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