Real Portugal

We’re at an airport hotel in the industrial part of Lisbon. After checking in, Bob went for a walk to see if there were any nearby restaurants, or whether we were doomed to room service pizza for dinner.  No idea what the name is of the place he found, but we arrived at 7:30 and found only one other couple, quite elderly, in the place, plus the late middle-aged couple who run it – she cooks, he takes orders and serves. The menu was hand-written, and we couldn’t decipher a word, so pointed at the first item on the top and requested a 1/2 litre of red wine (we’ve learned how to ask for that in Portuguese).  A short time later our plate arrived with a whole fish on it, including skeleton and tail, a pile of fried potatoes and a salad of lettuce, tomatoes and raw onions. Soon men started arriving from work. Eventually there were 22 Portuguese men seated at the little tables in what looked just like a tavern.  Everyone had the same fish we had, or alternatively a plate of spaghetti with meatballs. This was a real working class place, and we were quite the oddities there. We got the impression they’d never seen tourists inside before.  But the fish was delicious, we enjoyed the people watching, and Cathryn stuck her head into the kitchen to say “thank you” and “good” to the wife who did the cooking, two things she can now say in Portuguese.  A fun end to our time here.