Stroud Is All Over the Place: Porto, Portugal, Mercado do Bolhão

Porto, Portugal, Mercado do Bolhão

No matter where I visit, I always find my way to the local farmers’ market. I realize buying food isn’t usually something you stuff in your suitcase. But, I go anyway. I’ve walked away with a fish carton at Tokyo’s famous Tsukiji Fish Market, packed away canned sardines in Etratat on the Normandy coast, and chorizo in Santiago, Spain.

There are things other than fresh fruits and vegetables to buy, especially for inquisitive shoppers. And the people? They make the market. In Santiago, it was an older shopkeeper who went out of her way to help a confused traveler find a shop where nuns make the finest tarta de Santiago . In Metz, France it was a woman selling cheese who tested my meager French, then twisted my arm to taste half a dozen. So what was it in Porto?….gimme a sec, I’m coming to that.

Each market is a vastly different experience. Different smells and flavors. Can you get the right chocolate for Spanish hot chocolate in Charleston? Or how about shrimp and grits in Madrid?

Listen to what I’m telling you: Visit the markets! Chat with the people! Listen to the music of the voices and find a cornucopia of delights.

Mercado do Bolhão in Porto, Portugal is a wonder. By the way, don’t get tongue twisted over Bolhão, it’s pronounced Bol-yo and an easy walk from downtown.

But, let me summarize the essence of markets, the things that attract me faster than a swimsuit optional beach? You think I exaggerate? Ok. Maybe a little, but the pull to visit a market is strong! There are always different things to see, sounds to hear, things to taste, people to talk to, architecture to admire. A market draws you into the beating heart of a city and it’s people. Of course, merchants are eager to sell, but also possess a fount of knowledge about their city and for those of you hooked on gardening, it’s is a wonderful source of information.

What’s that, you don’t speak French or Portuguese or German or southern? Fear not and march bravely forward. Every market I’ve been to has an English speaker nearby and pointy-talky works just as well. “How much is this?” you ask. The response is gibberish to your untrained ear. Your look is as blank as if a doctor asked the date of your last tetanus shot. The seller immediately either writes the answer, or shows you the number on a calculator.

I mentioned architecture. In Porto, the market came about in 1893, but wasn’t covered until 1914…yes, Portugal missed out on a couple of world wars and has never mourned over it.

Built on or near a swamp, Bolhão, according to what I have read, means Big Bubble. Swamp no more, it’s in the center of town and an easy walk from most downtown hotels.

So, what did I do there besides gawk and take photos and wonder if there were a swimsuit optional beach? Are you familiar with Port Wine? Similar to Spanish Sherry. I’ll write more about that in a follow-on blog entry, but right now, I’ll tell you we found a wonderful older couple who had a matchless array of wines and ports and didn’t mind chatting about all of them. What’s your pleasure? Ruby? Tawny? Old, young, sweet, dry…..we’re talking ports now, gentlemen, so control yourselves. They poured and with each empty glass, they poured more. We drank and listened and learned. The couple alone were worth the visit.

We tasted the younger ports, then tried the ten year old, then the twenty year old, then the forty year old. The white, the ruby, the tawny, finally settling on a forty year old tawny. At least I think that’s what we settled on. At that point it was hard to tell. Could have been four acres of land and two cows. But nobody mooed at me on the way back to the hotel and I didn’t have dirt under my fingernails, so I’m pretty sure we just bought port. Anyway, it’s says 40 Years old and my depleted bank account confirms it.

Photo from Bakespace, which also offers a recipe: http://www.bakespace.com/recipes/detail/Pastel-De-Nata-%28Portuguese-Custard-Tarts%29/68971/

So, anything else we bought or sampled or can’t discuss? Yes, matter of fact we tried the famous Porto cream tarts. They’re called nata (cream) tarts, but the taste is a very rich vanilla pudding, with a deliciousness and aroma that made my maddened taste buds shout for more. Yes, I surrendered to gluttony. After all, you’re only fat and in Porto once!

I’d write more, but now I’m in the mood to let the photos tell the rest, while I sneak another sip or six of some fabulous port!