An Ode to Crisp Days

I have lived in New Jersey, Connecticut and Pennsylvania, and in each of these states I found myself attracted to the bits and pieces that reminded me of Portugal. I gravitated towards cafés with a European flair, connected to buoying boats on fisherman wharfs and felt at home in the quaint towns lined with stone walls that slightly resembled the ancient ones in my grandparents’ village.Now that I have returned to Portugal, the reverse is happening. I love living in the beating heart of the city of Lisbon, but the Jersey girl in me needs the changing of the leaves come autumn and the crisp wintry air and a sprinkle of snow as I near Christmas.

As soon as the days cool down, I start to feel an itch to hide away in the interior of the country where I can find trails of gold and red foliage (e.g. Rota das Faias, route of the beech trees), an invigorating chill seasoned with the smokiness of the chimneys, and mountain peaks lightly dusted with snow.These are also the days for comfort foods, concocted in ovens that cook through our meals and warm our homes. In the U.S., I couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving turkey (especially my mother’s), stuffing and roasted sweet potatoes. Here, I want cabrito estonado (stone oven-roasted suckling goat) with esparregado (garlicky spinach mousse); saucy arroz de miscaros (wild mushroom rice); and migas à moda da Beira (black eyed peas, shredded collards and rustic corn bread crumble).

When I have shared stories of Portugal, people are surprised to discover that there’s more to the country than surf, seafood, salted codfish, pork, two main wine regions, a custard tart and those humorously named convent pastries. All of which are near and dear to me, but there’s certainly more to explore and enjoy. And as autumn gives way to winter, I reflect and write—and realize that I don’t know what came first. Did I love cooler seasons in the northeast because I spent part of my childhood in Beira and Serra da Estrela, or was it the other way around? When you’re a hybrid, sometimes you’re not sure. To be continued…

by Sonia Nolasco