Would you put Grosella Jam in a Tijolo or a Tigela?

Tijolo=Brick, like the pizza stone you would use for Bolo De Tijolo.

Tigela=Bowl, could be made of ANY material, glass, ceramic, porcelain, wood.

Mom: "I put the leftover cranberry sauce in the jam jar.  And I put the Grosella jam in the tigela."

Me: "Tigela?? A female tijolo??"

She thought that was funny.  You can speak a language for years and never hear the similarities in 2 words.  I love puns.  (There's a reason I'm bad at learning languages in school. I think I'd rather identify puns than conjugate verbs, but that's just me)

Grosellas are also known as Autumn Berries or Autumn Olives. VERY TART.  A single seed in the center, red berries with distinctive spots.  Also, the leaves are green on one side and silver on the other.  In Asia, they are revered for their health properties. In America, they are known to have 17 times the amount of lycopene as found in tomatoes, also found in prevention of breast, prostate & skin cancers.

We find them by the side of the road, growing on trees by the millions.  Easy to harvest and completely underappreciated.

http://www.autumnberryinspired.com/about-autumn-berry

http://www.autumnberryinspired.com/about-autumn-berry/health-benefits

Almagreira Fest!!

Just as I thought Santa Maria was quieting down (until Mare de Agosto, anyway), I saw the lights in Almagreira!  The church was outlined in a red color, for the freguesia of Almagreira, which is known for the red outlines of houses. (Explained in a future post)

Friday & Saturday had the whole island coming out to celebrate. I had a lovely dinner of Albacore (note the ongoing discussion of whether it is "Tuna" or not).

The dinner itself was served in what in New York City, we would call a "pop-up" restaurant. Here, it is a bunch of picnic tables inside a food tent. I was surprised to find out that it wasn't sponsored or run by an established restaurant, because everything was delicious!

There were displays of typical folkloric dances, which involved young people in various traditional costumes. I even spotted someone wearing a capote! (Not in this picture, alas!)

There was even a dance around a Maypole!! (Aka Portuguese Pole Dancing)

On Saturday, they also were "playing with the Bulls", which I didn't stay very long to watch.  They put a rope on the Bulls and let them loose among men crazy enough to run in the field with them. I feel bad for the poor creatures. The people, I mean,

Lies My Immigrant Mother Told Me (And Other Deeper Truths)

Let me start by saying that my Mom (a minha Mae) is wiser than I can ever hope to compete with.  I went to schools and have degrees, but she can overturn any argument I have, anytime.

"That's too American,"

Mostly, it's things like ketchup, pickles, hamburgers, television, lawyers, politics, or buying anything that is supposed to "make your life easier".  Also, according to my Mother, everyone in Portugal eats fruit before meals.

These things exist in Portugal, too.  Somehow, presented in English, with an American accent, they appear overwhelmingly foreign to her.  She has lived in America longer than on Portuguese soil, and even my family in Portugal will agree with me, somethings are just my Mom's preferences.

But there are a few things I have discovered that are WRONG.

Nobody in my family, or anyone else in Portugal in my experience eats fruit (fruta) before meals.  Even at family gatherings, my Mom is the only one at the table, peeling her oranges, eating the "Portuguese Way".  Her argument includes inherited wisdom from her mother (my Vovo), who practiced this throughout her life.  Vovo was known for her herbalist/superstitous wisdom; she knew exactly what kind of plant to boil for tea to cure whatever ails you.  As the modern health narrative goes, the earth is a bounty of recognized vitamins.  That is to say, many modern studies actually support eating fruit before a meal: it slows digestions & helps absorption of vitamins.

So who am I to believe?  A Minha Mae (my Mother)? In short, yes.  I believe in the larger truth of what she tells me, even if she is mistaken about the actual source.

(Now if I can only stop using the made-up words my Mom used for bodily functions.  It turns out, those words are not actually Portuguese.  My cousins still make fun of me for it.)

"Queijeira"= When Someone You Love, Loves Cheese

Apparently, my aunt had a secret nickname as a child.  "Queijeira".

It roughly means "she who loves cheese".

I won't reveal which of the sisters it was, in a family of 8 kids; I was surprised that only one held the title, and that it was not my mother.  Nor will I reveal which of the brothers in the family hated cheese.  Learning about his hatred for cheese scandalizes me, even as a grownup.  (To be fair, he doesn't like milk either, so I suspect it is a dairy intolerance/hatred).

For those who don't know, cheese=Queijo=the national Portuguese comfort food & delicacy. It is pronounced like the American word "cage" (the final "o" is usually swallowed), and as a child, I imagined it was a way that grownups described the way the cheese naturally appeared.  It was formed in a "cage" of wax, a protective coating.  I knew it came in a wheel, it had its own crust on it, like a well baked loaf of bread.  My mother would buy it a wedge at a time, and we would savor it from the thin pliable edge to the crumbly hard base.

American cheese did not have to be contained properly; it came in it's own naturally growing prepackaged containers.  Plastic sheets of Kraft Singles or shredded bags for pizza, or weird foil wrapping like Velveeta, the "cheez" I had growing up in Massachusetts was another substance than what my Mom treasured.  It could also NEVER be used to cross the cultural lines.  I have NEVER seen a grilled cheese sandwich (or pizza) made with Queijo Sao Jorge, or served on Wonder Bread. It took me years before I was able to accept that they were even part of the same food group; I had always taken for granted that American food was processed, made by machines and not hands.  Like red "cherry" flavoring, the frozen ice was its own fake imitation of a fruit that maybe was the same color.

There are more stories about cheese & the national obsession with it, than any other Portuguese food I can think of.  Most breakfasts consist of a simple papsico (bun) and manteiga (butter) and Queijo (preferably Queijo Sao Jorge).  And if you want to stop for a snack during the day, you can buy the same sandwich at a cafe.  Your mother will send it to school with you in your lunchbag and none of the other kids will want to trade with you, because the cheese is so piquant.  To this day, my mother still has Queijo Sao Jorge for breakfast and after every lunch & dinner as dessert.

Every time I go through customs in Boston after flying SATA, all the Customs Officers scratch their heads and ask why all the little old Portuguese ladies all have cheese in their purses.  I shrugged and held my own cheese filled bag a little closer. You can buy Queijo Sao jorge in Cambridge.  But it does not taste AS good.  The ladies are all connoisseurs, Queijeiras all.

So when my mother began telling me about the Cheese Wars that her brother and sister had, I couldn't stop laughing.  She admitted that her brother hated cheese so much that when they were kids in Faial, he would sniff the table knife to make sure it hadn't been recently tainted by cheese.  When her sister would come home from buying cheese for Vovo, half of it would already be gone.  That's how she got her nickname, Queijeira.

Once, while her Queijo-hating brother was asleep, she snuck a piece of cheese into his mouth.  He chased her around the house.  To this day, he can't stand it.  Poor Tio!!  He was no match for the family Queijeira!!

Cheira Bem, Cheira a Lisboa!!

All my life, I have heard the Portuguese grownups sing ONE song every time they enter a Portuguese house.

i.e. There is always someone cooking, and the food always smells like home.  This could be considered hyperbole, but visiting often takes place on weekends or festival/holidays, which would explain the "always on" oven/stove.  But the houses that would host, the WOMEN who would host, also were usually the ones with a lot of/the most children. And they WERE always cooking.

(And it took me YEARS of putting on my best "American" kid straight-face, of pretending that everyone else's houses smelled good.  Grilled cheese just lingers in the air differently than Carninhas & Buttitinhas!)

I have heard the lyrics translated as:
"It smells good, the smell of Lisbon"
or
"It smells good, it smells like Lisbon"

Either way, it is a little rough in translation.

Note, this phrase works as a call & response too.   Whenever you hear someone say "Cheira bem! [It smells good]!", you can answer "Cheira a Lisboa!" and you can share a wink & a connection, without having to learn any pesky grammar or conjugations!

It is good to learn & sing this ENTIRE phrase, even if you don't know the song.  I've sung it based on my Tio's version & it sounds nothing like the song!  Don't worry, nobody will care about your singing!

Here is Amalia singing it:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=exhrWRY8iGk


Here are the legit lyrics in Portuguese & further below in English:

Cheira Bem, Cheira A Lisboa

 

Lisboa já tem Sol
mas cheira a Lua
Quando nasce a madrugada sorrateira
E o primeiro eléctrico da rua
Faz coro com as chinelas da Ribeira
makes a chorus with the sound of the slippers in Ribeira

Se chove cheira a terra prometida
Procissões têm o cheiro a rosmaninho
Nas tascas das vielas mais escondidas
Cheira a iscas com elas e a vinho

(Refrão)
A carnation flower in the attic...
smells good, smells like Lisbon.
A rose, blooming in the park ...
smells good, smells like Lisbon
A frigatebird that takes fly from a boat fore ...
or a woman that persistently passes by,
they all smell good because they are from Lisbon
Lisbon has the perfume of flowers and sea

Cheira bem, cheira a Lisboa (2x)

A fragata que se ergue na proa
Cheiram bem porque são de Lisboa

Lisboa cheira aos cafés do Rossio
E o fado cheira sempre a solidão
Cheira a castanha assada se está frio
Cheira a fruta madura quando é Verão

Teus lábios têm o cheiro de um sorriso
Manjerico tem o cheiro de cantigas
E os rapazes perdem o juízo
Quando lhes dá o cheiro a raparigas

Cheira bem, cheira a Lisboa (2x)

A fragata que se ergue na proa
Cheiram bem porque são de Lisboa

Taken from http://lyricstranslate.com/en/Cheira-Bem-Cheira-Lisboa-it-smells-good-it-smells-Lisbon.html#ixzz3cLBM3Wus

ENGLISH (mostly)

it smells good, it smells like Lisbon

Versions: #1#2

It's a sunny day in Lisbon,...
but it has the perfume of the moon ...
when the early morning comes quietly.
The first tram in the street...
makes a chorus with the sound of the slippers in Ribeira

when it rains, Lisbon has the perfume of promised land.
The processions have the smell of rosemary.
In the taverns of the most hidden alleys,...
there's a perfume of appetizers and wine all together

Um craveiro numa água-furtada
Cheira bem, cheira a Lisboa
Uma rosa a florir na tapada
Cheira bem, cheira a Lisboa
A fragata que se ergue na proa
A varina que teima em passar
Cheiram bem porque são de Lisboa
Lisboa tem cheiro de flores e de mar

it smells good, it smells like Lisbon

A varina que teima em passar
Lisboa tem cheiro de flores e de mar

Lisbon has the perfum of the cafés from Rossio
And fado always has the perfume of loneliness
When it's cold, Lisbon has the perfume of roasted chestnuts
when it's summer, it smells like the perfume of ripe fruits

Your lips have the smell of a smile
Manjerico has the smell of sweet tunes
And the boys all lose their mind...
when one gives them the smell of girls

A varina que teima em passar
Lisboa tem cheiro de flores e de mar

Taken from http://lyricstranslate.com/en/Cheira-Bem-Cheira-Lisboa-it-smells-good-it-smells-Lisbon.html#ixzz3cLBd3nGB

Bife com Ovo A Cavalo

One of the staple meals of my Portuguese childhood was always Bife com Ovo A Cavalo.  Although my mother used just called any fried beef "Bifes". I had to go to Portugal repeatedly to hear the translation of the full name, which means essentially:

Beef with Egg on Horseback

I always had it with white rice and homemade french fries, I thought the egg was on top of the steak because it was the easiest placement.  And the runny yolk was VERY good with the molho, i.e. Gravy.  Or as we always called it, "molinho", which means "little gravy"-I always took that to mean pan drippings vs the American Style of heavy gravy made with corn starch.

Thanksgiving Leftover Açorda Alentejana Recipe

Thanksgiving at my house was always a weird experience.  A Father from Detroit and a Mom from Faial, the American half was the one to cook.

Or, we'd go to visit our closest relatives, the Portuguese side, and there'd be the traditional feast.  For starters: Chicken soup with lemon.  Then a huge roast Turkey, Giblet Stuffing, Mashed Potatoes (heavy on the cream & butter-like nothing I've ever tasted out of a box, or even on an American table), canned corn & peas and maybe a dish of Bacalhau casserole.  And for dessert, my PORTUGUESE Grandmother's (Vovo's) Apple Pie.  It was always juicier, with a flakier crust than any "American Pie" version I've tried. And she'd roll extra pie crust into the features of a face.

And somehow, there would always be football on TV.  The American kind.


Here's a link to a Portuguese variation on an American Tradition.  I haven't tried it yet, but maybe I will this year!   Açorda Alentejana http://catavino.net/portuguese-thanksgiving-leftovers/

Alimentação e culinária

Food is not just a matter of "comidas" in Portugal.

It is a series of memories.  A simple rhythm of meals to give structure to the days.

Cheese and bread. For breakfasts, keep it simple.  Milk from a cow just down the road.

Taste gets slightly more complex.  No funny sauces, just simple pan drippings evolving into a thin gravy.

Leftovers get combined into fried goodies.

Here are some Pasteis de Bacalhau to get you started.

I love that in this picture, there is a glass of white wine and a dipping sauce.  Like something you'd see in a restaurant.  I've only ever seen them next to my mother's stove, landing on a paper towel.  Few survivors would make it to the table or even the fridge.  

No dipping sauce ever required.