<p>Just a few days after opening in November, Canalha became the talk of the town, and now you need to book a table for dinner weeks in advance. The restaurant is all about its ingredients: the freshest fish, vegetables, and meat, cooked cleverly to preserve the flavors. Sitting at the counter might not be the best for your back but it’s definitely a feast for the eyes, with a front-row seat to the well-rehearsed choreography of the former fine-dining maestros in the kitchen.</p><p>Chef João Rodrigues estimates around 90 percent of the customers are Lisboetas, and this local vibe is especially felt at lunchtime. The lunch menu features two daily specials at a reasonable price, always traditional dishes without any twists. On the day of our visit, João had chosen raia alhada (stingray with garlic) and panados de frango (similar to a wiener schnitzel, but with chicken) served along a side of carrot rice. The delicious green bean soup is one of several in Canalha’s great variety of soups in rotation. On Thursdays, there’s a fantastic cozido à portuguesa (a traditional Portuguese stew with sausages, pork, and vegetables). In other dishes, vegetables take center stage, such as the leeks with vinaigrette, honey and pine nuts.</p><p>Lisbon is changing so fast that, though we are suckers for nuanced ingenuity, it can be refreshing when a restaurant opens without proclaiming a twist or a “concept.” The chef’s vision for Canalha is clear: “The idea is to be a neighborhood restaurant, not a tasca or a taberna, but the type of restaurant that always existed, without any revivalism.”</p>

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<p><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)">The 25 seats at this coal shop-turned boozer snack bar (known as carvoaria) are some of the most-coveted in town. The shared plates and chalkboard menu are all part of the movimento taberneiro, the city’s modern tavern revival. Depending on the season, there’s pickled rabbit in escabeche, iscas á Portuguesa (liver steaks), cod cakes, cod confit, cod tongue salad, lamb stew, and oxtail. The wait staff recommends five dishes for three people, but you’ll be tempted to try at least 10. By the time dinner ends, a range of liqueurs (chile, coriander, brandy, bagaço) ends up on the table – guests can serve themselves at will.</span></p>

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<p>As amazing as Lisbon’s food and drink scene is, many of its markets are underwhelming. But luckily, one of Portugal’s best markets is located an hour south of the city. Setúbal is probably not on your Portugal food radar, but it should be. The parishes that comprise the greater district of the same name are the source of some of the country’s most prized ingredients and food products. This variety is on full display in the Mercado do Livramento, Setúbal’s central market.</p><p>Located just at the edge of the city’s historical center, and housed in an imposing pink structure from 1930, as soon as you enter Mercado do Livramento you’re greeted with tile murals that tell the story of the area’s agricultural heritage. Inside, you’ll find a hangar-like space consisting of neat marble rows that can accommodate as many as 350 fruit, vegetables, dried goods, baked goods, dairy products, meat and seafood vendors. We love grabbing local queijo de Azeitão, a rich, barely sweet, soft cheese, as well as torta de Azeitão, Setúbal’s most-famous sweet.</p>

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<p>Lisbon's Galeto, a relic of 1960s counter culture, still hums with a frenetic energy, its zigzagging counters and modernist design telling tales of late-night bohemians and hurried bites after the theater. Opened by Portuguese immigrants returning from Rio, it aimed to bring Brazilian galeto (grilled chicken) to the masses. But Lisboetas, it turned out, were more smitten with bife à Galeto – a steak and egg marvel that remains a house specialty.</p><p>Despite economic downturns and an evolving culinary landscape, Galeto endures, fueled by its legacy and loyal clientele. From prime ministers to students, generations have sought refuge in its warm glow, drawn in by the promise of a hearty meal and a taste of Lisbon's past, all served up with a side of esparregado and a dash of nostalgia.</p>

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<p>Lisbon’s stream of tasca closures has had us worried these small, cheap, familial restaurants are heading towards extinction. Luckily, there are some stories of tascas staying afloat thanks to a new generation of chefs. Chefs Diogo Meneses and Carlos Pinheiro took over O Buraquinho, where the previous owners taught the young partners the recipes before passing on their aprons.</p><p>The arroz de gambas, the shrimp rice that is often served on Tuesdays, is a flavorful stock packed with herbs and pepper and covered with enough shrimp to feed two hungry mouths.</p><p>Other daily specials include filetes de peixe-galo com arroz de grelos (pan-fried John Dory with turnip green rice) and bochechas de porco (braised pork cheeks). Keeping the old recipes allowed Diogo and Carlos to retain most of O Buraquinho’s faithful customers. They also put their own personal touch by adding petiscos (snacks) and changing the décor a bit. Now, a mix of loyal clients and a younger crowd fill the small 30-seat spot. Petisco Saloio gives us hope there is still a future for tascas in Lisbon.</p>

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<p>A stunning serving of marinated fish at Prado, photo by Rodrigo Cabrita Select an Image</p><p>Building a menu around seasonal fish and seafood, what’s available in the local markets is important to chef António Galapito. Even with the ever-changing offering, Prado has been extraordinarily consistent, creating different seasonal dishes and tweaking certain favorites so as to keep them on the menu throughout the year, but in a sustainable (and delicious) way. Cockles – a treat of spring – make up one of the most popular dishes at Prado, with smoked butter, croutons, and chard. It’s one of those plates you won’t want to share, as are the dishes featuring tuna belly.</p><p>Made from tuna caught around the Azores islands, it’s served with fava beans, sliced thin, poured over with tuna and ham bone stock to melt the fat. Then there’s the smoked tuna belly: “It tastes like bacon,” António says. It makes sense given that fishermen call muxama (cured tuna loin) the ham of the sea. Housed in a former factory, the soaring ceilings of Prado elevate each meal. The locavore menu also brims with vegetables. And for dessert, the acorn ice cream takes the gold medal – as does the natural, organic Portuguese wine list.</p>

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<p>It’s a bit of culinary magic. Plain old black-eyed peas are transformed into a fluffy white cloud, before somehow changing once again, this time into a crimson, crispy fritter. This is acarajé, and Carol Alves de Brito is Portugal’s only acarajé seller from Bahia. This region of Brazil has the strongest links to Africa, and Salvador, the state’s capital, was once a major destination in the trans-Atlantic slave trade. Today it’s the largest Black city outside of Africa. The state became a conduit for African food, culture, and religion, and acarajé blends all three of these elements.</p><p>Even today in Brazil, acararjé remains tied with Afro-Brazilian customs and rites; the vendors – exclusively women – who sell the dish in Bahia wear white dresses linked to religious ideas of purity, and acarajé is given as an offering in Candomblé (a religion that blends West African and other spiritual beliefs) ceremonies. It’s a dish with a deep sense of culture and place, and for many eaters, the person who’s making it matters. In her tiny kitchen in Lisbon’s raucous Bairro Alto neighborhood, a brightly dressed Carol slices her fluffy acararjé in half, stuffing them items like deep-fried shrimp and vatapá, a rich paste of nuts, coconut milk, and ginger.</p><p>There are many Brazilian restaurants in Lisbon these days, but few specialize in the dishes of Brazil’s predominantly Black northeast, and Carol quips that her restaurant is the unofficial “Embassy of Bahia.”</p>

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<p>A three-floor cultural association in Rato, the neighborhood just north of sleek Principe Real, has for decades focused primarily on bridging Angolan and Portuguese cultures. At ground level there’s a charming restaurant with a few tables draped in colorful kanga fabric, and the walls are decorated with maps, paintings and photos of Luanda. Under chef Paulo Soares’s eye, the kitchen reproduces the best of Angola, home to a gastronomy that depends on many grains and starches (especially sorghum, corn, beans, and yam), fruit (watermelon, baobab, and tamarind), peanuts, and palm oil – all cooked with techniques influenced by Mozambican, Brazilian and Portuguese methods.</p><p>A choice order here is the peito alto, a meat stew usually accompanied by okra and funge. A kind of creamy polenta made mainly from cassava, funge became a classic element of Angolan gastronomy as a result of colonization – after the dish was introduced to Africa via Brazil by the Portuguese in the 16th century. Each table at Casa de Angola is stocked with another colonial-influenced product with Brazilian origins, Jindungo <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" class="text-[#781e2a] underline" href="/cities-category/lisbon/2016/building-blocks-5/">piripiri</a>. Other favorite items include farofa (toasted manioc flour) and the starter kitaba, a spicy peanut paste.</p>

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<p>When Zé Paulo Rocha was a baby in the late 1990s, he used to sleep on top of a chest freezer in his parents’ tasca. As a young teen, Zé Paulo helped with the service, his mom cooked and his father worked the counter – the traditional tasca family roles. His professional fate was sealed.</p><p>When took over a tasca of his own, O Eurico became O Velho (“the old”) Eurico, a “tribute to Mr. Eurico,” Zé Paulo says about the old tasca owner, “because I see something of my father in him. Also, it’s a matter of respect: They had the restaurant for more than 40 years.”</p><p>Inside, a main blackboard menu on the wall lists the day’s dishes. Bestsellers include a very good bacalhau à Brás, but also iscas de cebolada (pork liver) and a recipe that he took from his mother, rancho à Minhota, a regional stew made with different meats, pasta, and chickpeas. It’s not the only one that she shared with her son. Her leite creme (crème brûlée) sums up this new era of tascas: giving old recipes new life.</p>

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