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Lisbon’s Culinary Golden Age?
Joao Pedro Marnoto for The New York Times
At Manifesto restaurant in Lisbon, Luís Baena, who acquired techniques under Paul Bocuse and Joël Robuchon, is one of a handful of chefs in the city earning much deserved attention.
Joao Pedro Marnoto for The New York Times
At Alma, a slow-cooked tube of pork confit, with orange-tinted sauce.
For centuries, the humble fish, which is often salted and dried, has been the star of the seafaring nation’s national diet, with supporting roles played by squid, octopus and other creatures pulled from nets and hooks. Stores selling slabs of dried bacalhau dot many neighborhoods; there’s even a street that bears the name Rua dos Bacalhoeiros, or Street of the Cod Sellers.
With the ubiquity of bacalhau and its fellow low-cost aquatic ingredients, the Lisbon dining scene has long been dominated by homey mom-and-pop joints serving cheap (and often tasty) seafood-heavy fare. Over the years, a scattering of internationally minded restaurants have added a bit of an edge. But for many, the city simply isn’t considered a culinary destination.
That should soon be changing. Lisbon’s culinary scene is witnessing a remarkable evolution, with a handful of chefs concocting new takes on bacalhau and other traditional staples. At least a dozen ambitious upstart restaurants have opened in the last few years, headed by the country’s small but growing group of celebrity cooks, many of whom have worked abroad.
This really started rolling in 2009 — a year that the Go Lisbon blog remarked, “should go down in Lisbon history as the ‘Year of the Chef.’ ” Last year, the acclaimed restaurant Tavares was awarded a Michelin star, only the second in the city’s recent history. Now other spots are revitalizing the culinary landscape and earning much-deserved attention. Although the city’s reputation as the seat of a maritime trade empire has long since faded, when it comes to cuisine, this might well be Lisbon’s Golden Age.
Alma
Entering this restaurant, which opened in 2009, with its clean, white-dominated décor, you are greeted by a large cloudlike structure suspended from the ceiling, visibly pulsating. Alma means soul in Portuguese. Was this fixture a physical manifestation of that idea? Or did it represent the idea-swollen brain of the chef, Henrique Sá Pessoa, who also hosts a Portuguese cooking show?
The first test of Mr. Sá Pessoa’s imagination was his treatment of mackerel, a fish often written off as low-class, overly pungent and oily. In Mr. Sá Pessoa’s hands, however, the three small slabs of skin-on fillets, which arrived on a bed of thin disks of potato and accompanied by a saffron aioli, had a satisfying salty-crispy exterior and a moist, meaty interior. Test passed.
Two more traditional seafood staples, squid and prawns, were finely chopped, then sautéed with a compote of tomato, garlic and a bit of chili, lending a wonderfully zesty kick.
The next challenge was bacalhau, an ingredient that, I must admit, has never really wowed me. Mr. Sá Pessoa chose a simple preparation — a lush purée of chickpeas underneath, a few oven-roasted tomatoes for color — that didn’t overpower the delicate flaky fillet. It was pleasant but unremarkable. I had hoped for more.
But Mr. Sá Pessoa did manage to elevate another Portuguese staple, pig, to new heights, with a slow-cooked cylinder of pork confit, pink and succulent. Balanced by a crispy exterior of pork skin, crunchy green bok choy and an orange-tinted sauce, the dish was suffused with an Asian-inspired citric tang.
As I glanced up at the strange light fixture overhead, it occurred to me that perhaps it represented my state of mind: I was momentarily on cloud nine.
Alma, Calçada do Marquês de Abrantes 92-94; (351-21) 396-3527; alma.co.pt. Dinner for two is about 80 euros, $108 at $1.35 to the euro. (All prices are without drinks or tip.)
SeaMe
A different sort of cloud rose from the back of this seafood restaurant, which opened last November. As if it were a Kiss concert, smoke was shooting into the air. But instead of cloaking past-their-prime rock stars, these cool, moist mists were there to keep fresh the whole stacks of fish soon to be consumed by a boisterous weekend crowd.
The fish indeed looked fresh, and so did the menu, which was filled with Asian-tinged dishes, served in tapas-like portions. The chef, Filipe Rodrigues, is dedicated to injecting Japanese flavors into his nation’s seafood standards. Chopsticks lay on the tables, alongside bottles of soy, ponzu and teriyaki.
For the most part, the combinations worked. Mr. Rodrigues transformed the often banal sardine into a worthy piece of sushi, placing it on a finger of rice with a dash of sweet sauce. The flavor summit continued with cuttlefish tempura; dusted with a layer of cornmeal, deep fried, and coated in a zesty sauce of lime and yellow miso, the strands were tender, not rubbery.
With the ubiquity of bacalhau and its fellow low-cost aquatic ingredients, the Lisbon dining scene has long been dominated by homey mom-and-pop joints serving cheap (and often tasty) seafood-heavy fare. Over the years, a scattering of internationally minded restaurants have added a bit of an edge. But for many, the city simply isn’t considered a culinary destination.
That should soon be changing. Lisbon’s culinary scene is witnessing a remarkable evolution, with a handful of chefs concocting new takes on bacalhau and other traditional staples. At least a dozen ambitious upstart restaurants have opened in the last few years, headed by the country’s small but growing group of celebrity cooks, many of whom have worked abroad.
This really started rolling in 2009 — a year that the Go Lisbon blog remarked, “should go down in Lisbon history as the ‘Year of the Chef.’ ” Last year, the acclaimed restaurant Tavares was awarded a Michelin star, only the second in the city’s recent history. Now other spots are revitalizing the culinary landscape and earning much-deserved attention. Although the city’s reputation as the seat of a maritime trade empire has long since faded, when it comes to cuisine, this might well be Lisbon’s Golden Age.
Alma
Entering this restaurant, which opened in 2009, with its clean, white-dominated décor, you are greeted by a large cloudlike structure suspended from the ceiling, visibly pulsating. Alma means soul in Portuguese. Was this fixture a physical manifestation of that idea? Or did it represent the idea-swollen brain of the chef, Henrique Sá Pessoa, who also hosts a Portuguese cooking show?
The first test of Mr. Sá Pessoa’s imagination was his treatment of mackerel, a fish often written off as low-class, overly pungent and oily. In Mr. Sá Pessoa’s hands, however, the three small slabs of skin-on fillets, which arrived on a bed of thin disks of potato and accompanied by a saffron aioli, had a satisfying salty-crispy exterior and a moist, meaty interior. Test passed.
Two more traditional seafood staples, squid and prawns, were finely chopped, then sautéed with a compote of tomato, garlic and a bit of chili, lending a wonderfully zesty kick.
The next challenge was bacalhau, an ingredient that, I must admit, has never really wowed me. Mr. Sá Pessoa chose a simple preparation — a lush purée of chickpeas underneath, a few oven-roasted tomatoes for color — that didn’t overpower the delicate flaky fillet. It was pleasant but unremarkable. I had hoped for more.
But Mr. Sá Pessoa did manage to elevate another Portuguese staple, pig, to new heights, with a slow-cooked cylinder of pork confit, pink and succulent. Balanced by a crispy exterior of pork skin, crunchy green bok choy and an orange-tinted sauce, the dish was suffused with an Asian-inspired citric tang.
As I glanced up at the strange light fixture overhead, it occurred to me that perhaps it represented my state of mind: I was momentarily on cloud nine.
Alma, Calçada do Marquês de Abrantes 92-94; (351-21) 396-3527; alma.co.pt. Dinner for two is about 80 euros, $108 at $1.35 to the euro. (All prices are without drinks or tip.)
SeaMe
A different sort of cloud rose from the back of this seafood restaurant, which opened last November. As if it were a Kiss concert, smoke was shooting into the air. But instead of cloaking past-their-prime rock stars, these cool, moist mists were there to keep fresh the whole stacks of fish soon to be consumed by a boisterous weekend crowd.
The fish indeed looked fresh, and so did the menu, which was filled with Asian-tinged dishes, served in tapas-like portions. The chef, Filipe Rodrigues, is dedicated to injecting Japanese flavors into his nation’s seafood standards. Chopsticks lay on the tables, alongside bottles of soy, ponzu and teriyaki.
For the most part, the combinations worked. Mr. Rodrigues transformed the often banal sardine into a worthy piece of sushi, placing it on a finger of rice with a dash of sweet sauce. The flavor summit continued with cuttlefish tempura; dusted with a layer of cornmeal, deep fried, and coated in a zesty sauce of lime and yellow miso, the strands were tender, not rubbery.
Seared scallops were served with a chunky relish of corn, red pepper and mango that lent a tropical touch; a dash of fleur de sel cut through the sweetness. What the menu called “Ninja seafood fritters,” small warm pancakes laced with diced scallion and finely chopped seafood, proved a pleasantly doughy sponge for a sweet-sour ponzu sauce.
Alas, the Asian approach broke down with our most adventurous choice, cod tongues. Though flash fried and topped with a sweet chili pepper compote, they remained gelatinous blobs, overly salty and unpleasantly slimy. I was beginning to think that no dish would ever make me understand the nation’s devotion to bacalhau.
SeaMe, Rua do Loreto 21; (351-21) 346-1564; peixariamoderna.com. An array of several small plates for two costs about 40 to 50 euros.
Largo
Everything about this stylish den, which opened in a former convent in January 2010, made for a hopeful first impression. In addition to featuring a nationally prominent chef, Miguel Castro Silva, Largo is outfitted with magazine-worthy interior design: a soaring ceiling, long glowing alabaster bar, funky egg-shaped lamps. And the seafood theme continued: next to my table, a darkened fish tank contained spectral jellyfish that floated gracefully like undersea parachutes. “A biologist comes once a week to take care of them,” my waiter said. “He feeds them one by one, like babies. They eat really well.”
Hoping for similar pampering, I ordered a braised leg of kid that was fairly tender but pedestrian in its preparation: no spice, no sauce, nothing to enhance or throw into relief the natural flavor of the meat. Bland shredded string beans and ho-hum roasted potatoes rounded out the plate. Any grandmother could have cooked the dish equally well (probably better).
And here came more cod, arriving as chunks in a risotto that was disappointingly gloppy. The pale mush showed little imagination and flavor, other than a small, colorful scoop of sweet red jelly, made with Madeira wine, that topped it.
The kitchen, it seemed, couldn’t match the cool décor. Those decorative jellyfish were probably the best-fed creatures in the dining room.
Largo, Rua Serpa Pinto 10A; (351-21) 347-7225; largo.pt. A three-course lunch or dinner for two is about 90 euros.
Manifesto
Although Luís Baena developed his techniques under the refined French titans Paul Bocuse and Joël Robuchon, his crazy funhouse of a restaurant, Manifesto, is rock ’n’ roll through and through. The dining room — black, with columns painted bright red, purple and orange — is covered with large stenciled ’60s and ’70s song titles like “Soul Kitchen” and “Imagine” (as well as pop portraits of Mr. Baena himself). The placemats are vinyl LPs, and the drink coasters are CDs. On the cover of the menu is a crazy collage of photos of film, fashion and music icons, from Serge Gainsbourg to Mickey Mouse.
But could the menu, a collection of tiny three-bite portions, match the wild, winning design?
The meat-based dishes certainly impressed. Mr. Baena and his kitchen staff conquered pig trotters — which can be unappealing when left intact — by grinding them to a fine creaminess, then stuffing them into a flaky samosa pastry, flavored with coriander.
Finer still was the duck risotto, which arrived in a fluted cocktail glass. Thick, moist strips of dark duck meat were buried like treasures in the firm, creamy rice mixture, which was spiked with tiny orange, red and green beads of vegetable “caviar” (tomato, beet and zucchini). A tart of white onion, bacon and asparagus splintered into shrapnel-like bits when prodded with a fork, but the savory smoky meat, sweet onion crust and crunchy asparagus merged perfectly when reunited in the mouth.
The seafood plates also began promisingly. A purple octopus tentacle was slow stewed to tenderness and given a neo-Mediterranean boost with a side portion of dried olive oil — white and creamy — and oven-roasted garlic. Slivers of mackerel, meanwhile, benefited from the pleasing acidity of a light vinegar marinade and the pungent addition of microchip-thin shavings of Parmesan.
Then came the bacalhau. This time I set my mental bar very low, especially when I read the menu description.
“Do you normally eat cod with scrambled eggs?” I asked my waiter.
“We can eat codfish with anything,” he replied with a laugh, at what was apparently a childish question. (As I later found out, bacalhau and eggs are frequent companions in Portuguese comfort cooking.)
This time, the cod arrived finely shredded, mixed into pillowy eggs laced with crispy shoestring potatoes. The result was warm, soft, lightly crunchy and delicately salty: a lovely melding of boatyard and barnyard. All of the old cod memories melted away; I was converted. Obrigado, bacalhau.
Manifesto, Largo de Santos 9C; (351-21) 396-3419; restaurantemanifesto.com. Lunch or dinner for two is about 70 euros.
SeaMe, Rua do Loreto 21; (351-21) 346-1564; peixariamoderna.com. An array of several small plates for two costs about 40 to 50 euros.
Largo
Everything about this stylish den, which opened in a former convent in January 2010, made for a hopeful first impression. In addition to featuring a nationally prominent chef, Miguel Castro Silva, Largo is outfitted with magazine-worthy interior design: a soaring ceiling, long glowing alabaster bar, funky egg-shaped lamps. And the seafood theme continued: next to my table, a darkened fish tank contained spectral jellyfish that floated gracefully like undersea parachutes. “A biologist comes once a week to take care of them,” my waiter said. “He feeds them one by one, like babies. They eat really well.”
Hoping for similar pampering, I ordered a braised leg of kid that was fairly tender but pedestrian in its preparation: no spice, no sauce, nothing to enhance or throw into relief the natural flavor of the meat. Bland shredded string beans and ho-hum roasted potatoes rounded out the plate. Any grandmother could have cooked the dish equally well (probably better).
And here came more cod, arriving as chunks in a risotto that was disappointingly gloppy. The pale mush showed little imagination and flavor, other than a small, colorful scoop of sweet red jelly, made with Madeira wine, that topped it.
The kitchen, it seemed, couldn’t match the cool décor. Those decorative jellyfish were probably the best-fed creatures in the dining room.
Largo, Rua Serpa Pinto 10A; (351-21) 347-7225; largo.pt. A three-course lunch or dinner for two is about 90 euros.
Manifesto
Although Luís Baena developed his techniques under the refined French titans Paul Bocuse and Joël Robuchon, his crazy funhouse of a restaurant, Manifesto, is rock ’n’ roll through and through. The dining room — black, with columns painted bright red, purple and orange — is covered with large stenciled ’60s and ’70s song titles like “Soul Kitchen” and “Imagine” (as well as pop portraits of Mr. Baena himself). The placemats are vinyl LPs, and the drink coasters are CDs. On the cover of the menu is a crazy collage of photos of film, fashion and music icons, from Serge Gainsbourg to Mickey Mouse.
But could the menu, a collection of tiny three-bite portions, match the wild, winning design?
The meat-based dishes certainly impressed. Mr. Baena and his kitchen staff conquered pig trotters — which can be unappealing when left intact — by grinding them to a fine creaminess, then stuffing them into a flaky samosa pastry, flavored with coriander.
Finer still was the duck risotto, which arrived in a fluted cocktail glass. Thick, moist strips of dark duck meat were buried like treasures in the firm, creamy rice mixture, which was spiked with tiny orange, red and green beads of vegetable “caviar” (tomato, beet and zucchini). A tart of white onion, bacon and asparagus splintered into shrapnel-like bits when prodded with a fork, but the savory smoky meat, sweet onion crust and crunchy asparagus merged perfectly when reunited in the mouth.
The seafood plates also began promisingly. A purple octopus tentacle was slow stewed to tenderness and given a neo-Mediterranean boost with a side portion of dried olive oil — white and creamy — and oven-roasted garlic. Slivers of mackerel, meanwhile, benefited from the pleasing acidity of a light vinegar marinade and the pungent addition of microchip-thin shavings of Parmesan.
Then came the bacalhau. This time I set my mental bar very low, especially when I read the menu description.
“Do you normally eat cod with scrambled eggs?” I asked my waiter.
“We can eat codfish with anything,” he replied with a laugh, at what was apparently a childish question. (As I later found out, bacalhau and eggs are frequent companions in Portuguese comfort cooking.)
This time, the cod arrived finely shredded, mixed into pillowy eggs laced with crispy shoestring potatoes. The result was warm, soft, lightly crunchy and delicately salty: a lovely melding of boatyard and barnyard. All of the old cod memories melted away; I was converted. Obrigado, bacalhau.
Manifesto, Largo de Santos 9C; (351-21) 396-3419; restaurantemanifesto.com. Lunch or dinner for two is about 70 euros.
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