Portugal learned to cook
bananas and eat goibada, the guava jelly that is Brazil's national
dessert, and before long she was putting coconut in everything
and sprinkling snowy mandioca meal on black beans a Brazileira.
But in spite of all these out-land influences the cooking of
Portugal remains basically native, and as marine as that of
Scandinavia. In place of the chicken-and-egg diet of mother
Spain, Lusitania subsists on lobster and fish roe, oysters, shrimp
and whitebait. This North Atlantic whitebait is eel spawn, so
fat and toothsome that no other can compare with it. In the
seaports it is eaten as commonly as spaghetti in Naples; and
oddly enough, when boiled white and plump this eel whitebait
resembles the Neapolitan staff of life.
Oysters sometimes begin both main meals, and are so plenti-
ful that the over-production is shipped to England and France,
where this luscious bivalve is distinguished from all others by
its delicate sea green tint. The bulk of oysters consumed in
France are Portugaises de Claire and selected Verts Portugaises.
Shrimp are as common here as mosquitoes in New Jersey.
They go into most sauces and accompany lobster every day in
PORTUGUESE 219
every way. Both of these crickets of the deep, boiled red, appear
alongside the ever present sardine in the characteristic national
bouquet do mar, which is more of a seafood cornucopia than a
bouquet, for it is crammed to overflowing with mussels, octopi,
ray, squid, eel, crabs, cod and any other foolish fish that swims
close enough to the craggy coast to be caught.
Cod-fish (bacalhao) is the marine mainstay, and one of the
country's leading products. In Brazil the Portuguese are com-
monly called "sellers of cod," or more frankly just "cod-fish,"
even as the Brazilians in turn are called "monkeys" by their
Argentine neighbors. The catch is salted down after being split
through the middle, flattened out, rubbed with salt and then
dried so that it resembles a kite or a jib sail. Every kitchen has
its codfish flapping in a corner and hunks are cut handily off
it to plop into the soup or stew or to be more respectfully treated
as the piece de resistance. Salt cod grilled, and seasoned with
Portuguese olive oil, wine vinegar and a palmful of whole garlic
cloves, peeled, is something to write home about. A touch of
garlic and the whole world grins, but only to show its ignorance.
The day's menu of Portugal is quite as vinous as Spain's,
though the wines are not nearly so good, excepting port, which
is specially fortified and sometimes flavored for export to Eng-
land. The anis liqueur of Spain is replaced by white rum from
Brazil, and this is often drunk before breakfast, especially by
the hardy fisherfolk. The first meal of the day is meager enough,
perhaps the plainest of continental breakfasts. It is called just
cafe, and consists of little more than the ebony Brazilian coffee
percolated through a muslin sack — or if no sack is handy, a
clean sock will do. A chunk of bread goes with the coffee,
butter or not, for cream is as scarce in Portugal as in Spain,
and consequently its best cheese, Traz-os-Montes, is made of
ewe's milk.
Meals are, of course, a matter of money, so the city elect
220 THE EUROPEAN COOKBOOK
Page 90
Presented as published in 1936. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
Portugal learned to cook bananas and eat goibada, the guava jelly that is Brazil's national dessert, and before long she was putting coconut in everything and sprinkling snowy mandioca meal on black beans a Brazileira.
But in spite of all these out-land influences the cooking of Portugal remains basically native, and as marine as that of Scandinavia. In place of the chicken-and-egg diet of mother Spain, Lusitania subsists on lobster and fish roe, oysters, shrimp and whitebait. This North Atlantic whitebait is eel spawn, so fat and toothsome that no other can compare with it. In the seaports it is eaten as commonly as spaghetti in Naples; and oddly enough, when boiled white and plump this eel whitebait resembles the Neapolitan staff of life.
Oysters sometimes begin both main meals, and are so plentiful that the over-production is shipped to England and France, where this luscious bivalve is distinguished from all others by its delicate sea green tint. The bulk of oysters consumed in France are Portugaises de Claire and selected Verts Portugaises.
Shrimp are as common here as mosquitoes in New Jersey. They go into most sauces and accompany lobster every day in
every way. Both of these crickets of the deep, boiled red, appear alongside the ever present sardine in the characteristic national bouquet do mar, which is more of a seafood cornucopia than a bouquet, for it is crammed to overflowing with mussels, octopi, ray, squid, eel, crabs, cod and any other foolish fish that swims close enough to the craggy coast to be caught.
Cod-fish (bacalhao) is the marine mainstay, and one of the country's leading products. In Brazil the Portuguese are commonly called "sellers of cod," or more frankly just "cod-fish," even as the Brazilians in turn are called "monkeys" by their Argentine neighbors. The catch is salted down after being split through the middle, flattened out, rubbed with salt and then dried so that it resembles a kite or a jib sail. Every kitchen has its codfish flapping in a corner and hunks are cut handily off it to plop into the soup or stew or to be more respectfully treated as the piece de resistance. Salt cod grilled, and seasoned with Portuguese olive oil, wine vinegar and a palmful of whole garlic cloves, peeled, is something to write home about. A touch of garlic and the whole world grins, but only to show its ignorance.
The day's menu of Portugal is quite as vinous as Spain's, though the wines are not nearly so good, excepting port, which is specially fortified and sometimes flavored for export to England. The anis liqueur of Spain is replaced by white rum from Brazil, and this is often drunk before breakfast, especially by the hardy fisherfolk. The first meal of the day is meager enough, perhaps the plainest of continental breakfasts. It is called just cafe, and consists of little more than the ebony Brazilian coffee percolated through a muslin sack — or if no sack is handy, a clean sock will do. A chunk of bread goes with the coffee, butter or not, for cream is as scarce in Portugal as in Spain, and consequently its best cheese, Traz-os-Montes, is made of ewe's milk.
Meals are, of course, a matter of money, so the city elect