The average inhabitant of the country seems to consume
at least four eggs a day; that’s a whole lot of laying.
You’re about to tuck into your roast beef and lo and
behold a fried egg is sat on top of it, as they do alongside most meat dishes. Boiled eggs accompany many a fish dish and
there’s none of your fancy slicing or mashing with mayo; it’s just boiled and shelled. I always
approach my chocolate mousse with some trepidation, and a pinch of salt, just
in case.
Returning to Portugal again (you may recall I
lived there for a number of years and returned to the UK in 2006) is real culinary trip down memory lane.
I remember the first time I met my intended’s (now
ex's) parents; I spent an entire day smiling for England and eating twice my own body weight. My facial muscles ached for days and the whole chicken (and several eggs) in my belly took its toll I can tell
you.
Meeting the prospective in-laws
is an ordeal at the best of times. The ‘best
of times’ for me would have simply being able to speak their language, or them
speaking mine.
There I am at the dinner
table with the whole family, nodding, grinning and feigning an expression of
complete comprehension as they put the world to rights in, as far as I was
concerned, gobbledygook.
I had been tipped off that Portuguese
women like people to enjoy their food.
So, unable to contribute conversationally, I ate, and ate, and ate (and nodded
and smiled).
Suddenly, there was a lull in
the incomprehensible jabber and all eyes were on me. Oh no, what’s wrong? Have I got egg on my chin, parsley in my
teeth, sprouted another head or, even worse, has someone asked me a question?
I reckon have a 50/50 chance
with the simple response 'sim' or 'nao'.
Should I toss an Escudo or
make a run for it?
Now, thus far, my very basic understanding of the language armed me with ‘your house is lovely’ (tem uma casa bonita), ‘pleased to meet you’ (muito prazer) and ‘I’d like a ham and
cheese toastie please’ (quero uma tosta mista por favor). In those days, I wasn’t quite ready to share my views on the European
Monetary Union.
What a relief it was then
when my fiancé translated that his mother had simply asked; ‘why was I at
university when I was so old, was I marrying her son to gain Portuguese
nationality and would I like another chicken leg?’
I nodded, shoved in another
potato and smiled.
