Baseball, Ballparks, & Seafood

I pretty much write about whatever I find interesting at the time and find a way to tie it to oysters or seafood.  Philadelphia hoagies, the history of chili peppers, unconventionally flavored potato chips.  Luckily, most of my interests are culinarily focused or akin, so it aligns rather easily.  I enjoy gardening, so I made a ceviche with homegrown produce.  I like underrepresented history, so I did a piece on famous oysterman and abolitionist Thomas Downing.  However, I'm also a massive sports fan, and nothing is better than playoff baseball, especially with the Phillies in the mix.  #RingTheBell.  #RedOctober.  So, as we're heading into the MLB postseason, I wanted to do an exploration of ballpark cuisine with a seafood twist.

Of all the professional sports, none is more closely tied to culinary fare than baseball.  Popcorn, beer, soft pretzels.  It's a stop-and-go game full of frequent lulls that are perfect for grabbing some grub.  Some say a ballgame isn't the same without a hot dog, others say a hot dog isn't the same without a ballgame.  Baseball is also full of tense moments and nervous energy, perfect fidget snacks like sunflower seeds and peanuts.  The iconic 7th inning stretch's Take Me Out to the Ball Game literally has ballpark culinary staples right in the lyrics.  I don't even need to say them and any American reading this knows exactly what those foods are.  If you think about it, that's objectively pretty funny.     

via TheBayOnline.com

Seafood and baseball are closely tied as well.  Beach season and baseball season are the twin tides of summer.  And over the last few decades, several seafood offerings have steadily flowed into the ballpark.  Oracle Park's garlic crab fries, Fenway Park's lobster rolls, T-Mobile Park's poke bowls.  The Baltimore Orioles have hosted Crab Fest games at Camden Yards, and the Milwaukee Brewers reportedly have a secret Friday Fish Fry in American Family Field's section 208.  Double A's Richmond Flying Squirrels even showcased a 300 pound monstrosity earlier this year with the world's largest crab cake.  I hope it at least tasted good.

Beyond the dishes, many ballplayers have been dubbed with seafood nicknames.  Tim Salmon and Mike Trout might not count, but Catfish Hunter and Oyster Burns certainly do.  Several minor league teams' names and mascots are also seafood inspired.  The Biloxi Shuckers, Jersey Shore Blue Claws, Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp.  There's a collegiate league team out of Seattle known as the DubSea Fish Sticks.  The Carolina Mudcats have Muddy, a flathead catfish, as their mascot, and Japan's Chiba Lotte Marines have Nazo No Sakana (謎の魚), or Mysterious Fish, as their mascot.

Things have become even more fun with minor league baseball's alternate identities.  Back in 2014, the Lehigh Valley Iron Pigs decided to don bacon uniforms for a series.  The following year, the Fresno Grizzlies became the Fresno Tacos for a weekend.  Ever since, whether it be via the Copa de la Diversión or Stouffer's Alter Ego Challenge, MiLB teams have been embracing regional culture, economy, and cuisine in rebranding for a couple of games a season.  As few things are as fiercely tied to regional identity as food, many of these rebrands have paid homage to local delicacies.  And many are seafood themed.  The Fort Myers Mighty Mussels became the Grouper Sandwiches; the Portland Sea Dogs were the Maine Clambake; and the Morehead City Marlins switched to the Fish Tacos.  I won't lie, I find the MiLB alter egos concept so enjoyable, especially in contrast to the MLB's City Connect jerseys.  The Augusta Pimento Cheese and Erie Pepperoni Balls, yes please!  The Phillies and Twins dressed like cans of Axe Body Spray, no thanks.   

However, nothing can beat the Chesapeake Baysox' temporary rebrand as the Oystercatchers, a seabird native to the area.  In short, the Baysox initially released the baseball glove with an oyster and baseball pearl as part of their rebranded logo, pictured here.  And, well, many fans saw something less catcher's mitt with an oyster and more of a "third base" situation.  My favorite quote had to be "most men can't even find the baseball."  They quickly took the NSFW rebrand down from all socials, but it had already gone viral.  In laudable fashion, they owned it and brought it back for merchandising, donating 10% of proceeds to Cervivor, Inc., a non-profit focused on cervical cancer awareness.  You can't make this shit up.  Minor league baseball is the best, and this is MiLB at its finest: absurd, self-aware, and community-driven.

Ballpark Food History

Stevens Scorecard via Our Game

 Alter egos, animated mascots, and celebrated cuisines were not always part of baseball.  Records of the first foods at ballgames are sparse and disputed, and concessions were relatively disorganized and ad hoc — apples, lemonade, ham & cheese sandwiches, beer, ice cream, pasta, even charred onions and tripe.  Then, in the 1880s, Harry M. Stevens began shaping the ballpark cuisine landscape we think of today.   Posthumously known as the King of Concessions, Stevens' beginnings weren't even in food sales.  He started by selling scorecards at Columbus Buckeyes games, a novel concept at the time.  He added food advertising to those scorecards, and eventually sold the food itself at ballgames.  Stevens' business quickly spread to ballparks and stadiums all across the country, essentially codifying concession offerings.  The invention of the hot dog is often mistakenly credited to Stevens, but he was responsible for popularizing them at ballparks.  He's also credited with bringing peanuts to the game.  Story goes that a peanut company wanted to advertise in Stevens' scorecards, but was unable to pay.  Stevens accepted literal peanuts as payment, then resold them at ballgames.   They were so successful that he eventually bought a peanut farm in Virginia to vertically source them.  This is also a speculated origin for the phrase "working for peanuts."

Stevens passed away in 1934, but the concessions game continued on.  Ballparks themselves followed America's Post-WWII car and highway development and migration from cities to suburbs.  Stadiums became soulless, concrete multi-purpose shells in the industrial outskirts of town, prioritizing capacity over quality.  The food largely followed.  Some diversity came in the form of nachos and pizza, but they served mostly the classics.  That's not inherently an issue, but it was when the quality decreased.  Stale soft pretzels, tepid hot dogs, rubbery burgers; the AstroTurf of cuisine.  Concessions operations became consolidated to a few major conglomerates, and they mirrored the prioritization of capacity over quality.  Even today, all 30 MLB teams' concession programs are operated by just six companies.  The rise of agribusiness in the 60's and 70's diminished our foodways well beyond just the ballpark's, but that's a whole other conversation. 

  

However, when Camden Yards opened near Baltimore's Inner Harbor in 1992, ballpark culture started to shift again.  Stadiums began moving away from sprawling parking lots and back into cities' downtowns.  The Orioles' concession company partnered with local vendors to serve regional cuisine like crab cakes and pit beef.  This kicked off the ballpark renaissance, and over half the league built new stadiums in the next 15 years.  They began reconnecting with their local identities, both geographically and culinarily.  Cheesesteaks at Phillies' games, BBQ at Royals' games, Skyline Chili at Reds' games.  30 years later, we've now entered the era of epic ballpark cuisine where clubs try to one up each other with the most extreme dishes.  Cotton candy fries, mac 'n' cheese hot dogs, s'mores quesadillas, two-foot burritos, toasted crickets.  Some people celebrate the direction ballpark cuisine is now heading, and others utterly despise it.  I see both sides.  The Boomstick Burger and What Up Corn Dog look disgusting, but I loved the Banana Dog at a Savannah Bananas game.  And that's okay.  Some dishes are home runs, others are 'a swing and a miss.'  Either way, it's all pretty damn fun.

So, in that spirit of ballpark whimsy and fun, I set out to reimagine some of baseball's culinary classics with a seafood twist.  Let's kick it off with "....buy me some shrimp at the seafood shack, I don't care if I never get back...."  Maybe "hook, line, sinker you're out?"  Whatever...play ball!

Blue Crab Nachos

While not canon in classic ballpark cuisine, nachos have become a staple at practically every stadium.  As noted, hot dogs, peanuts, and popcorn go back to the early 20th century.  Nachos at ballgames first appeared the 1970s.  The original nachos, invented in the 1940s on the US-Mexico border, were fried tortilla chips, jalapeños, and cheese baked in an industrial oven.  Not an ideal offering for fast paced concession stands.  However, in 1976, Frank Liberto of Ricos Foods invented a shelf stable, pourable spicy cheese sauce, enabling nachos to be served efficiently.  Liberto first sold them at Arlington Stadium for a Texas Rangers' game, and they were an instant hit.  Within a decade, nachos with cheese sauce were being sold at practically every convenience store, concert, movie theater, and of course, ballpark.

Everyone loves nachos.  Pretty much everyone loves crab.  And everyone I know loves crab nachos.  It's a well established dish, and was a no brainer to kick off my ballpark seafood trials.  I picked up ½ pound of fresh picked lump blue crab meat on my way back from a brief trip to the shore.  Once home, I grated Tillamook cheddar over Mission tortilla rounds, added the crab with pickled jalapeños, black olives, and ample amounts of Old Bay.  Into a 400° oven it went and additional toppings were up next.  I mixed up a quick pico de gallo with some garden fresh tomatoes, peppers, garlic, cilantro and lime.  I also made a crab-seasoned nacho cheese sauce with a roux, heavy cream, shredded cheddar, Old Bay and a little bit of the pickled jalapeño brine.

After about 15 minutes, the crab nachos were bubbly brown and ready to go.  I took them out of the oven and drizzled on the cheese sauce with a few dollops of Daisy.  Cheeky little Old Bay seasoned lime and it was time to serve.  They were delicious, at least from the few bites I had.  Cheesy, savory, and spicy with a bright acidity from the pico de gallo and sweet, briny bites of lump crab meat.  I'm sure my wife and kids would have articulated the same.  But, instead of bases, they were too busy stealing chips and clearing plates.  Hey, at least I tried.  Nacho easiest pun situation.  

Seafood Bratwurst 

The natural choice here would be seafood hot dogs.  I made and profiled smoked trout dogs a few years ago, which were delightful, but I wanted to try something new.  Next to the classic ballpark frank, nothing says I'm at a ballgame quite like a brat.  I picked up some day-boat scallops, monkfish, and a Northern Atlantic lobster tail from Hill's Quality Seafood.  Chef Cuso's rustic style of seafood sausage looked interesting, but I was swinging for the fences on this one.  Proper sausage maker, 10mm plate, coarse grind, stuffing in hog casings. 

The seafood all got a rough chop and mixed with proportional bratwurst seasoning.  I've made pork bratwurst several times before, both by toasting and grinding my own spices, and using premade spice mixtures.  Maybe I'm just an inept spice crafter, but the premade mixtures have always turned out better for me, especially with A.C. Legg's Bratwurst Seasoning.  Don't mess with a winning lineup, right?  I set the mixture in the freezer to chill and meld for a few minutes.  Rule one of sausage making is keeping everything ice cold.  Otherwise the fat will render and the meat will smear, leaving you with a nasty paste rather than a coarse grind.  I wasn't sure the same logic applied to shellfish, but I wasn't about to test and find out. 

My wife is from Wisconsin.  As such, I know a brat is not a brat without peppers and onions, so I sautéed some while I waited.  Once the seafood mix was fully chilled, I added a little lager (Wisconsin-style, again) then ran it through the coarse grind and into hog casings.  I ended up with only two brats, but they were big league sized.  Seafood's expensive, and I'm a baller on a budget.  Onto the grill they went for 5 minutes, then into some Amoroso's Italian Rolls with the peppers and onions, horseradish, and spicy mustard.  Give 'em the heater, Ricky!  And they were delicious.  Discernibly bratwurst with that herbaceous, peppery-nutmeg flavor, but they had a distinct, oceanic sweetness, especially from the toothsome lobster.  The caramelized peppers and onions brought in that familiar savory-sweet and the horseradish a piquant zest.  I shared the other with my neighbor, and he agreed: web gem worthy.

    Rock Shrimp Cracker Jack

No ballpark cuisine post would be complete without Cracker Jack.  Recipes for candied popcorn & peanuts in the States go back to the early 19th century.  However, Frederick Rueckheim is largely credited with its popularization.  He and his brother first reportedly offered it at the 1893 World's Fair.  A patron tried some and declared "whoa, that's crackerjack!," which was slang for something excellent or outstanding.  Rueckheim trademarked the name Cracker Jack in 1896, and in that same year, there's record of it being a concession at an Atlantic City game.  Then, in 1908, Jack Norworth penned Take Me Out to the Ball Game and Cracker Jack was forever deified within baseball.  Just imagine what food that might be if "and Cracker Jack" didn't rhyme with "never get back."  Also, I don't say deified lightly.  Check out what happened when the Yankees tried to replace Cracker Jack with Crunch 'n Munch.

Cracker Jack is made with popcorn, right?  And popcorn shrimp is a popular dish.  So why not shrimp cracker jack?  I picked up some rock shrimp from Hill's Quality Seafood, along with peanuts, molasses, and other fixins' at my local market.  Cracker Jack has those distinct, red skinned Virginia peanuts, and most markets around me don't sell them in shelled, cocktail form.  No problem, though — I had the kids shell (or shuck!) them.  They were more than happy to be involved.  I also created a simple brown sugar syrup with some vanilla extract and molasses and set it to the side.  I wanted to mimic that Cracker Jack candy flavor, but that classic butter based caramel wouldn't work in this instance.  Next, batter up!  I mixed water with equal parts AP flour and potato starch, per the instruction of Dredgemaster Flex, a.k.a. Rizzi from Lou's Takeaway.  Dude knows how to fry.  The AP would create that familiar popcorn shrimp breading, and the potato starch would ensure it stayed crisp enough to hold up to the caramel coating.    

Now, time to fry.  Each shrimp got battered and dropped in a peanut oil bubble bath.  Sure, seed oils are the enemy these days.  Red meat, eggs, and avocados were all once too, but now look at them.  I'm not saying red dye 40 and soybean oil will be deemed superfoods at some point; but everyone should chill out for a bit and let science catch up to the clickbait.  Stay hydrated, eat more fiber, and all things in moderation.  You'll be fine.  Once all the shrimp were done, I returned them in batches to the frying oil for a second dip.  Just like twice fried potatoes, this would ensure the ultimate crispy exterior.  Finally, I mixed the shrimp, peanuts, and caramel sauce all in a bowl, seasoned to taste, and plated.  They weren't as close to Cracker Jack as I'd hoped, but did taste great.  Just more like Honey Walnut Shrimp than the ballpark classic.  Not quite a home run, but a solid line drive up the middle.  I'll need to hit the cages in the offseason for this one.  Will keep y'all posted.

Overall, my whole baseball, ballpark, and seafood exploration was a grand slam.  Interesting history, exciting ephemera, and some fun dishes.  The only remaining question: what to do next?  Lobster poutine for the Stanley Cup?  Fish and chips with caviar for Wimbledon?  Salmon buffalo wings for the Super Bowl?  Oh — what about oyster baseball cards for the hundreds of varieties around the country?!?  Comment below with what should be 'on deck.'

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

   

Camarão e Carvão - Portugal's Algarve

My family and I traveled across the pond again for spring break, this time destined for the beautiful beaches, stunning cliffs, and seaside towns of Southern Portugal.  Yes, we're those bougie parents who've flown our toddlers to Europe two years in a row now.  Honestly though, when looking at the prices for a trip to the Virgin Islands or a Jersey shore house for a week, the cost is almost identical these days.  My father-in-law was very helpful with the finances, too.  And with a couple of White House man babies currently laying waste to everything, who knows what the future holds.  Best to travel abroad while we still can, or sadly, even scope out some new places to live.  As such, this was a very appropriately timed vacation.  Mentally, physically, and emotionally, we were all in desperate need of a get-away.

Portugal Food Map

The Iberian Peninsula has long been famed for its cuisine, most notably its seafood delicacies and delights.  Valencian paella, Galician pulpo, Basques pil-pil, Lisboan bacalhau.  However, as I've sort of just done, these foods often end up all lumped together as one for those who are unfamiliar.  In the States, we typically get "Chinese" food, when in reality there's Cantonese, Hakka, Sichuan, Hunan, etc.  It's the same with Mexican, Indian, and many others.  Subcultural dishes from specific areas are packaged into pan-national presentations.  Even more, there are several dishes that have crossed those political borders, leading to further confusion.  Think of all the Salvadorian restaurants selling tacos or Korean restaurants making sushi.  I've found this to be true of Iberian cuisine too.  Countless Portuguese eateries around the States have patrons asking "where's the tapas?"  There's even a TripAdvisor thread dedicated to the best paella in Lisbon.  This isn't always a bad thing, though.  Traditional or "authentic" food has its much needed place, but cultural exchange and culinary "fusion" have created some incredible dishes too.  Either way, my goal for Southern Portugal was simple: find the best seafood bites I could in the limited I had.  Vamos! 😜

I immediately noticed that many towns in the Faro District offer a lot of Spanish style cuisine, likely in reaction to a burgeoning tourist industry and unacquainted clientele.  The industry was likely a major economic lifeline for many in the midst of the country's recent financial crisis, but it was a little weird to see so many tapas bars.  Don't get me wrong, there was ample representation of local, quality cuisine.  But it kind of reminded me of New England clam chowder's popularity at San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf or cheesesteaks in Miami's South Beach.  Give the tourists what they're asking for, I suppose.  And, ironically enough, one of these establishments was my very first stop.  Good food is good food, right?  

Restaurante Mimar - Tapas & Wine

Restaurante Mimar is located in the heart of Old Town Lagos amidst the foot-traffic-only streets.  In my pre-trip Googling and research, this place kept coming up as one of the best seafood spots in the area.  It surprised me to find such a quality establishment pocketed amongst the mediocre gelatos and over-priced baubles of tourist town.  However, this place was legit.  The staff was incredibly attentive and accommodating of our party of seven.  Olives, bread, and butter hit the table almost immediately upon sitting down, followed very shortly by apple juices and fries for our testy toddlers.  The menu was an eclectic mix of regional and global cuisine.  Portuguese presunto, bacalhau with roasted potatoes, and piri piri chicken for the traditional;  BBQ ribs, tuna tataki, and salmon gravlax for the more internationally inspired.  Everything coming out of the kitchen to our neighboring tables looked great.  

We basically ordered the entire menu, and I have to say everything was phenomenal.  As pictured above, I focused in on the roasted octopus, bulhão pato clams, garlic prawns, and perch ceviche.  The octopus was tasty, though could have used a little more char for flavor and texture.  The ceviche was classic - bright, well-seasoned, and flavorful.  And the prawns, well, you'll see a theme through this whole trip.  The bulhão pato clams, however, were the best.  Clams sautéed in olive oil, wine, garlic and cilantro - delightful.  And while simple, the dish is deeply emblematic of Portuguese culture and cuisine, even being named after the 19th century Portuguese poet and epicurean Raimundo António.  More interestingly, the dish is viewed as a bar snack or nibble rather than part of a meal.  Just like we have buffalo wings at all of our bars or brew pubs, the Portuguese have bulhão pato clams at all of their tascas or cervejarias.  It felt like every other storefront on our late evening strolls through Lagos had locals clinking beer glasses and crushing clams.  I highly recommend both Mimar and the clams, and I'm pretty sure my son would agree.

Restaurante Camilo

It was my niece's turn to choose dinner for the next stop.  She said "I'd like us all to dress up nice and go to a fancy restaurant."  I can't imagine much else that would have better fit the bill.  South of downtown, family-owned Restaurante Camilo sits atop the picturesque cliffs of Praia de Camilo overlooking the Lagos harbor.  They've been serving up Atlantic seafood in traditional, Southern Portuguese styles for over 40 years.  Several dishes even need to be ordered a day ahead of dining to ensure they've got the appropriate seafood on hand.  Most notable was their fresh fish and shellfish display right at the entrance.  You know an establishment's going to be quality if they're confident enough to display their seafood on ice, front and center for the curious and scrutinizing diners.  And while a bit higher-brow and more expensive than all else I'd researched, this place did not disappoint.  They were even kind enough to accommodate our morning-of-request for one of the aforementioned dishes.  

   I'd considered a number of classics from the menu: charcoal grilled sea bream, piri-piri chicken, seafood caldeirada.  I ended up pre-ordering an Algarvian icon: cataplana.  Named after the copper vessel in which it's cooked and served, cataplana is essentially a seafood stew with tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, white wine and olive oil.  Not to offend any Portuguese, but think cioppino or seafood pan roast.   Little is known of the dish's origins.  Most believe it stems from Moorish and North African influence with the tagine, cooking food through a hermetic steam process.  The Algarve has also been long known for its copper artisans, so the creation of the cataplana was a logical next step.  Separately, I've read the cataplana's origins stem from collusion amongst fisherman, restauranteurs, and the Portuguese Ministry of Tourism.  To utilize undesirable or close-to-spoiling cuts of fish, throw them all in a fancy pot with some heavy seasoning and sell it at an incredible markup to none-the-wiser tourists.  Fine by me, as long as it tastes good.  Nothing's wrong with fin-to-tale, economical cooking.  Either way, it was delicious.  Cuts of bone-in monkfish, sole, and cod collars are always more flavorful.  Pair that with a deep, savory garlic and tomato broth with some clams and you can't go wrong.  Oh, and of course we had the prawns.  Massive, charcoal grilled scarlet prawns topped with garlic butter in this instance. 

 Marisqueira O Perceve

I managed to sneak away for a few hours during the kids' nap time for some exploring.  Aside from my 2-year-old daughter, nobody in my family is really a raw seafood fan.  So, this was the perfect opportunity to check out a Portuguese raw bar.  As I headed to Marisqueira O Perceve, things immediately began to feel less touristy.  Cobblestone footpaths and decorative lintels quickly gave way for contemporary high-rises and petrol stations.  While still close to the downtown harbor, O Perceve felt much closer to where the locals live and go about their days.  The restaurant is even seated at the base of an apartment complex.  When I arrived, there was a table of five middle-aged Lagosians each with their own personal seafood platters and bottles of vinho verde.  Five diners, five seafood feasts, and five bottles of wine.  If that's your standard Wednesday afternoon in Lagos, count me in. 

This was the first restaurant I'd visited where the staff didn't speak much English, which was actually quite refreshing.  With a little Google translate, Portuñol, and menu pointing, I ordered a brown crab, percebes, and a few Ostra Select oysters.  I honestly hadn't done my proper diligence here and thought Portuguese oyster farming and harvesting was focused more in the Northern part of the country, specifically the Ria de Aveiro region just south of Porto.  Poor oyster nerd form.  Turns out the Algarve has an oyster culture dating back centuries.  Most have been historically exported to France, but the boom in oyster popularity the last few decades has seen more small farms pop up and sell domestically.  The Ostra Selects from Ria de Alvor were crisp and snappy with a mild brininess and fruity cucumber notes.  Very tasty, as was the crab, and of course, prawns...again. 

The percebes, however, stole the show.  Also known as gooseneck barnacles, percebes are a stationary, clustering crustacean that reside primarily on the rocky intertidal zones of the Eastern Atlantic from Morocco to France.  You may be familiar with their close cousin that can be found on coastal California and Oregon.  They're incredibly dangerous to harvest as it often requires rappelling off cliffs into the crashing waves.  Concurrently, they cost a pretty penny but are well worth it.  Sweet and briny, they're a brilliant marriage of lobster and clam in flavor with a firm texture like squid.  Being so rare in the States, if you ever see them on a menu, I advise you give them a try regardless of cost.  Check out the medieval misconception that lead to their gooseneck name sometime, too. 

Tasca da Lota

Last stop came exclusively from Lagos insights and recommendations.  Throughout the week, I'd asked some other vacationers, vendors, and expats where the best seafood was.  One place kept coming up over and over again, and that was Tasca da Lota.  Located right between the Lagos train station and the commercial fisherman port, Tasca da Lota loosely translates to "fish market tavern."  They specialize in "peixe no carvão" or charcoal grilled fish, something I'd seen on a number of menus but had yet to try.  And man, the place had serious vibes.  No reservations, so we literally lined up across from the harbor's rusty crab traps and shrimp pots to wait to be seated.  The queue quickly became a diverse mix of local teens, German expats, Lagosian bikers, Korean tourists, and more.  Fresh seafood was prominently displayed for inspection and selection.  The sweet, smoky smell of charcoal spread across the mess hall style dining room.  Busy, no-fuss servers sternly inquired "what would you like" before moving on to the next dozen tables.  It reminded me of the robatayaki stalls near Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo; the right place to be. 

Swordfish, sea bream, tuna belly, cod steaks, scabbard fish, sea bass.  Unfortunately, we were a few weeks shy of sardine season.  But this place pretty much had it all, straight from the docks less than fifteen meters away.  After a thorough review of the fresh fish on ice, I landed on the sarda or Spanish mackerel.  The churrasqueiro promptly cleaned, split, and heavily seasoned the whole fish, placing it directly on the smoking grill in the open air kitchen.  A few minutes later, the mackerel arrived at my table paired with a mixed salad and salt boiled potatoes.  Straightforward yet perfect, and what I came to understand as quintessentially Algarvian.  Great ingredients simply prepared.  Same for the prawns we had at Tasca da Lota, and literally every other restaurant.  Fresh, head on, simply sautéed, poached, or grilled, and mostly served in or with garlic butter.  Each just as delightful as the last. 

Mercado Municipal de Lagos
 

Each restaurant I'd visited was special in it's own unique way.  Wonderful experiences.  However, our villa in Praia da Luz was equipped with a full kitchen and outdoor grill, and nothing beats a home-cooked meal.  The thing that excited me most about Algarvian cuisine was its embrace of open fire.  Every restaurant had at least a few grehlada dishes, and in many instances, focused on charcoal grilling.  Sardinhas na brasa are in integral part of any Portuguese cookout.  The other exciting part of Algarvian cuisine was its use of local, seasonal ingredients.  And nothing quite inspired like a few walks through the Mercado Municpal de Lagos.  Three stories of farm fresh vegetables, butchers, and small boat Atlantic seafood.  I decided our penultimate Portuguese meal would be a whole fish, charcoal grilled, with some farmers market produce. 

An entire floor of the market is entirely fishmongers.  I thought Tasca da Lota had it all, but this place truly did.  Octopus, croaker, john dory, gurnard, mackerel, skate, squid, sea bass, mullet, monkfish, pigfish, one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, and of course, prawns.  I was immediately drawn to a beautiful, four pound galinha do mar or red scorpionfish.  While quite dangerous due to its venomous spines and barbs, it's incredibly delicious from a diet of primarily crustaceans and mollusks.  With a quick exchange of some Euros and a "para a churrasco, por favor," my fishmonger proceeded to prep and split the whole fish for the grill.  I grabbed some early spring leeks, broccolini, a jar of piri piri, and a few salsichas frescas.  Later that evening, we fired up the carvão and enjoyed a few beverages while casually grilling.  Paired with some local rice and a sauce of cilantro, parsley, garlic, and olive oil, it was the perfect family meal to cap off our Algarvian vacation.  

Though, I suppose we were missing the prawns 😂.

Abraços,

The SF Oyster Nerd

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