On The Road: 4 days in Portugal

Traveling north from Porto, the mountains in spring are so thickly blanketed in yolk-colored broom and purple heather there's no room for goats and sheep to graze. Looking out of the aircraft window before the plane skitters down on the west coast, there doesn't seem to be an acre of land that isn't dotted with housing. But take a car into the Trás-os-Montes national park area north-east of Porto and you can drive for half an hour with the road and the landscape entirely to yourself.

The wine is wonderful - spritzy enough to convince you you're just sipping a summer lemonade and light enough not to do too much damage. The food is less so. If you're catching fish this fresh, why not leave it to show off. Instead it's messed about. The night catch piled high on a platter is sporting a golden sweater of deep-fried batter. A soup-like stew is thick with a rubble of crushed potato, tomatoes and garlic. The fish, though, is poached briefly in this bubbling broth. This is good. But each time the waiter swings by, he ladles another spoonful into your still full bowl. You leave feeling he's played that filling station trick with the gas pump nozzle, rattling it around your throat to force down the last possible drop of goodness.

Pork is an animal Portugal would probably fail without. Not a part of it goes to waste and each is delicious. Cured ham is a match for Spain's Serrano and Italy's Parma (though often it comes in cardboard-thick slices. The taste may be great, slightly wine-y and musty, but its heft blunts the chewing pleasure).

In Chavez I ate an alheiras - a sausage unique for being made without the ubiquitous Portuguese pig. A cloud in the mouth of pure porkiness, chunks of smoked meat suspended in a soft mousse, it's nevertheless pork free. The late 15th century King Manuel, pressured by opponents, ordered Portugal's Jews to convert to Christianity or leave the country. Since the Jews constituted the most economically successful element of society this was against his better interests. So those who didn't immediately flee on boats were forced into mass Christian baptisms instead of being thrown out. Behind closed doors, they maintained their Jewish faith. Since publically avoiding relishing the pig would have given them away as infidels, they came up with a smoked sausage made instead with chicken, game, beef and veal they could eat without the Inquisitors dragging them away for a stretch on the rack.

These days, some of the best is made with pulled pork. But for the original filling, chicken or other fowl and twice the quantity of beef or veal would have been gently poached in a broth till it all fell off the bone. Once it was cooled, it would have been loosened away and chopped. An amount of stale bread equal to the meat would have been soaked in the broth, then the two chomped together with minced garlic, salt, pepper and paprika, enriched with beef suet and a glug or two of olive oil. This mixture would have been pushed into sausage casings then tied in lengths and smoked for 3 hours a day for a week inside a chimney.

My alheiras came deep fried and shining with fat, alongside a pile of pale discs of fried potato and a sunset-yellow yolk inside a white ruff of fried egg. London taxi drivers would kill for this fare. 

Visit:
Porto: Beguiling. Good walking - if you're not wearing Manolos. It's a city built on steep hills negotiated by endless steps. Over the south side of the River Douro are the ancient warehouses for the grand old Port distilleries. These give tastings. Cafes nearby serve plates of cured ham and deep-fried rissoles of bacalao, prawn and pork.
Braga: Churches on every corner. But also wine bars and good places to eat.
Guimares:  The old area of town up on the hill is wonderful to walk around, with good restaurants, cafes to sit at and a small Venice-like Piazza San Marco without the water.

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