Over the hills, under the moon - and off the beaten path

The unmarked door in the alleyway gave no indication of the feast that lay beyond. We knocked twice, and curious eyes sized us up before the door creaked open. Tonight we were visiting one of Lisbon's 'Chinês clandestinos', the illegal, non-regulated Chinese restaurants, which opened some twenty years ago during a wave of immigration from China. In a city that at the time was notoriously unwelcoming to immigrants, these underground eateries were sanctuaries, and some exist to this day in the narrow back alleys inside the multi-cultural Mouraria neighborhood Often on an upper floor and with no outer signs at all - just  perhaps a red Chinese lantern swinging high up on the wall The staircase was steep, grungy, and strewn with graffiti, but stepping inside on the first floor, we were immersed in delicious scents of Szechuan spices. We were led past the narrow kitchen, dodging woks ablaze with oil and a cook yelling...

I’ll admit I was a bit nervous walking into my first attempt at making Pastel de natas ; those dangerously addictive Portuguese custard tarts.     Michael and I have eaten them about every single day since we came to Lisbon. We've even tried them at Pasteis de Belem , the legendary bakery which claims to have the original secret recipe, but I’ve never tried my unskilled hand at crafting their intricate layers. Until this morning, when I stood ready with about ten other newbie bakers.    Luckily, the chipper instructors at the cooking class reassured us that we’d all be custard experts in no time. Martha and her colleague demonstrated how they carefully stretched the dough, explaining that it should be made so thin that you would be able to read a newspaper through it.  Soon I was elbow-deep in flour, attempting to coax my dough into ultra-thin plates, possible using a few c...

Last night was our first night in Lisbon.  We had just arrived after a journey of about thirty hours, and we were sitting on the balcony of our apartment in Alfama, looking out over the terracotta rooftops that slide down the steep hill toward the Tagus. We were completely finished. Then, from somewhere in the alleyway below, fado started. We had chosen Alfama partly because of fado; the neighborhood is where the music comes from, and we have loved it for years. But knowing this and then actually hearing it drift up from the street on your first night, while you are sitting on a balcony in the dark looking at the river, is a different thing entirely. We went out to find it. A woman was standing in the doorway of a café a few streets away, eyes closed, singing to guests who had gone completely quiet. We stood outside and listened. We could not understand the words. It did not especially matter. Fado is mostly about loss; lo...

Ever since our very first visit to Paris, we have made it a tradition to light a candle at the Church of St. Pierre de Montmartre on our final day in the city - hoping to be allowed to come back. This is of course superstition, and we're not superstitious, but luckily it seems to work, even if you don't believe in it! For the last 40 years, we have  lit perhaps thirty candles - and we have been coming back to Paris every single time without exceptions :-  ) This afternoon a new candle has been lit. À bientôt Paris!