The numbers don’t lie: the Portuguese drink the most wine per capita of any nationality. Not surprisingly, you don’t have to look far to find the drink in Lisbon, a city where a glass of wine is sometimes cheaper than a bottle of water. But if you’re looking for a unique wine – perhaps something made by a small producer, a long-lost grape, or a bottle from an obscure region – in a comfortable or perhaps even stylish atmosphere, poured by someone who can tell you a bit about what you’re drinking, things get a little more complicated.

The original idea was simple enough. “The plan was to make really good ham and cheese sandwiches,” explains Bruno Ribeiro of O Primo do Queijo, the Lisbon restaurant he owns with Francisco Nuno Silveira Bernardo. But rarely are things so easy.

“This restaurant is different,” says Belmiro de Jesus. He’s describing his own establishment, Belmiro, which he opened in 2020. And, we have to admit, it’s true. From the menu, with its emphasis on game dishes, to the unique wines – quirky labels that won’t break the bank – the chef has created a restaurant that stands out. If there’s anything we’d add to his descriptor, it would be that Belmiro is also very delicious and very Portuguese.

Start with stale, leftover bread. Add to this some of Portugal’s most decadent, richest ingredients, and you have açorda de gambas, a dish that manages to bridge the gap between poverty and indulgence. The Portuguese are masters at transforming leftover or stale bread into new dishes. In the north, leftover slices of bread are dipped in eggs, fried in oil and sprinkled with sugar in the dessert known as rabanadas. In the south, açorda is a soup made from slices of day-old bread topped with hot water, garlic, herbs, and a poached egg. The south is also home to migas, bits of stale bread and fat that are cooked into an almost omelet-like form.

It’s an epic love story between the Menéres family and the land of Romeu, a remote village in the region of northeast Portugal called Trás-os-Montes, whose name literally means “beyond the mountains.” Over 150 years ago Clemente Menéres began the family farm, and today the Menéres estate continues to produce certified organic olive oil and wine, as well as cork, with absolute respect for the land and the people living and working in the hilly fields. On our arrival we’re received by João Menéres, the fifth generation to lead the family business, whose infectious enthusiasm resists the high temperatures of the scorching summer months and the unusually harsh cold of winter. João leads the way as we explore Romeu, sharing a bit of the family’s story along the way.

We are in Lota da Esquina, in Cascais, staring down a small bowl filled to the brim with a mix of crab meat, chopped eggs, mayonnaise and other seasonings. On the surface, it looks like a straightforwardly decadent dish but according to chef/owner Vítor Sobral, it’s actually a way to boost a product that’s not quite at its peak.

A visit to a pastelaria in Lisbon in the lead up to Easter brings with it new surprises. Alongside the usual pastries and cakes, you’ll spot folares, loaves of sweet bread, some topped with hardboiled eggs, and many surrounded by a colorful assortment of almonds. This type of bread, which contains ingredients forbidden during Lent, has long been associated with Easter and the feasting that occurs on this holiday. “After the winter months and the long fast during Lent, the Easter brings an intense activity in terms of culinary preparations and the exchange of cakes, namely the folares,” writes Mouette Barboff in her book A Tradição do Pão em Portugal (Bread in Portugal).

“This is the best time for bivalves,” says Portuguese chef João Rodrigues. It’s late February, and we’re speaking in the dining room of Canalha, his award-winning Lisbon restaurant. “Usually you think of bivalves as something you eat in summer, but you shouldn’t. During the months with no letter R, you shouldn't eat them.” We had asked the chef to share a seasonal dish, but since proper spring produce hadn’t yet quite arrived, he suggested razor clam rice served with deep-fried hake – a fish related to cod, although with a more delicate flavor – creating a dish that takes advantage of those plump, non-summer bivalves.

The story goes that in the early 19th century, an Italian immigrant, António Marrare, arrived in Lisbon and opened four eateries, essentially introducing the concept of the contemporary restaurant to the city. These venues – all of which bore his name – would have an impact on Lisbon’s culinary scene that exists until today, as would the steak dish he invented, which was also – perhaps unsurprisingly – named after himself. Marrare’s last restaurant closed in 1866, but a century later Lisbon restaurateurs, nostalgic for that era of dining, opened restaurants that paid homage to Marrare. Those that exist today include Snob Bar, opened in 1964, Café de São Bento, in 1982, and Café do Paço, in 2009.

We’re in a small café in Lisbon’s Madragoa neighborhood, and all of the disparate dishes loading down the table in front of us – small bread-like balls, a dish that resembles a small crepe, granola studded with flakes of grains, a pudding-like dessert – have one ingredient in common: cassava. “Cassava is known as the Queen of Brazil,” says Laila Ferreira Soares. “Everyone eats it, it’s always present.” Laila, a native of Brazil, along with her partner, Gregory Busson, a Frenchman, are the pair behind Uaipi, a new café/market in Lisbon with a focus on this particular ingredient.

2024 was, for me, a year of travel, with just about as much time spent outside of Lisbon as inside. When I spend a lot of time on the road, I feel even more compelled to cook when I’m at home, so some of my best bites this year were things I prepared myself. But in the course of reporting for Culinary Backstreets and other outlets, I visited Lisbon restaurants both new and familiar, and scanning through an iPhone library of dishes both homemade and cooked by the pros, the following stood out. - Austin Bush

We’re in Os Papagaios, the restaurant Joaquim Saragga oversees in Lisbon’s Arroios neighborhood, where we’ve asked him to show us how to make one of Lisbon’s more iconic dishes: ervilhas guisadas, peas braised with Portuguese sausages, typically crowned with poached eggs. Come spring, Portugal revels in green-hued produce: fava beans, asparagus, artichoke, spinach and other leaves. Peas feature in this bounty, but the ubiquity of frozen peas means that the dish makes frequent appearances on tasca and restaurant menus during all times of year.

Lisbon’s steep hills and cobbled streets are home to a rich pantheon of delicious dishes – visitors would be remiss to fill up exclusively on the famous pastel de nata before exploring all the flavors the Portuguese capital has to offer. Anchored by excellent seafood, comforting stews, and cod prepared every which way, traditional cuisine is still possible to track down all around town. But what makes Lisbon unique is that its food doesn’t stop there – culinary influences have filtered in from different corners of Portugal and the former colonies, making this a perfect place to try acarajé from Bahia, Angolan peito alto, or modern takes on regional dishes from the many young chefs stepping up in the city’s food scene.

Back in 1966, when it opened on Avenida da República, one the main roads connecting the new avenues of Lisbon with the city center, Galeto caused quite a commotion. Lisboetas flocked to the huge snack bar, seduced by both the design – it was styled like an American diner – and the menu, which in those days seemed wildly innovative. Locals used to more conservative Portuguese fare were suddenly introduced to club sandwiches, burgers, mixed plates that brought together some wildly disparate elements and even Brazilian feijoada. Eating at the long counters while perched on a comfy seat was quite different from sitting on a stool at an everyday tasca. When combined with the avant-garde décor, swift service, and long hours (it was open late, until 3:30 a.m.), it felt like Lisbon was catching up with the dining habits elsewhere in Europe or the U.S.

It’s that quiet time between lunch and dinner, and we’re sitting with chef Leonor Godinho in a tasca, or rustic, casual, Portuguese restaurant. The furniture is sturdy but unremarkable, and walls are mostly bare except for a couple old photos, a child’s drawing and the ubiquitous vitrine, a built-in refrigerator. “I knew about this place because my best friends had just moved their studio to this building,” Leonor tells us of the space, formerly known as Casa do Alberto. “I would come here all the time to eat with them, and they would joke with me, ‘It would be great if this was yours!’”