: John Dory, turbot, sardines, grouper, red snapper, tuna, salmon, a sand dab looking fish, black ribbon fish (aka: black swordfish), and Spanish mackerel, another of our Akaoni favorites. Bags of black sea snails -  contrast to the white garden snails we gobbled down at breakfast, which were sold in even larger bags in another section of the market.  Giant Cuttle fish, large and medium sized octopus.  Eels: morays, little live squirming ones, and more.

Squirming Eels & Octopus

Silver Ribbon Fish

Giant, silver, eel-like creatures, strangely similar to the vertically swimming silver ribbon fish that Jonathan remembered from the Cook Islands.  There was even a fish that looked an awful lot like the goat fish Jonathan shot in Hawaii, minus the mini catfish-like feelers.  Goose neck barnacles, lobsters, prawns, little neck clams, razor clams, and mussels.    And, last but not least, the monkfish, their delicately delicious livers exposed to prove that the fish had survived its journey from ocean to market without damage.  And, I must say, it was a good thing my knowledgeable-in-all-things-food-related husband was with me, or half of these poor fish would have remained nameless!

Random Fish Scraps

 We also saw something I had never seen in a fish market before: a bin of miscellaneous odds and ends sold for the purpose of fish stew or whatever.  Although the approaching of animals as food in a holistic use perspective is not a new concept, I loved that through the sale of every last eatable morsel, the resourceful vender refused to waste, food or potential income!

Moray Eel, Random Eels, & the Gorgeous Monkfish

Now even I have to admit that some of these fish, sprawled out on the ice, look pretty ugly and unappetizing.  And, that in a fish market of this kind you are more than likely going to get sprayed with some fishy water or other and may have to dodge a flying scale or two.  What exactly is the basis of the fish market appeal bordering on obsession, you ask?  The answer is, I freaking love seafood: the visually stunning appearance of the creatures, the smell when they’re sizzling in the pan, the varying textures in your mouth (namely the crunch of a fried Monterey spot prawn head, I’m telling you, go to Akaoni!), and of course, the taste.  Seriously, I am not turned off by the ugliness of the monkfish with its insides displayed on its outside, I think of the texture and flavor of the liver as it melts in your mouth.  And although at a very young age my dad instilled within me a deep fear of eels (“Don’t stick your hand in the crevice of the rock or an ell might bite off your fingers!”), when I do see one, mouth open, poking its snakelike head from between two rocks, I ignore its creepiness, bite down on my snorkel and picturing it grilled and slathered in unagi sauce on a chunk of sticky rice.  I see the giant 300 pound tuna at the Monterey Bay Aquarium and I think, mmm, crusted in black sesame seeds, ginger and spicy tōgarashi, seared on the outside, raw on the inside. 

Spanish Mackerel

They say that addiction is a disease, but not even routinely stuffing my face with snails, crab, mussels, etc. will ever cure me of my "affliction".  And who wants a cure?  I mean, after all, it's not like it's crack!

Speaking of stuffing my face, up next: Seafood Smorgasbord at O Ramiro.

Squirrel Nutkin: Field to Table

So I know I dangled visions of our discoveries at the Mercado da Ribeira, one of the biggest local marketplaces in Lisbon, and clearly that is why you have decided to continue reading our blog; however, I figured that since I mentioned the identifying squirrel anatomy incident, I figured I had better just tell the full story. 

NOTE: this story, well, frankly much of this blog, is not for the squeamish.  If you are offended by the idea of eating “icky” parts, talk of guts or sucking the heads of Norway lobsters, turn back now. 

Anyway, as I said before, our first pit stop on our way to becoming Spanish farmers-in-training was spending a week with Jonathan’s family in the rural town of Dawsonville Georgia.  

Among her many hobbies and interests, my mother in law, Peggy, is an avid creature watcher.  She keeps a set of binoculars within easy reach of her kitchen, just in case.  With said binoculars, I myself saw a turtle floating in the pond, several birds of prey and heard stories of egrets, rabbits, and others, including several other species of birds.  The birdies being of particular interest, Peggy has multiple bird feeders strategically placed so that she may view her birds from just about anywhere in the kitchen.  Among the sweet hummingbird nectar and various bird seed, she also lures them with a treat of peanut butter filled feeders, a bird favorite.  Apparently, also a squirrel favorite.

After a week of watching Peggy eyeball the offending squirrels with the binoculars and curse them under her breath, on our last day in Georgia, she finally had enough.  She turned to Jonathan and asked, “If I get some shells, the shotgun is in Cory’s room, will you get me a (insert appropriate squirrel curse here) squirrel?”  Jonathan’s reply, “Hell yeah!” and immediately retrieved the shotgun from the sleeping Cory’s bedroom.  Needless to say, the prospect of watching Jonathan “gettin’ him a squirrel” was enough to raise Cory from his cocoon. 

Now, the eating of Squirrel Nutkin is not a common practice in Monterey.  Honestly, I have to say, as a person with fond memories of sharing my peanuts with the cute little squirrels at Lover’s Point, I had a little twinge of my former “cute animal syndrome": as a child, nobody at our dinner table was allowed to order rabbit, quail, veal, duck, etc. because I just couldn’t bear the idea of eating such cuteness!  Oh, the irony, you say.  Despite my stumble on the path to full blown carnivore, I had heard Jonathan talk about the tastiness of squirrel meat: rabbit-like with a slightly stronger flavor due to their diet of mostly acorns and nuts, (and sometimes peanut butter) and I was excited to actually get to try it myself. 

One shot, BOOM!  Two shots, BOOM!  The poor guy may have been missing some belly hair after the second shot but he still managed to dart away in one piece.  Surprisingly, despite the fact that he had already been shot at twice and was sporting a number one buzz cut on his belly, the persistent squirrel could not resist the prospect of a cheek full of peanut butter and therefore came creeping back.  Eager to show up his big brother, Cory took the shotgun for a go at the squirrel.  His first shot stunned the squirrel, the second shot took him down! 

PigWizard Displays Squirrel Anatomy

Jonathan proceeded to skin the squirrel, slice him open, and give me a very educational squirrel anatomy lesson...Yup, it had all the expected mammal parts, including but not limited to: heart, liver, kidneys, bowel, etc.  I had seen Jonathan cut up multiple deceased pigs, and of course I've portioned a chicken or two in my lifetime, but this was really my first complete butchery lesson from mooing to market ready.  In anticipation of even larger scale experiences on the farm, I figured that ultimately I needed to get over my squeamishness and that this was a good place to start.

When the squirrel was finally hairless and gutless, Jonathan seasoned it with some salt pepper and olive oil and stuck in in the fridge to marinate.  As our flight to Lisbon was merely hours away, we then commenced repacking our respective 49 and 51 pound bags.  As it happens, sometimes things just take a bit longer than you expect, and let me tell you, fitting all the crap that Jonathan just had to bring ;-) into two bags and two backpacks was an art. 

Unfortunately, as a result, we ran out of time for our squirrely lunch, however, I am sure it made a fine appetizer for the rest of the family.  And, although the curtain closed before I could make my squirrel meat eating debut, I know that the next time we visit Dawsonville there will still be countless pesky peanut butter stealing squirrels and perhaps then I will even get to test my new found squirrel butchery skills.   

Until next time, Dawsonville.

Cory, Peggy, Hazel (Granny) & Jonathan

For real, next up:  Discoveries at the Mercado da Ribeira

Snails & Sardines

Driven by memories of Portuguese seafood and hell bent on beginning the slake of my craving, we set out in search of “breakfast” (and by breakfast I mean the first meal of the day eaten at whatever time we woke up, showered off the travel grime and hit the streets of Lisbon).  We walked by several cafes, smelled some amazing smells (hands down the pastelarias, emit the most mouthwatering, gooey pastry smells, and this from a non-sweets eater), spied some tempting dishes, but we held out until we spotted a café whose Pratos del Dia (Daily Specials) included caracóis (snails) and sardinha assada (grilled sardines).  Sold.

We peeked inside, saw diners, which is always a good sign and chose a seat.  We were immediately served olives and fresh bread, an excellent start.  As it was lots of degrees more than Monterey and we had been walking a bit, Jonathan promptly ordered a cold beer and I an água com gás (bubbly water).  We didn’t even need to look at the menu, although attempting to recognize Portuguese words was amusing.  Caracóis e sardinha assada, por favor. 

As I sat there waiting for my breakfast, I looked around the café and sniffed.  Something was missing.  Oh yeah, the lovely smell of cigarette smoke wafting toward my table as I attempted to enjoy my crusty bread and olives.  I had heard a rumor that smoking had been banned in bars and restaurants and I was pleasantly surprised to find that the rumor was true.  How better to smell and taste my snails!

Speaking of which, within moments of ordering, a plate of little white-shelled snails, bathing in their own juices, appeared on the table between us.  I am salivating just trying to find the words to describe the smell…let’s go with freakin’ delicious.  Their little heads, feelers and all, were poking out just enough to grab a hold, pull one out and pop him in my mouth.  Rich, tender, tasty.   I asked the waiter, who spoke some English, how to cook these snails and he told me that if you heat a pan with a little flame (on low) and toss them in, they will start to crawl out as they die.  If you use a big flame, the snail will die too quickly deep inside the shell and would therefore be inaccessible.  Good tip.  Amazingly, these scrumptious little morsels were literally cooked in their own snail goodness, salt and finished with a drizzle of olive oil for flavor.  No butter, no garlic, no parsley.  They didn’t need it.  I could have eaten a bucket full. 

As we were scarfing down the last of the snails and soaking up their remaining goodness with the crusty bread, out came the sardines.  They were perfectly grilled, served with a salad, lightly dressed with oil and white wine vinegar, boiled potatoes and two spoons (don’t ask what the spoons were for, we didn't know).  As Jonathan cut into the first sardine, he noticed that it had not been gutted, simply seasoned and thrown on the grill.  He proceeded to slice it down the belly and expertly remove the head and spine leaving every last morsel of fishy flesh on the plate.  Jonathan and I area a big fan of yummy little oily fish (mackerel, anchovies, etc.), and these puppies were up to par!  I can still feel the crunch of that crispy grilled sardine skin between my teeth!

Since the fish was not cleaned prior to cooking, and its guts were in plain sight on our empty plates, meat nerd as he is, Jonathan began pointing out which organs were which (kinda like when Cory shot the squirrel in Georgia, oh wait, I haven’t’ told that one yet).  When he reached the liver (apparently sardines have two), we both looked at each other.  The monkfish liver is one of our favs at  Akaoni, top Japanese restaurant in Carmel…ever had a sardine liver?  

Conclusion: after letting the sardine livers melt in our mouths, Jonathan vowed he would never gut a grill bound sardine again!  Oh yeah, and I'll have an order of snails to go!

Up next: Discoveries at the Mercado da Ribeira