#2213: Friday, January 11: Lisbon wrap-up

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Post 2213
- 8 years and 11 days since I started this blog -

  

At the Time Out Market (see below)

Journal
(written 1/11/19)

Read this once (it won't change for the rest of the trip(s): I'll be linking this post to Facebook. If that's how you got here, here's some background: About 8 years ago I started this blog as a food journal. I had a medical situation and needed to lose weight. Initially, that's all I did here: Journal my food intake and my weight. It contributed to helping me lose 20+% of my body weight in 6 months, and continuing has kept me on track since then. I started adding commentary after a while, but lately it has become infrequent. 

While I'm traveling, I let go of the weight-tracking and food journaling, except for the occasional food shot when I've eaten something interesting. And that's where we find ourselves now.

I'm writing this at Gate 27A, Newark Liberty Airport. I'm waiting for my flight to Syracuse, which is slightly delayed, although I don't mind. United Airlines graciously allowed me to re-ticket to an earlier flight and delay and all I'll get to Syracuse before me previous flight would have taken off.

I spent the day on Wednesday writing and eating, and that evening I ended up visiting Boutique Taberna again. This time there was an excellent soka guitarist, playing by himself accompanied by recordings he had made with rhythm section tracks (guitar, bass and drums). He was very good. When I walked in, I thought, due to the arrantemnt of the song, that he was a ska player, but all the songs after had that Malian Afro-beat, and his guitar work aw pure soka. I spoke with him, but, unfortunately, never got his name. Quality time there.

Soka player at Boutique Taberna, doing great versions of classic R&B and Soul and rock.

Unlike the previous time I'd been there with Kathryn and Jamie from Liverpool, I wasn't connecting with this dance-oriented group, so after a few drinks, and when the player took a break, giving me the opportunity to praise him and his great music chops, I headed back to Jam Club.

Once again, I made friends with an international cast of characters including two cops from Liverpool on holiday, Emily (who I kept on thinking was Evelyn) and Tim, a history buff. They were doing the tourist thing in honor of Emily's twenty-ninth birthday. Tim and I had an interesting conversation about history - he's a history buff. I'm pleased to say he couldn't trip me up wit5h his pointed questions about American history.

When I played, later, I dedicated my songs to her. That was a drunken party. They were a particularly fun couple.

The bookends are Paulo and Joaoa of Jam Club, sandwiching me, Emily Tim. 

Thursday, January 10th, was my last full day in Lisbon. I decided I wanted an American-style breakfast, something I hadn't come near having since coming to Portugal (even when I made eggs for myself in Faro, the meals were centered around soups made by my host, Silvia).

It was easy to find a place to meet my desire - a place called Brunch Cafe, in the Almeda section of the Alfama - the old port-side section of Lisbon.

Brunch was a great success.

The Brunch Cafe

After, I started the day's ramble, walking a long a section of Lisbon's esplanade. Not as aimless as my previous get-lost walks, my goal was the Time Out Marketplace. This was formerly Lisbon's original enclosed wet market, now converted to a large mall of specialty restaurants.

The day was gorgeous, warmer than any previous day in Lisbon (mid-60s, but felt warmer). There were many stopping points for pictures, to appreciate the amazing blue skies, the music of buskers, and artists' work on display, including some sand sculptures. And, the walk was level! Perfect.

I think it's really cool that Lisboans support this stuff. As I walk, the people I'm among are Portuguese, enjoying the day.

I walk slowly, stopping frequently, for about a half-hour before I c0me to the Time Out Market. Crowded (I've heard it's always crowded), it is as if a mall's food court took over the whole mall. It is in an old building that used to be a wet market (sold fish and meat and produce, as opposed to a variety of dry goods).

There are more than three-dozen food stands surrounding a large dining area. Each one has a specialty. I think if I hadn't waited to my last day to come here, I might have spent a lot of time here (although I haven't been dissatisfied with the dining choices I've made). See the selfie I took there, at the top of this page.

I tour every stall, circumnavigating the central dining area, walking the outer aisles.

My first and last stop is at Manteigaria, to finally sample the Portuguese national dish, pastels de nata. This is a custard tart, elevated. The crust needs to be light and flaky, and the custard filling... Well, this is the thing that has kept this dish out of my mouth so far this trip: I'm not a fan of custard. Yet, it would be downright rude to leave Portugal, having feasted well on so much of its local food, and not try the one local item they're famous for. It is like Koh Soui in Chiang Mai or pizza in New York City: People will fight each other over their opinions of the best one.

I buy two, with a cafe I splash with cinnamon. They are delicious! The pastry dough is flaky and light as phyllo, the custard slightly less sweet and gelatinous (a virtue to me) than any I've had before. Yes, undeniably delicious. I'm glad I stopped. I'm ready to move on (custard is just never going to be my favorite thing).

Pastels de nata from Manteigaria. Yes, they're delicious. But their custard-ness means it's a try-once thing for me.

I hang out for a little while in the pretty park next door, with its statuary, cafe, playground and backdrop of interesting old official buildings. Then I call an Uber to take me back to my apartment, for some writing and preliminary packing.

Later, as I walk out the door of my apartment to catch an Uber to a restaurant recommended to me by my musician friend James, from Jam Club, I realize I've left my keys in the apartment. I call my host, no answer. I message her to call me when she can, I've locked myself out... I get in the Uber.

The restaurant, Poê-te is amazing - dark and romantic. I am shown to a candle-lit table near a piano.

I am immediately brought an aparetif, a small amount of what tastes to me like apricot schnapps - but is probably some local wine - and a basket of breads with a butter and a variety of spreads. I order soup and a sole and baby clams in a special sauce, which turns out to be an interestingly spiced, rich bearnaise sauce. And a recommended wine.


I am nearly through with the fish, and full enough to contemplate skipping dessert (especially because of my carb-rich and sweet breakfast and those pastel de natas earlier), when my host calls back. It is almost nine pm. Wanting to impact her as little as I can seals the deal on skipping dessert,a famous chocolate mousse. Sigh!

I finish and call an Uber, which, for reasons I don't understand, is not allowed to turn onto the narrow street the restaurant is on. I have to walk three blocks from my 'pickup point to find my driver. Uphill all the way. I plop into the back seat, and I'm apologizing to Maria, and she is being gracious, fifteen minutes later.

The night's plans had included ending up at Jam Club, because I'd been contacted by Seba (Sebastian) and Flavia, the couple I met in Faro. They had told me they were coming to Lisbon, but couldn't tell me when. They'd gotten in the day before, but couldn't meet me until tonight.

I get to Jam Club before them. James is playing, much to my surprise and delight. He is also surprised to see me, and immediately stops to bring out a bass for me.

By now, our jams sound tight and rehearsed. The bar patrons are enjoying the light jazz and pop stuff we're doing. Everybody's smiling. My glasses of Jameson's start arriving. It feels a lot like home to me.

Flavia and Seba arrive in time to hear the last few songs - it has taken them quite a while to navigate their way to the bar.

James and I finish with a slightly over-the-top version of 'Purple Rain', everybody is singing, and then it's eleven, and the amp is turned off. I grab the acoustic off the wall. I start telling people how I learned the song I'm about to play from the Nina Simone hit, which nobody remembers, because a British invasion group had a monster hit with the song - but I prefer something closer to the original. I start playing 'Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood'.

That song always goes over well for me, but I think I put something extra on it. The response is gratifying. Then I hand the guitar to Seba, who does a lovely (and well-played) song I don't recognize, with lyrics in Spanish. Very jazzy, maybe a little bossa-nova-ish.

Seba and Flavia, who I met in Faro, at Jam Club.

Seba, you may remember, has an act where he loops a lot of instruments. He is slightly out of his comfort zone on just a guitar and vocals, so the back-and-forth is balanced more to me. People start making requests - there isn't much any of us can play of the songs asked, but we approximate where we can.

And the night unwinds with the three of us trading songs (yeah, mostly me, but...) and the whiskey flows and then it's one in the morning. Drunk, I've been at my most soulful for a few hours (I think. I was drunk, hard to gauge). I have five hours before I need to wake up, finish packing and catch a cab to the airport.

The musicians, the stragglers still left in the bar, Paulo and Marco, the bartender-cook-hosts, have all gotten caught up in the shared experience. When I announce my leaving, there are actually some tears (aww, no!), but mostly, a lot of hugs. One final picture of us, and I am out. Drunk and happy again.
a

Paul, Marco, Seba, James, Flavia, me.

I set an alarm on my phone for 6am, and fall asleep before I can get my socks off.

I wake up, get straight to packing - it isn't as difficult, or as time-consuming as I'd thought it would be. I'm done in time to have a leisurely cafe in the kitchen and spend a few moments with Maria saying good-bye.

My Lisbon experience has been wonderful. It's a beautiful, no, gorgeous city. And, as I've said, it's a charming place. I've also been drunk more in a month-long period than any time I can remember since my early twenties, but that's okay.

I know I barely scratched the surface - I know many things I didn't do, many experiences I left on the table. But, no regrets - I do things my way (not much choice, there) and that means, even with the richest experience, there's something to come back to.

I'm going home. I'll be there for just under four days. Then I'm going back to Chiang Mai, another place I had a great time and left some things undone. 

I'm excited to see my friends and I am excited with the prospects for the rest of the Winter. I'm flying, full of gratitude.

Food Comment

At the Brunch Cafe: Artisanal breads, eggs with smoked salmon and cream cheese, fruit salad (kiwi, apple, peach, strawberries), pancakes, raspberry jam and honey. Not shown: Fresh orange juice.

At Poe-te Na Bicha: Vegetable soup, with tomatoes.

At Poe-te Na Bicha: Sole and baby clams in special sauce.

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