I’ve eaten a lot of Portuguese food. Some of it I’d fly back for. Some of it I ate once, understood, and never ordered again. This is my honest list.
Reality check first: Portuguese food is simple, fresh, and comforting. It is not spicy and it is not sauce-heavy. If you’re expecting Thai or Mexican “boom-pow” flavor at every meal, you’ll think it’s plain, and you won’t be entirely wrong. But if you lean into great ingredients, charcoal grills, stews, soups, and the right regional spots, you’ll eat very well. This guide sets expectations honestly and shows you how to order.
Before you go: Practice Portuguese has a genuinely useful Dining Out in Portugal lesson covering the words and phrases you’ll actually need at the table. Portugalist readers get a discounted membership here. Worth twenty minutes before your trip, because most of the good places don’t have English menus.
What Portuguese Food Is (and Isn’t)
- Ingredient-led. Fresh fish, good pork, olive oil, bread, seasonal produce. Sauces are rare. Grilling and roasting are everywhere.
- Not spicy. Piri-piri exists, but “spicy” here is mild by global standards. Bring your chili oil if you need heat.
- Vegetables show up as soup. Most vegetables arrive as sopa do dia or a simple salad. Mains skew meat or fish plus starch.
- Lunch is fuel unless you choose otherwise. The prato do dia is cheap and plain by design. Great value. Not fireworks.
One more thing worth saying out loud, because most guides won’t: the food is better in some parts of the country than others. Porto and the north do it best. The Alentejo is second.
The Seven Wonders, Briefly
You’ll see “one of the Seven Wonders of Portuguese Gastronomy” thrown around constantly. It refers to a 2011 public vote that crowned seven dishes: alheira de Mirandela, queijo Serra da Estrela, caldo verde, sardinha assada, arroz de marisco, leitão da Bairrada, and pastel de Belém. I’ve marked them below with a ★ so you know which is which, and further down I’ve argued about whether they got it right.
The Dishes I’d Actually Eat
Pastel de nata ★
Non-negotiable. Go to Pastéis de Belém at least once, because it’s the original and the line moves faster than it looks. Then go and compare it against the current award winners, which change every year, so it’s worth checking who won before you travel. My own pick is Manteigaria. I’ve had a lot of them and I keep going back.
Two things I’d add that most lists skip.
Try a vegan one. Vegan Nata in Lisbon makes a version I’d happily eat over plenty of standard ones. If that surprises you, go further: A Minha Avó and Kong are doing vegan Portuguese cooking that I didn’t think was possible. A vegan bitoque complete with friend egg, for example.
Manage your expectations outside Lisbon. I struggle to get a truly great nata elsewhere in Portugal. They’re fine everywhere, but Lisbon still sets the bar. And a fine Portuguese nata beats almost anything you’ll find abroad. The tarts I see in other countries are rarely close unless an actual Portuguese bakery is making them.
Price is usually €1 to €2. Order a café (espresso) if you like it strong, or an abatanado for something closer to an Americano. I’ve written a lot more about this in my guide to Portuguese cakes and pastries.
Bacalhau
Bacalhau gets called the national dish, which is misleading, because it isn’t a dish. It’s a category. People say there’s a recipe for every day of the year. Cooks will tell you it’s well into the hundreds and probably beyond. Either way, you won’t run out.
I’ll eat any of them. The three I order most:
- Bacalhau com natas — cod and potatoes baked in cream. The gateway version.
- Bacalhau à lagareiro — roasted, with an almost aggressive amount of olive oil.
- Bacalhau com broa — topped with cornbread crumb. The texture is the whole point.
Go and look at the supermarket bacalhau
This is my actual advice, and I’ve never seen it in another guide. Walk to the back of any Portuguese supermarket and find the bacalhau counter. Warning: it has a strong smell. But look at what’s there: whole salted fish stacked like planks, and beside them, the cuts, each with a name and a purpose.
You might think it’s just dried fish, but there’s a whole world in there that you miss completely unless you live here and start paying attention.
- Lombo — the thick loin. The expensive one. What you want for à lagareiro or anything where the fish is the centerpiece.
- Posta — a thick steak cut from the middle. Grilling.
- Meias postas / caras — cheaper cuts. Fine for stews and anything shredded.
- Migas / desfiado — pre-shredded scraps. This is what goes into bolinhos and à brás.
You’ll also be asked about salt level, and whether you want it already desalted (demolhado) or dry, in which case you’re soaking it in the fridge for two to three days and changing the water every eight hours or so.
Bolinhos de bacalhau
Deep-fried cod and potato croquettes. Bolinhos in the north, pastéis de bacalhau further south. Crispy outside, soft and salty inside.
What these are really for: you’re in a pastelaria, you want something, and you don’t want something sweet. That’s the moment. Grab one with a bica mid-morning or a small beer in the afternoon, eat it standing at the counter, carry on with your day.
There’s a tourist-famous Lisbon version stuffed with Serra da Estrela cheese. It’s rich and gooey and fine, but quite touristy. The €1 café version is better value and, honestly, much better.
Queijadas Dona Amélia
Possibly my favorite Portuguese cake. It’s a tie with the pastel de nata, and on some days it wins.
They come from Terceira in the Azores, and they’re an adaptation of an older spiced cake called Bolo das Índias. In 1901, the women of Angra do Heroísmo offered them to Queen Amélia and King Carlos during a royal visit, and the name stuck. You’ll see them called both queijadas and bolos Dona Amélia. Same thing.
What they’re like: dark, dense, moist little cakes made with corn flour and cane molasses, heavy on cinnamon and nutmeg, studded with raisins, dusted with powdered sugar. Sweet but not cloying, and deeply aromatic. The closest reference point is pain d’épice, though that undersells the spice.
Where to get them. On Terceira, O Forno in Angra is the one. On the mainland, Mercearia dos Açores in Lisbon imports from O Forno, but they’re frequently out of stock, so check before you make a trip.
Frango piri-piri
If Nando’s is your reference point, reset. This is chicken over charcoal, brushed with a hot oil-based piri-piri that changes from town to town and family to family. No bottled marinade, no sugary glaze. And to be very clear: it is not spicy in the way Thai or Indian food is spicy.
You’ll find churrasqueiras in every town in Portugal, but this is an Algarve specialty and I’ve never had it as good anywhere else. Guia gets credited as the home of it, and I’ve been plenty of times and eaten at Ramires. I don’t think it’s any better than the competition, and it’s got touristy. My two picks:
- Churrasqueira Guerreiro, Portimão — probably my favorite in the country.
- Churrasqueira Valdemar, Silves.
How to order at a churrasqueira
They’ll sell you other things. Ribs, sausage, whatever’s on the grill. I always get the same thing: half a chicken (meio frango). It’s the right amount and it’s what they’re best at.
Then comes the real decision: rice or fries.
In northern Portugal, particularly around Porto, Braga and Minho, churrasqueira chicken is often served with both white rice and chips, usually alongside a simple salad. Several northern menus explicitly package half a chicken with rice, chips and salad. Around Lisbon and farther south, the more stereotypical combination is chips and salad, with rice either optional or ordered separately.
Everyone I know from the UK and Ireland takes the fries, every single time, without thinking about it. I’d take the rice. It soaks up the piri-piri oil, which is the entire point of the meal. Get the salada mixta too.
Caldo verde ★
Potato blended into a silky base, shredded collard greens, garlic, a slice or two of chouriço on top. I order it constantly. It’s simple and it’s good and there’s nothing more to say about it than that, which is sort of the point.
It’s from the north but it’s everywhere in Portugal: weekday lunches, late-night bites, village festivals, weddings, New Year’s Eve.
I nearly always have it with broa de milho if it’s available, the dense Portuguese corn bread. It reminds me of Irish soda bread, and it’s probably closest to US cornbread if you need a reference. It isn’t really either of those, but it borrows something from both, and it’s the best bread in the country by a distance.
If you’re vegetarian or vegan, ask for it without chouriço and ask whether the broth is vegetable or meat-based. It varies. Some places do a genuinely vegan version. Others are more “symbolically vegetarian, quietly cooked with pork.”
Bifana
I love a bifana. Thin slices of marinated pork in a soft roll that soaks up the juices. No lettuce, no sauce tower. Pork, bread, done.
There are two schools. The Porto style simmers the pork for ages in a rich, garlicky, faintly spicy sauce that seeps into the bread. It’s greasy. It’s drippy. If I had to pick one sandwich for the rest of my life, it’s this one. The Vendas Novas style is grilled, thinner, sharper with garlic and white wine, and also very good. Just less intense.
The prego (same idea, beef with garlic pieces) is a solid backup. But for me the bifana wins hands down.
Cheap, fast, everywhere, and it keeps you going. Have it with a fino/imperial or an espresso. There’s no wrong time of day.
Francesinha
Ham, steak, and sausage in a sandwich, buried in melted cheese, drowned in a beer-and-tomato sauce, fries on the side.
I’ll be honest about my own arc here. I used to order it for novelty. It’s huge, it’s dramatic, it films well, and that’s why it’s on every list. But I’ve genuinely grown to love the taste of it, and that took a while. The sauce is what makes or breaks it, and every place guards its recipe.
It’s from Porto and Porto is where you eat it. Braga insists theirs is better and will argue about it. My picks are all in Porto:
The vegan and vegetarian versions have got good. Really good. I’ve had ones that taste practically the same. The one at Kong in Lisbon was a bit fancy for my taste (the sauce arrives in a little jug, poured at the table), but the vegetarian francesinha there was excellent. I really liked the one at Lado B in Porto.
Order a cold beer. Go hungry. Don’t plan anything afterward.
Polvo à lagareiro
The best octopus dish in Portuguese cooking, and it isn’t close. Well, that’s not true: I would also recommend Salada de Polvo (available everywhere) and Polvo Guisado à Moda dos Açores (only really available in the Azores). But this is definitely up there alongside them.
Slow-cooked octopus roasted with small wrinkly potatoes and bathed in olive oil. Not drizzled. Bathed. Your plate will glisten. There are probably several hundred calories sitting in the oil alone, and possibly more than that, and I’ve made my peace with it.
Cataplana
The cataplana is both the dish and the clam-shaped copper pot it’s cooked in. The pot seals, the steam stays in, and the server opens it at the table.
This is an Algarve thing and it’s hard to get outside the region. If you see it on an Algarve menu, order it. The versions you’ll see:
- Cataplana de marisco — the seafood one. Most popular, and deservedly.
- Cataplana à alentejana — pork and clams. My other pick. Sounds wrong, tastes right.
- Cataplana de peixe — mixed fish, often with prawns or clams.
- Cataplana de bacalhau — cod with vegetables and aromatics.
Bold but not spicy: white wine, garlic, tomato, peppers, olive oil, and whatever’s inside. Bring bread. Order vinho verde.
One tip most people miss: the pot is a great souvenir. I have a copper one at home and I cook in it regularly. It’s one of the few Portuguese food purchases that keeps paying you back after the trip.
Leitão ★
Roast suckling pig. Glassy crackling skin, meat that pulls apart. Served with fries and orange slices to cut the richness.
It’s very fatty and quite salty, and you need something to wash it down. The traditional pairing is sparkling wine from the Bairrada region, which sounds like a gimmick and absolutely isn’t. Vinho verde also works.
Here’s the honest bit: good leitão is harder to find than you’d think. A lot of what gets served is just roast pork. The skin isn’t right, the meat isn’t soft, and it doesn’t have that almost-crumbly texture.
The heartland is around Coimbra, especially Mealhada, where the restaurants do nothing else. If you’re driving between Porto and Coimbra, watch for the roadside places with LEITÃO in enormous letters. Those are usually the real thing.
Porco preto
Free-range black pig, raised outdoors on acorns in the Alentejo.
Two cuts are worth knowing:
- Secretos — thin marbled strips grilled hot. Juicy, smoky.
- Plumas — softer, more steak-like.
It can be genuinely great and it entirely depends on the cut and the place. My complaint is what comes with it: fries and rice and beans turns a good piece of pork into a heavy meal you regret. Ask for it with migas instead if they offer it.
Where to eat it: the Alentejo, in the montado country where the pigs actually live. Évora, Estremoz, Redondo, Monsaraz.
Sardinha assada ★
Fresh sardines, coarse salt, charcoal, lemon. That’s it.
My honest take: sardines are okay. I think this is a dish you have to grow up with. A whole plate of them gets samey for me by about the fourth fish. Better to have one or two and share the rest.
But I’m not going to pretend they don’t matter, because the smell of them over charcoal is Portuguese summer, and the moment they appear on menus you know the season has turned. The place to eat them is Santos Populares in June: Santo António in Lisbon, São João in Porto, São Pedro everywhere else. Whole neighborhoods put grills in the street. Paper garlands, plastic cups of wine, sardines served on a slice of bread that catches the oil. In that setting they’re unbeatable.
Served whole, head on. Strong, fish-forward flavor. Use your hands.
Alheira ★
I order alheira for the story as much as the taste.
During the Inquisition, Jews in Portugal were forced to convert publicly or face persecution, and one of the ways neighbors checked whether a conversion was real was whether you ate pork sausage. So Jewish communities made a sausage that looked and tasted like pork and contained none: chicken, game, bread, garlic, olive oil. It fooled the neighbors. It also turned out to be delicious, and the recipe spread far beyond the communities that invented it.
Golden-brown, soft, almost crumbly, smoky and garlicky. Fried or grilled, usually with a fried egg, rice, and fries.
One thing worth flagging: a lot of alheiras now contain pork fat. Worth knowing if you don’t eat pork.
There’s a vegan alheira that tastes very similar.
Arroz de marisco ★
Brothy seafood rice in a tomato base enriched with shellfish stock, with clams, mussels, prawns, sometimes crab, and coriander on top. It’s one of the few Portuguese dishes where coriander shows up.
People compare it to paella, which misses the point. Paella is dry by design. This is meant to be soupy, and that’s the whole character of it.
I don’t order this often. It’s good, sometimes very good, but the liquidity puts some people off and I’m mildly one of them. For what it’s worth, I lived in Valencia and ate authentic paella down by the marshes, and I didn’t order that all the time either. I think I’m just not a rice-dish-as-the-main-event person.
If you do get it, share it, order wine, and take an hour over it.
Amêijoas à Bulhão Pato
A standard starter and a very good one. Clams in olive oil, garlic, white wine, coriander, and lemon. Nothing else. You’ll get through a lot of bread.
I had a vegan version at A026 in Lisbon made with mushrooms, and it was fantastic. It didn’t taste identical, and it wasn’t trying to. It used the same technique on a different ingredient, which is a much smarter approach than most vegan substitution.
Arroz de pato
Shredded duck through savory rice, chouriço on top, baked until the surface crisps. A bit greasy in a way I don’t mind at all.
This is hangover food. It’s exactly the right density and salt level for a rough morning, and you can get it almost anywhere.
One warning: you’ll see it in supermarket canteens and takeaway counters, and it’s fine there, but it can be badly dried out. It’s a dish that punishes sitting under a heat lamp. Restaurant version if you can.
Conservas (and the conserveiras that sell them)
If canned fish means emergency cupboard food to you, Portugal will fix that. Here it’s carefully sourced fish in good olive oil, with spices, herbs, citrus, or smoke. You open the tin, put it on a plate, and that’s dinner.
Smoked octopus. Tuna with preserved lemon. Sardines in piri-piri oil. Mackerel with pickled vegetables. Sardine mousse, which sounds like a dare and is excellent.
This is what I set up for a tapas night at home more than anything else. A few tins, bread, vinho verde, done. There are also petiscos bars built entirely around conservas.
Where to buy. Go to a real conserveira. Conserveira de Lisboa is the obvious one and it’s the real thing. I’d skip the tourist operations like The Fantastic World of Portuguese Sardines if you have the option.
Queijo da Serra da Estrela ★
Sheep’s milk cheese from Portugal’s highest mountain range. When it’s ripe you don’t slice it, you scoop it. Somewhere between a pudding, a custard, and a cheese. Buttery, tangy, savory.
This is Portugal’s best cheese and it’s a reliable crowd-pleaser. Look for queijo da Serra amanteigado, which is the spoonable version. It pairs with honey, fig jam, or a Dão or Douro red. The winter cheese is the richest.
The 7 Wonders of Portuguese Gastronomy: Did They Get It Right?
These are supposedly the best dishes Portugal has. I’ve eaten all seven many times. Here’s my scorecard.
- Pastel de Belém — the obvious winner of the bunch. What’s remarkable is how disappointing these are outside Portugal. Even the vegan versions here are excellent. Most other Portuguese pastries are basic by comparison. This one has clearly been refined over centuries.
- Queijo Serra da Estrela — hard to argue with. When it’s ripe it’s rich and creamy and it oozes when you cut it. Probably the most visually exciting cheese in the country. Fair.
- Alheira de Mirandela — tasty and historically significant. But I’d ask: did it make the list on the food, or on the backstory? I suspect the backstory.
- Caldo verde — simple, tasty, fairly healthy, and completely representative of how Portugal actually cooks. Maybe too simple for a top seven. But it earns its place by being honest about what this cuisine is.
- Sardinha assada — culturally enormous, genuinely simple, and I think it’s here on significance rather than flavor. It’s a fish and some salt.
- Arroz de marisco — good. Also quite simple. Hearty.
- Leitão da Bairrada — a standout when it’s done right, and quite fatty. It’s crying out for a sauce with some acid or heat to cut the richness, and some vegetables on the side, though vegetables aren’t really this cuisine’s business.
The missing classics
- Bacalhau à Brás — genuinely surprising that no bacalhau dish made it. The national ingredient, absent from the national list.
- Francesinha — Porto’s icon deserved a shot.
- Polvo à lagareiro — possibly the best octopus dish in Portuguese cooking and it isn’t on there.
- Bifana — sometimes the simple things hit different.
Portuguese Cheese, Honestly
I used to work in a cheese shop in the UK and I worked the Great British Cheese Festival, so I’ve got some skin in this. And I’ll be honest: I haven’t fallen in love with Portuguese cheese. There’s far less variety than in France or the UK. It’s all good but nothing here that I’d hunt down if I weren’t already in Portugal.
The ones I rate:
- Queijo da Serra da Estrela — the best of them, and the one I’d put in front of a visitor.
- Queijo São Jorge — from the Azores. Firm, sharp, a bit of bite. The most interesting hard cheese here.
- Saloio — a small, firm, unsalted sheep’s cheese from Ponte do Rol, north of Lisbon. It’s served in the cylindrical cincho molds it was made in, usually as an appetizer with salt on the side. The name means someone from the countryside. Worth ordering purely because it’s odd and specific.
- Queijo fresco — very simple but fresh or done well and it’s amazing. Sometimes served with honey and nuts.
Bread
Same story as the cheese, really. All the bread in Portugal is good. Not much of it is remarkable.
- Broa de milho — my favorite, and the one exception. Dense, slightly sweet corn bread. It’s the only Portuguese bread I’d actively seek out abroad. Have it with soup.
- Bolo do caco — the Madeiran flatbread, cooked on a stone, usually served with garlic butter. Makes an excellent sandwich.
- Papo secos — the standard roll. Great for sandwiches.
- Pão de deus with cheese — Sweet coconut, salty cheese, soft bread, all at once, with a galão. It’s a strange combination and I don’t think it’ll be for everyone. It’s very good.
What to Drink
Beer
Super Bock over Sagres. That’s my position and it seems to be nearly everyone’s who moves here, which is interesting in itself given that most Portuguese people I know are split. Super Bock is a genuinely distinctive beer, not a generic lager. It’s not fancy. That’s what I like about it. It’s excellent with food and it’s excellent in summer, which covers most of the reasons you’d drink a beer.
Order a fino in the north, an imperial in the south. Both mean a small draft.
Wine
Call me basic: I drink a lot of vinho verde. It’s light, slightly fizzy, cheap, and it goes with almost everything on this page.
For reds I default to the Douro. The next region I’d point you at is the Alentejo, with a caveat: I find the reds very heavy. They’re great with a heavy meal and you’ll be asleep within the hour. That’s a feature at Sunday lunch and a problem on a Tuesday.
If you can find them, the whites from Pico in the Azores are unlike anything else, because of the way they’re grown: vines planted in black lava-rock enclosures called currais, right by the sea, which gives the wine a salinity you don’t get elsewhere. Hard to find on the mainland. Worth it when you do.
Broadly: all Portuguese wine is good. It’s very hard to spend €8 in a supermarket here and get something bad.
Port (underrated, and I mean that)
Port is great and I think it’s genuinely underrated, partly because so many people’s only experience is a sticky glass at Christmas.
My default is an LBV (late bottled vintage). Good value, widely available, does the job. But if you’re in Porto, this is the moment to spend money on things you can’t easily get elsewhere: real vintage ports and aged tawnies. The 20- and 30-year tawnies in particular taste like nothing else. Nuts, dried fruit, caramel, and a long finish. That’s the port that converts people.
- Lágrima — usually too sweet for me.
- White port — unique, and aged white port especially so. Mix it with tonic and ice in summer. It’s the best hot-weather drink in the country.
Madeira
I haven’t warmed to Madeira wine the way I have to port. I’ve found a few bottles I really liked, but it’s taken effort. If you’re choosing one fortified wine to explore, port is the easier win.
Ginjinha
Sour cherry liqueur, served in a tiny glass, usually standing on the street. I’ll be honest: this is a visitors’ drink for me. When people come to stay we go and have one. I don’t drink it the rest of the year.
That said, it’s genuinely fun, it costs about €1.50, and the two places to do it in Lisbon are A Ginjinha Espinheira and Ginjinha Sem Rival. Ask for it com elas (with the cherry).
Get it in a chocolate cup (the Óbidos version). It’s nice, and the bottled version makes a good gift or souvenir.
Eating Vegan and Vegetarian Here Is Better Than You’d Expect
Portugal reads as a hard place to eat plant-based, and on the traditional menu it is. But the vegan Portuguese scene is doing something more interesting than substitution, and it’s worth a detour even if you eat meat.
- Vegan Nata (Lisbon) — the pastel de nata, done properly.
- A Minha Avó — vegan versions of the classics. You won’t believe a vegan bitoque is possible until you eat one.
- Kong — the vegetarian francesinha is excellent. Slightly fancier than I’d like.
- A026 — the mushroom amêijoas à Bulhão Pato is the smartest plate of vegan food I’ve had here.
The common thread is that the good places don’t try to fake the ingredient. They take the technique and apply it to something else. That’s why it works. More on this in my vegetarian and vegan guide to Portugal.
Seasonal and Regional Dishes Worth Ordering
Cabrito
Roast kid goat. Pretty good, and mostly a Christmas and Easter dish, so it’s seasonal in a way that catches visitors out. If it’s on the menu at the right time of year, order it.
Chanfana
Old goat, slow-cooked in red wine in a clay pot, popular around Coimbra. I didn’t find this as great as its reputation suggests. It might just have been the plate I got. Reserving judgment, but I haven’t gone back for a second attempt, which probably tells you something.
Arroz de cabidela
Rice cooked with chicken and the bird’s blood, sharpened with vinegar. A northern dish.
I liked it a lot. I should admit that I ate it before I knew what it was, and I’ve thought about whether that mattered. It didn’t. It’s rich, tangy, deeply savory, and if you can get past the description you’ll be fine, because the description is doing all the work of putting people off.
Feijoada
Bean stew. Good, hearty, and it will flatten you in the best way in winter. You can sometimes find vegan and vegetarian versions.
Portuguese vs. Brazilian feijoada, since people ask. Brazilian feijoada descends from the Portuguese one, but they’ve diverged a lot:
- Feijoada à transmontana (Trás-os-Montes) uses white or butter beans, a spread of pork cuts including ear and trotter, plus chouriço, morcela, and often salpicão, usually with cabbage and rice. It’s a thick, brothy stew and the beans stay pale.
- Brazilian feijoada uses black beans, which makes the whole dish dark, and it’s served as a plate rather than a bowl: rice, farofa, sautéed couve, and orange slices on the side.
Personally, I prefer the Brazilian version.
The Sweet Stuff Beyond the Nata
- Sericaia com ameixas de Elvas — my pick. An Alentejo dessert: a baked egg pudding, cinnamon and lemon zest, with a cracked, wrinkled surface, served with sweet plums from Elvas. Light for something so eggy. If it’s on the menu, I’m ordering it.
- Arroz doce / aletria — rice pudding and vermicelli pudding, both dusted with cinnamon patterns. Very comforting. I have them at Christmas and not much else, partly because most countries have their own version of this and it’s not what I came here for.
- Broa de mel — the northern honey cookies. Hard to find and worth the trouble.
- Pudim Abade de Priscos — from Braga. A pudding made with pork fat and port. It shouldn’t work. It’s one of the great desserts in the country.
There’s much more where this came from in my full guide to Portuguese cakes and pastries.
The Actual Advice: Go Deeper Into the Regions
Here’s the thing that bothers me about most Portugal food posts, including, for a long time, this one. They list the same eight dishes. Pastel de nata, bifana, francesinha, bacalhau, sardines. And those dishes are on menus in every corner of the country, which is exactly why they’re on every list. They’re the safe ones.
Start there. Absolutely start there. But the interesting part of eating in Portugal is what happens when you go regional, and the country is small enough that you can.
Things I’d point you toward that won’t be on the other lists:
- Alcatra (Terceira, Azores) — beef slow-cooked in a clay pot with wine and spices. One of the best things I’ve eaten in this country.
- Polvo guisado (Azores) — stewed octopus, usually in wine. A completely different animal from polvo à lagareiro.
- Arroz de cabidela (north) — see above.
- Monchique’s stew (inland Algarve) — not the most exciting dish you’ll eat. That’s not why it’s here. It gives you a sense of what the Algarve is like twenty minutes away from the coast, which is a place almost nobody who visits the Algarve ever sees. [Author note: confirm the local name for this.]
- Pudim Abade de Priscos (Braga) — the pork fat pudding.
- Espada com banana (Madeira) — black scabbardfish with fried banana. Genuinely strange. Genuinely good.
And one I’ll pass on: caracóis. Snails, in season, in every bar in summer, and the Portuguese love them. Maybe even more than the French. I don’t know if I’ll ever love them in the same way, though.
Final Thoughts
I’m not going to lie to you. Portuguese food won’t be everyone’s favorite. It lacks the spice and the sheer excitement of Mexican or Asian cooking, and if that’s your baseline you’ll find it plain. That’s a real thing and pretending otherwise does nobody any favors.
But it’s good heart food. Flavor here comes from olive oil, smoke, salt, garlic, and patience, not from heat. And buried in it are dishes that are genuinely odd and genuinely worth crossing the country for.
Four rules, and then I’ll stop:
- Go regional. The Algarve does cataplana and piri-piri better. Porto does francesinha and bifana better. The Alentejo does porco preto better. Mealhada does leitão better. Follow the map, not the list.
- Let go of “spicy = flavor.” It isn’t the same equation here.
- Eat the soups. It’s where the vegetables are hiding.
- Ignore the Instagram lists. Eat where the construction workers and the grandparents are eating. It’s the single most reliable signal in the country.
You can find Portuguese restaurants in most major cities now. What you will not find, anywhere outside this country, is alcatra, or cabidela, or a pudding made from pork fat, or scabbardfish with a fried banana on top (the last one, maybe for good reason).
The point is. Once you’re finished with the dishes on this list, seek out the more regional dishes as you probably won’t find them anywhere else but Portugal.
Thinking about Moving to Portugal?