Portugal July 2011

A visit to my parents on the Algarve was never going to be a gourmet experience.Sometimes it's just easier to fall in with their usual routine; when you live somewhere for an extended period, chances are you’re not going to go out to eat every night.

And so it was, that on the first afternoon I arrived, I was taken to a Portugese/South African butcher they’d discovered. Across the wall was a string of spiced home made biltong and dry sausage (Droë Wors).

In the chilled display, spirals of boerewors, South African spiced beef sausages nestled amongst cuts of beef. The meat comes from Ireland and Spain. I was told by the butcher that he doesn't like Portguese beef as cattle don't have not enough grazing. Boerewors traditionally contain coriander seed, thyme, pepper, sometimes nutmeg and allspice. In another serve over, hand made chorizos, in a range of colours and styles made a handsome display. My mother being South African, this butchers is a real find.

They habitually bring a cool box with them in the boot of their car, so that anything they buy doesn’t crumple with the heat. Into it went the boerewors, plus some chorizo. I bought a hunk of biltong too, and we left with a bag of bilting pieces, generously given to us to nibble on.

We stopped in Portamau on the way home to get an ice cream. The Italian gelateria I was taken to makes their own fruit ice lollies. Yum.

We barbecued the boerewors that evening; gently spiced they were lovely with a simple salad and waxy potatoes. Over our heads sparrows and swallows were feeding madly.

I have a confession. My principles went out of the window at lunch the next day. Chicken shacks are mandatory stops in the Algarve, outdoor barbecues are everywhere and Mamas Chicken Hut in Silves is a legend amongst legends. My parents have been going there for years. It’s a tiny place with outside tables lodged against the market. Under the eaves swallows nest. If you sit in the wrong place chances are you'll be 'annointed' by one of the birds. There's no menu;You get a basket of rolls, sardine pate, a plate of delicious marinated carrots plus another of little bitter black olives. As you can see, the carrots are very popular. I was lucky to get a photo.

Everyone eats the same; peri peri chicken, chips and salad. Now, no one in London would dare ask me to eat chicken and chips; unless the chicken is free range, the chips are hand cut…you get the picture.

Here on the Algarve I knew that the chicken was unlikely to have had a charmed life but I so wanted the experience I closed my eyes for once. The chips are hand cut. The salad is fresh.

And yes, it was delicious, especially with extra piri piri sauce.

And did we want more chips? Erm, no, not this time.

Although wondering how we could eat in the heat (ladle on more piri piri), eat we did.

And afterwards, the owners son brought a plate of cinnamon dusted orange slices, almonds, delicious little figs and soft squidgy fig cake. He even gave my mother a bag of sweet little dried figs to take home with her.

Alvor fishermen gutting fish and mending their nets. I loved Alvor during the day; at night the main drag is hell unless you like an endless stream of tourists, bars and tourists tat. But, like most places it's easy to get away and find the cafes & restaurants where locals eat and watch the world go by.

The Municipal Museum in Portimao is a brilliant snap shot of the industrial life of the community; the old sardine canning factory has been turned into an award winning exhibition.

I never realised how labour intensive, how much work must go into what we often take for granted as a cheap product. Where food is concerned, nothing should be regarded as cheap.

It can't have been an easy place to work, but they had a creche for babies, and everything to do with the products took place under one roof, including a workshop where tins were designed and produced.

Finally, a market. Back to Portimao on Saturday morning. We arrived about 10am to find the building packed with locals, carrying boxes of vegetables, bags of fish and shellfish, baskets of peppers, aubergines, standing at the cafe drinking coffee, beer, eating pork rolls and pastries.

It's on Saturday that most of the fish stalls display their wares. If anyone can tell me what this is I'll be very happy!

And this....

At the back of the market, more modest little stalls were heaped with home grown products, some with just a pile of almonds, local greens, and pots of jam, others with heaps of misshappen tomatoes, figs, bunches of herbs, local honey. New season little plums were everywhere.

I bought green figs, whole almonds, soft almond biscuits from one the bakers lining the market. Travelling home the next day it was so hard being sensible and not over buying.

We ate the soft sweet figs outside the market. The almonds and biscuits made it home.

Two other meals stood out in my five days. Food on the Algarve is usually simple; fish and charcoal grilling rules and it's no bad thing. As my father told me when I went to check out yet one more menu, I should know by now that every menu is the same! They wanted to take me somewhere special, a place local to them on the outskirts of Alvor. A place they said, that one dressed up for. When we walked through the doors, the place was packed. There was no outside charcoal grill, no specials board. We'd walked into a time warp.

Now, it's not often that a place like this gets a review by a restaurant blogger, unless it's with some obvious irony, but here were people who liked it and were lapping it up. And yet it was still the same Algarve menu; meat, fish, soups, shellfish; and reading down to the deserts, a full list of flambe items including crepes suzettes. I can't remember the last time I ate them.Whatever else we ate, we were going to get our flambed finale.

We got fish cutlery for our fish kebabs. No finger bowls for the prawns though. Deep disapointment there.

And at the end, here comes the flambe man, ready to perform for us. I see no reason not to love something just because it's retro; if it's good so what if it's old fashioned. And these were good.

My father, grinning inanely over his plate of crepes. He won't thank me for posting this.

At my parents favourite place, The Green Door in Alvor we asked for something to tackle the shellfish we were eating. Expecting a shellfish cracker, we got this. It was hilarious. Especially for the people sitting near me, until I worked out that I should cover whatever I was hitting with a napkin. Ahem.

Ah...A bica and pastel de nata. We discovered that pasel de nata come in all shape and sizes and felt duty bound to try as many as possible. One day I am going to try to make my own, but for now, I'm comforted to know that they're easily available in London.

The best Portugese cakes look plain, but taste amazing. And that, I've found is often the case around the world. Another post being drafted on that subject....