A couple of weekends ago, well on Thursday the 13th June to be precise, us lot living over here in the shadow of the mighty city of Lisboa all had the day off work. It wasn't a National Holiday, but kind of like a Local Holiday in honour of Santo António, which only the people of Lisbon celebrate, since Saint Anthony is their Patron Saint. Anyway, it's an important part of the culture and a very important day of the year for Lisboetas* involving a massively colourful celebration spreading throughout the city streets until the small hours. I did not, as it happens, partake of such revelry but I have seen the pictures on the internet of the dancers and the flowers and the grilled sardines and everything else that goes along with this huge festival. Maybe next year?
Instead, I stayed at home, where I could hear a smaller version of the party going on someplace, probably at some bar or other across the far side of the valley. The music, which seemed to be a seamless mix of modern upbeat pop and folk music, lasted until around one, leaving in it's absence a strange kind of eerie silence across the village. For three more nights it was the same, until Sunday, when the music finished a little earlier than it had on the previous evenings.
Then, last Friday, at around 5 or 6, the music started up again. The wind was quite fierce and so as the sound was pushed back and forth with each gust it was difficult to say where it might be coming from, but it definitely sounded quite a distance away. On the Saturday evening I stood out on my balcony and I listened. It sounded like it was coming from the bar just down the road. I had already made arrangements to meet up with a mate for a few beers and so I donned my shoes and headed out for my local. As I got closer to the bar that I though was playing the music it became apparent that I was wrong. The wind had obviously carried the sound farther than I had first thought and was coming from another bar further along the road. As I turned the final corner I realised that the music was being played from my local. And it was busy. In fact I have not seen the pub as busy as it was for quite some time; probably not since the last Benfica x Sporting match earlier in the year. And the festivities were in full swing! There was a trailer the type of which you would normally expect to be selling fast food, which was the source of the music and also the point of sale where one could buy Tombola tickets; 5 for a euro. The landlord's son in law (I think) was busy on the pavement outside grilling sardines on an oil-drum barbecue and the celebrants were spilling out of the bar into the road to dance to the music. My friend was there already, proudly waving around a plate that he'd won on the Tombola, picturing (strangely enough) a stereotypical English cottage!
A little while later, while we were at the van buying even more tombola tickets, we got chatting to a friend of ours. We asked him what the festivities were all about, and he was more than willing to explain: The first weekend was (as I already knew, but guessed the wrong bar!) to celebrate St Anthony, last weekend was for São João (St John) and this coming weekend is to celebrate São Pedro (St Peter). He also explained that the tombola was run for charity with all the proceeds going to an orphanage, situated just around the corner, for children up to six years old. My friend and I spent the remainder of the evening at a table just inside the bar, occasionally popping out to buy more of the tombola tickets, to then return to our table and unravel these very tightly rolled 2 inch squares of coloured paper. There were some good prizes on offer, but I must say, most of them were tat, but that was not the point! It was for charity, and moreover, it was jolly good fun trying to unroll them and discover if you were a winner!
And so the night wore on. Groups of people came and went. One group came in, bought what must have been 20 euro worth of tickets and then sat there at the table opposite us, with all four of them unrolling ticket after ticket after ticket. Across the bar, the cheers of celebration seemed to get louder with every winning ticket. The dancing started to spill back inside the bar, and it was I suppose inevitable that both my good friend and I were coerced into joining in!
Eventually, the shutters on the van were lowered and the music stopped. With probably a couple too many beers in our bellies and plastic bags full of prizes, we said our goodbyes and headed for home. A thoroughly good evening was had by all. Roll on the celebrations for São Pedro!
* Lisboan was my first guess at describing a native of Lisbon. Then I second guessed myself into thinking it could be Lisbonite. Finally, I looked it up, and the correct Portuguese term is Lisboeta.
Birthday Parties
Phew. The end of the school term is soon upon us, which means that we get a couple of months off from what sometimes seems (but probably actually isn't) the endless stream of children's birthday party invitations. Granted, all three of my children have their birthdays at this time of year, but their school friends also seem to have a glut of birthdays on the run up to summer too. Or perhaps I'm just imagining it?
Birthday parties around here seem to follow the same routine that they do in England, that is, you send out invitations to all the little darling's friends telling them where your house is and when to turn up, with possibly an RSVP slip on the bottom so that you have some clue as to how many fairy cakes to bake. Or, if you'd prefer not to have blackcurrant juice stains all over your nice cream coloured shag-pile carpet, then you can of course hire a venue. The venues here typically offer a "menu" of services providing entertainment of some form, party food, and for the top end packages, photographs of the children having lots of fun. There are indoor "soft play" venues, arts and craft venues and even outdoor venues offering "Adventures In The Trees" for those children who would rather climb a tree than a coloured scaffold covered in netting. Of course the up-sides and down-sides of this approach to organising your children's birthday party is immediately obvious. On the plus side, you don't have to spend hours making sandwiches, blowing up balloons, organising party games, wrapping up prizes in layer after layer of brightly coloured paper or hiding treasures in the garden to be hunted out. A staffed venue will do all that for you in advance. (Well, maybe not the treasure hunt bit.) And the downside is, of course, that all this delegation of responsibility to provide the children's fun and food costs a little more money than doing it yourself.
"Hang on a minute though," I hear you say, "What is so quintessentially Portuguese about this? We have these venues in Blighty." Well, of course you do. My own children had been to some of them when we lived in the UK. The difference here is that these venues exclusively operate to run birthday parties. In Blighty the venues are inevitably open to the public and the children attending your child's birthday party are set free to play alongside the mass of other children that are there to simply play and then ushered at lunchtime into the party room to eat. In Portugal, there is no admittance to the general public. There may well be a significant number of parties being run concurrently, overlapping, making full use of each station of supervised activity, but the venue is booked on the basis that every child through the door has an invitation to a party, will play, will be entertained and then will have some food. I used to think that it was a bit strange. These venues must surely be missing a trick? They'd make more money if they allowed the general public in too, wouldn't they? Well, I'm not so sure. The venues do seem to be better staffed, with the staff seeming to have the remit that they are there to not just keep the children safe, but also to make sure that they have fun. On more than one occasion I have been to these places and the staff have been actively engaged in encouraging children to participate. In England this never seemed to be the case. The staff always seemed to simply be there to stand guard, to stop the bigger kids form climbing the slides the wrong way or perhaps clear tables from the cafe area. Nobody ever seemed to be employed to simply help the children enjoy themselves.
So it all seems to be a good thing right? Well except for the extra expense, yes it seems to be. What I haven't quite figured out yet is whether or not it is expected that parents stay around to help out? Certainly in England when my children have been invited to a venue for a party it is assumed that the parent will stay, and sit at one side away from the children drinking coffee and chatting the afternoon away. Strangely, this doesn't seem to be the case here. One may be forgiven for assuming that in a country where there is a strong "cafe culture" that that is exactly what would happen. But no. It seems that the vast majority of parents drop their children off at these venues, leave their mobile number at the desk and then disappear, only to return to pick the children up later after the festivities have ended. Again though, it seems that many of these parents are thinking one step ahead and spend this time away from their children very effectively (and also somewhat cunningly) at the toy shop buying the very gift that they intend to present to the birthday boy or girl upon their return. Talk about slick!
Two different cultures with two very different views. Advantages and disadvantages to both. But does it really matter? Do the kids care either way, as long as they enjoy the day? Probably not. Last year my kids got to invite their friends to our house, played pass the parcel and then they all had a wonderful time stuffing their faces with cake. This year we elected to go for the venue option, they invited their friends to come, had lots of fun and finished by stuffing their faces with cake. Next year? Well who knows? One things for sure, by then I really ought to learn how get past the second line of "Happy Birthday" in Portuguese!
Birthday parties around here seem to follow the same routine that they do in England, that is, you send out invitations to all the little darling's friends telling them where your house is and when to turn up, with possibly an RSVP slip on the bottom so that you have some clue as to how many fairy cakes to bake. Or, if you'd prefer not to have blackcurrant juice stains all over your nice cream coloured shag-pile carpet, then you can of course hire a venue. The venues here typically offer a "menu" of services providing entertainment of some form, party food, and for the top end packages, photographs of the children having lots of fun. There are indoor "soft play" venues, arts and craft venues and even outdoor venues offering "Adventures In The Trees" for those children who would rather climb a tree than a coloured scaffold covered in netting. Of course the up-sides and down-sides of this approach to organising your children's birthday party is immediately obvious. On the plus side, you don't have to spend hours making sandwiches, blowing up balloons, organising party games, wrapping up prizes in layer after layer of brightly coloured paper or hiding treasures in the garden to be hunted out. A staffed venue will do all that for you in advance. (Well, maybe not the treasure hunt bit.) And the downside is, of course, that all this delegation of responsibility to provide the children's fun and food costs a little more money than doing it yourself.
"Hang on a minute though," I hear you say, "What is so quintessentially Portuguese about this? We have these venues in Blighty." Well, of course you do. My own children had been to some of them when we lived in the UK. The difference here is that these venues exclusively operate to run birthday parties. In Blighty the venues are inevitably open to the public and the children attending your child's birthday party are set free to play alongside the mass of other children that are there to simply play and then ushered at lunchtime into the party room to eat. In Portugal, there is no admittance to the general public. There may well be a significant number of parties being run concurrently, overlapping, making full use of each station of supervised activity, but the venue is booked on the basis that every child through the door has an invitation to a party, will play, will be entertained and then will have some food. I used to think that it was a bit strange. These venues must surely be missing a trick? They'd make more money if they allowed the general public in too, wouldn't they? Well, I'm not so sure. The venues do seem to be better staffed, with the staff seeming to have the remit that they are there to not just keep the children safe, but also to make sure that they have fun. On more than one occasion I have been to these places and the staff have been actively engaged in encouraging children to participate. In England this never seemed to be the case. The staff always seemed to simply be there to stand guard, to stop the bigger kids form climbing the slides the wrong way or perhaps clear tables from the cafe area. Nobody ever seemed to be employed to simply help the children enjoy themselves.
So it all seems to be a good thing right? Well except for the extra expense, yes it seems to be. What I haven't quite figured out yet is whether or not it is expected that parents stay around to help out? Certainly in England when my children have been invited to a venue for a party it is assumed that the parent will stay, and sit at one side away from the children drinking coffee and chatting the afternoon away. Strangely, this doesn't seem to be the case here. One may be forgiven for assuming that in a country where there is a strong "cafe culture" that that is exactly what would happen. But no. It seems that the vast majority of parents drop their children off at these venues, leave their mobile number at the desk and then disappear, only to return to pick the children up later after the festivities have ended. Again though, it seems that many of these parents are thinking one step ahead and spend this time away from their children very effectively (and also somewhat cunningly) at the toy shop buying the very gift that they intend to present to the birthday boy or girl upon their return. Talk about slick!
Two different cultures with two very different views. Advantages and disadvantages to both. But does it really matter? Do the kids care either way, as long as they enjoy the day? Probably not. Last year my kids got to invite their friends to our house, played pass the parcel and then they all had a wonderful time stuffing their faces with cake. This year we elected to go for the venue option, they invited their friends to come, had lots of fun and finished by stuffing their faces with cake. Next year? Well who knows? One things for sure, by then I really ought to learn how get past the second line of "Happy Birthday" in Portuguese!
Porsche Exhibition
There was a weekend Porsche event last weekend, in celebration of the 50 year history of the infamous Porsche 911. It started on the Saturday morning with a parade from Cascais through to Estoril of over two hundred 911's. It then continued throughout Saturday with various events around Cascais and Estoril including an exhibition of the cars and a veritable multitude of all manner of stalls and merchandising outlets. Sadly, due to other commitments, I missed the lot.
Sunday though was another matter. I had read on the interweb that there was to be an event up at the Circuito Estoril, hosted by a rally championship driver that drove for a Porsche team a few years back and culminating in a "Sprint Race" to exhibit again the 50 year history of the 911. I was wholly unaware of who the driver was, but that didn't matter. It was a chance to get up to the circuit and see some fast cars. And it was due to start at three in the afternoon. Of course, we arrived just in the nick of time, parked up, and then, after having tried to gain entry through the paddock gate was told in no uncertain terms by a very stressed out guard that we needed tickets and that if we didn't have them, then we must use the main gate along the road. Okay, no bother. It was only a few minutes walk to the main grandstand gate, where we quickly found out that grandstand entry was free. By the time we had walked up the steps and out into the stand, the cars were lining up on the grid ready to start the race. The engines were revving and before too long the Safety Car took the racers out around the track in readiness for the rolling start as they came around to cross the line. The Safety Car dodged into the pit lane at the last moment and they were off, screaming past us they disappeared around the first corner. The horde of ticket possessing paddock entrants dashed across the pit lane roof to watch the cars around turns 2, 3 and 4, and pass along the back straight, only then to disappear down the hill into the far side of the track. 30 seconds later we saw them come around the final bend onto the home straight, to scream past us at full pelt once again. Awesome!
After the race, which very predictably was "won" by the most modern car, we made our way back down the steps towards the exit, where we found to our surprise, most of the people were not walking off across the car park but sneaking off through the tunnel under the track towards the infield to join the horde of bona-fide ticket holders. Not wishing to seem rude, we followed the crowds through the tunnel, which of course was the highlight of the day for my four year old, to come up the far side into a concrete field of 911's of many colours and vintages. We kept following the crowds as they led us, not up on to the pit lane roof as I had expected, but through a green gate right out onto the pit lane! Hallowed ground indeed. We walked along, getting close up to the cars that had only moments before been on the track, now sitting there, silently. Then suddenly, with the throb of engines once again, one after one, they came out, to line up at the exit from the pit lane onto the track. From the absence of helmets and the presence of passengers, I can only assume that this was some kind of parade lap where the people that had paid some extra money (or perhaps acquired a VIP Paddock Ticket?) got to enjoy a lap of the circuit in a Porsche 911.
Sunday though was another matter. I had read on the interweb that there was to be an event up at the Circuito Estoril, hosted by a rally championship driver that drove for a Porsche team a few years back and culminating in a "Sprint Race" to exhibit again the 50 year history of the 911. I was wholly unaware of who the driver was, but that didn't matter. It was a chance to get up to the circuit and see some fast cars. And it was due to start at three in the afternoon. Of course, we arrived just in the nick of time, parked up, and then, after having tried to gain entry through the paddock gate was told in no uncertain terms by a very stressed out guard that we needed tickets and that if we didn't have them, then we must use the main gate along the road. Okay, no bother. It was only a few minutes walk to the main grandstand gate, where we quickly found out that grandstand entry was free. By the time we had walked up the steps and out into the stand, the cars were lining up on the grid ready to start the race. The engines were revving and before too long the Safety Car took the racers out around the track in readiness for the rolling start as they came around to cross the line. The Safety Car dodged into the pit lane at the last moment and they were off, screaming past us they disappeared around the first corner. The horde of ticket possessing paddock entrants dashed across the pit lane roof to watch the cars around turns 2, 3 and 4, and pass along the back straight, only then to disappear down the hill into the far side of the track. 30 seconds later we saw them come around the final bend onto the home straight, to scream past us at full pelt once again. Awesome!
After the race, which very predictably was "won" by the most modern car, we made our way back down the steps towards the exit, where we found to our surprise, most of the people were not walking off across the car park but sneaking off through the tunnel under the track towards the infield to join the horde of bona-fide ticket holders. Not wishing to seem rude, we followed the crowds through the tunnel, which of course was the highlight of the day for my four year old, to come up the far side into a concrete field of 911's of many colours and vintages. We kept following the crowds as they led us, not up on to the pit lane roof as I had expected, but through a green gate right out onto the pit lane! Hallowed ground indeed. We walked along, getting close up to the cars that had only moments before been on the track, now sitting there, silently. Then suddenly, with the throb of engines once again, one after one, they came out, to line up at the exit from the pit lane onto the track. From the absence of helmets and the presence of passengers, I can only assume that this was some kind of parade lap where the people that had paid some extra money (or perhaps acquired a VIP Paddock Ticket?) got to enjoy a lap of the circuit in a Porsche 911.
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| On the starting grid. |
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| Mid race. |
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| In the pit lane. |
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| Queueing up for their "Porsche Experience" lap. |
Pataniscas
The canteen at work does some really nice food. It also, unfortunately, makes some really awful food too, but that is perhaps a story for another day. One of the really delicious things that comes out of the kitchens about once a fortnight are Pataniscas de Legumes. I feel it only fair at this juncture to point out that these are a vegetarian version of a traditional Portuguese recipe, Pataniscas de Bacalhau, that is, Pataniscas of Salt Cod. Of course, being a veggie myself I have not tried the original recipe, but the veggie version from my work's canteen has become a favourite of mine.
Sorry. Maybe I ought to explain exactly what a Patanisca is? Simply put it's a pancake. Yesterday I eventually got around to trying to make some myself. Last week I found a recipe online, used Google to translate it into English (just to be sure!) and had, on my last trip to the supermercado bought all the required ingredients, namely a load of veggies, some eggs and the all important but not usually on my shopping list; fizzy water for the batter. And so, after work, I set to, with the recipe close at hand, making Pataniscas. I finely chopped the onion and pepper, grated the carrot and courgette, put in a little garlic and mixed them all together. Then I made the batter, a cup of flour, an egg, some salt, spices and a cup of the especially bought fizzy water. Mix it all together, gas on, skillet out and off we go...
Now then. The ones I eat at work are, as I have already said, completely and absolutely delicious. They are light and fluffy, with an almost cake-like texture to them; moist and tasty. There was this one time when they put way too much garlic in but usually they are simply gorgeous. Mine were nice, but not the same as the ones from the work's canteen kitchen. Firstly I think I had my vegetable to batter ratio all wrong. I have since done a little more exploring on the web and found some pictures of the mixture before it is fried, and my suspicions seem to be confirmed by these photographs. Secondly I think I had my batter too liquid. In fact, in doing my second round of research it seems apparent that most of the recipes do not use the fizzy water in the batter at all, but go for a more standard pancake batter of flour, milk and eggs.
I'll let you know how the revised attempt goes. I'm sure I can do a much better job next time!
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| Pataniscas de Legumes, English Style! |
Now then. The ones I eat at work are, as I have already said, completely and absolutely delicious. They are light and fluffy, with an almost cake-like texture to them; moist and tasty. There was this one time when they put way too much garlic in but usually they are simply gorgeous. Mine were nice, but not the same as the ones from the work's canteen kitchen. Firstly I think I had my vegetable to batter ratio all wrong. I have since done a little more exploring on the web and found some pictures of the mixture before it is fried, and my suspicions seem to be confirmed by these photographs. Secondly I think I had my batter too liquid. In fact, in doing my second round of research it seems apparent that most of the recipes do not use the fizzy water in the batter at all, but go for a more standard pancake batter of flour, milk and eggs.
I'll let you know how the revised attempt goes. I'm sure I can do a much better job next time!
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