Oct 08
20
If you have been following this space you know that I am currently on holiday in the province of Algarve on the southernmost coast of Portugal. October is generally a good month to visit the Algarve and this year has been no exception. Apart from two brief storms the weather has been magnificent – warm with lots of sun.
The Algarve is famous for its seafood and you will find some very good fish and shellfish dishes here but my favourite of the regional tastes is chicken piri-piri. It’s my belief that no visit to the Algarve is complete without at least one chicken piri piri feast at a cliff-side restaurant on the Monchique mountains.
There are few gastronomic experiences in the world to compare with a sunny afternoon on the terrace of a Monchique restaurant munching on crispy, spicy chicken, while drinking Alentejo wine and enjoying conversation with good company.
I’ve been to Monchique for chicken piri-piri hundreds of times over the years and have yet to be disappointed. I’ve been with three people when it was foggy and cold and with fifty people when it was hot and sunny but regardless of the climate or the numbers I’ve always enjoyed myself. There is something about the atmosphere of the Monchique restaurants that puts everyone in good spirits.
The first time I went to Monchique, more than twenty years ago, there were five of us – a newlywed English couple, a middle-aged resident woman and a plumpish Scottish lass. We had only just met and travelled up the mountain in anticipation but with no idea of what a treat we were in for.
It turned out to be an absolutely splendid afternoon and my first thoroughly enjoyable day in the Algarve. I don’t remember which restaurant it was but I do remember that we were served by a grizzled old fellow with a toothless grin.
The chicken tasted better than any I had ever eaten before, far superior to the deep-fried variety I had experienced in Canada. The chicken was accompanied by fresh, hand-cut chips and a salad of tomato, lettuce and onion with a light, tangy dressing. The wine was cheap and cheerful; the five of us talked, laughed and enjoyed ourselves so much that we forgot about time and didn’t leave until dark. We departed feeling as though we were friends for life.
The next time I went to Monchique there were eleven in the group. At one point I stopped and marveled at how our happy little band represented seven nationalities and three generations.
So, chicken piri-piri is my favourite meal in the Algarve but what about other local cuisine. Before coming to Portugal I had never eaten rabbit, which Portuguese style with rice is delicious, or chicken cooked in its own blood, a bit rich for me. I had also never eaten lamb fries which to put it bluntly are ‘sheep balls’.
Now I am not a particularly adventurous eater and I didn’t really want to eat some poor sheep’s once proud family jewels but I was cajoled into giving them a try by the garrulous owner of a Portuguese restaurant at Olhos d’Agua. I was doing an interview for a magazine and I asked the gentleman if there were any special items on the menu.
“Oh yes, we have sweetbreads. You must try some.”
I had eaten sweetbreads once before, coincidentally at Monchique. On that occasion I was told that the small kidney-shaped morsel on my plate was thymus gland. But when the restaurant owner began describing his sweetbreads I realized he was talking about lamb fries, gulp sheep balls!
“Actually, I just ate,” I sputtered nervously.
My host continued to insist, however, and eventually, not wanting to look a coward, I capitulated. Shrugging, I thought “What the hell” and said, “Okay…but just a couple.”
I was hoping the delicacies would be served as a paté or maybe a grilled hamburger patty. Imagine my chagrin when the owner, doing his best to please, approached the table carrying a plate laden with sheep balls. There were six of them! And believe me by the size and shape there was no mistaking what they were. They were oval-shaped and grey and served with tomato and onion garnish.
Thankfully there was plenty of bread to hand and I can eat almost anything with hardy Algarve bread. With the ‘balls’ spread flat I was able to get them down without gagging, all the while nodding and grinning at my host.
Once the little repast was over and I was feeling rather brave and proud of myself I asked the man if he had any other jobs outside the restaurant business (most restaurant owners in the Algarve have a second profession).
“Oh yes. I’m a veterinarian,” he replied, obviously enjoying the look of astonishment that crossed my face.
Actually the sheep balls didn’t taste too bad but I’ll stick to chicken, with piri piri of course.
