Simple and quick, the dish bitoque can be found all over Portugal. Its origins are a bit murky, but seem to be connected with the Galician immigrants from Northern Spain who moved to Lisbon during the Spanish Civil War. It consists of a small, thin steak surrounded by carbs (fries and rice), cooked vegetables or a salad of sorts, and topped with a fried egg on top. The essential ingredient is the sauce, however, and across the city of Lisbon are several variations and styles – all are generous and comforting, all are thick, and many include ingredients like bay leaf, garlic, and white wine.

On a hidden street in Lisbon’s residential Anjos neighborhood, Francisco (Chico) Jesus and Daniela Silvestre are busy prepping for dinner service. It’s still early afternoon, but there’s a lot to do before the doors of Patuá open at 7:30pm. Some Chinese art pieces are scattered about their restaurant, hinting at the tastes to come – though these only tell one part of the story. At Patuá, food hailing from the former Portuguese colony of Macau – now administered by China – anchors the menu, but the restaurant is also chronicling the evolution of the Portuguese post-colonial kitchen, with the country’s connection to India and the African continent making an appearance on the plate.

Despite being incredibly salty, stinky and made essentially out of rotting fish, garum, the ancient Roman sauce, was the ketchup of its day, a ubiquitous condiment found on every table and in every pantry. Prepared by fermenting whole, brined small fish for multiple months, the amber-colored umami bomb was a major part of Roman trade and widely used across a variety of dishes, from meats to salads and even in sweets. Though it was undeniably popular, garum eventually lost its place in the kitchens of the Mediterranean and other parts of the former Roman Empire. Iterations of the pungent sauce exist today, like Colatura di Alici in Italy, but its original recipe and method of production are no more than ancient relics. A rather smelly experiment at an archeological site in Portugal is trying to change that, though.

Port wine and Madeira wine are well-known Portuguese fortified varieties, but Moscatel de Setúbal remains a perfect stranger for many visitors. Which is a shame, since this wine – complex and elegant, with a delicate sweetness and rich flavor – is one of Portugal’s great vinous pleasures. In Lisbon and the south bank, it’s common to enjoy a small glass of Moscatel (muscatel) as either an aperitif (chilled) or a digestive. The fertile land of Setúbal, a peninsula south of the city of Lisbon, has long-been a wine producing region. It is not known exactly when Moscatel – which is made from the Muscat grape, although the name also refers to the grape itself – was first made here, but it is generally accepted that the Phoenicians and Ancient Greeks were trading the wine in the estuary of the Sado River.

Like many of our favorite Lisbon restaurants, Modesta da Pampulha has very humble beginnings. Originally opened in 1920, the eatery started off as a shop selling charcoal and bulk wine with a simple tavern on the side, evolving over the years to become a temple of homestyle Portuguese comfort food. During the week, office workers from the Pampulha area – between the busy Lapa and Alcântara neighborhoods – along with staff from the nearby Ministry of Education and taxi drivers from a stand just in front of Modesta da Pampulha, gather for lunch in the small restaurant to eat the freshly-made daily specials or charcoal-grilled fish and meat.

Cabana do Pescador (the fisherman’s hut) got its start some 50 years ago with a very simple premise: A fisherman named Luís Maria Lourenço decided to sell his leftover daily catch by grilling it on iron barrels halved lengthwise – an old-school upcycled getup that can still be seen at many popular tascas. Since then, this no-frills fish shack has become such an institution that the strip of Costa da Caparica coastline where it sits has come to be known as cabana de pescador as well. Costa da Caparica was originally comprised of small fishing villages. In the 1970s, it became the favorite seaside getaway for Lisboetas, owing to its proximity to the Portuguese capital and its numerous spacious beaches.

When friends Paulo Sebastião, Paulo Pina and Paulo Neves decided in 2018 to open Isco Pão e Vinho, a small bakery-café, they knew they wanted to be in Alvalade, a Lisbon neighborhood at the edge of the city’s busy center. “We didn’t want to be dependent on tourists, we wanted a neighborhood clientele, and I have to say that 80 percent of the clients here are recurring,” says Pina, who has long worked as a business consultant, a job he still does in addition to running Isco. But the choice of Alvalade presented the pair with a challenge: It can be difficult to stand out in the neighborhood, which has an impressive density of bakeries, restaurants and cafés per square mile.

A decade ago Lisbon was a very different city, and the riverfront Cais do Sodré neighborhood was dominated by Mercado da Ribeira, the central market, and office buildings. No Time Out Market, no hipster cafés or trendy restaurants and bars, and hardly any tourists. In 2011 Café Tati opened in an 18th-century building behind the central market, a new entry amongst the old-school tascas and restaurants feeding market vendors and office workers, and the bars and clubs down neglected streets in the neighborhood’s former red light district. Founded by Ramón Ibáñez, a transplant from Barcelona, Café Tati was a breath of fresh air, offering relaxed meals, organic and natural wines, and live music, too.

Last Monday was an emotional day for João Gomes, his wife, Adelaide, his son Nuno and Nuno’s wife, Ludmila. Imperial de Campo de Ourique, the family’s tasca, reopened for business after being shut for almost three months due to anti-Covid measures in Portugal. Hungry Lisboetas can once again enjoy the traditional and hearty dishes cooked by Adelaide, the heart of Imperial’s kitchen, and the joy of a warm welcome by João, the tasca’s enthusiastic frontman. “The biggest pleasure is to be able to talk to my clients again, I really missed this,” he tells us, a mask covering his wide-open smile.

A former industrial center, eastern Lisbon has gained a new vibrancy of late, with old factories and decrepit warehouses made over into art galleries, restaurants and breweries. Not even the pandemic has been able to stop this development: A Praça, a marketplace connecting Lisboetas with producers from around the country, has recently set up shop in an old meat-processing plant and civil personnel canteen in the former Manutenção Militar, the industrial area of the Portuguese Army that’s now home to Hub Criativo do Beato. The project is set to open to the public later in the year but is already up and running digitally, offering many products, including fresh produce from local farmers, artisanal smoked sausages, wine, cheese and olive oil, for takeaway and delivery.

It’s hard to imagine now, but Alvalade, a neighborhood north of downtown Lisbon and close to the airport, was comprised mainly of fields in the early 20th century, with farms in the area supplying the Portuguese capital with dairy products as well as fresh fruits and vegetables. Those farms may be long gone, but this residential neighborhood is still famous for its high-quality produce – except rather than being grown on the land, it’s sold at the Mercado de Alvalade, a municipal market that opened in 1964. Although the produce comes from MARL (the large central wholesale market north of Lisbon), a lot of it is still grown in the fertile region north and west of Lisbon.

The black-and-white photo shows a crowd, a policeman and José Martins holding a piece of salted cod, all crammed together in Manteigaria Silva, a small, historic shop in Baixa. It’s from a newspaper clipping dated December 10, 1977 – Christmas season. That year Portugal experienced a shortage of bacalhau, the beloved salt cod that was (and still is) a Christmas Eve favorite, and the people of Lisbon were so desperate to get their preserved fish that the police were often called in to maintain order. The scene at Manteigaria Silva played out at shops across the city. José, who still oversees the bacalhau section at Manteigaria Silva, remembers those days well. “Hard to imagine now but people were fighting for salt cod, that’s why we had to call the police,” he recalls.

The current Praça de São Paulo formed in the wake of a disaster: the square was rebuilt soon after the 1755 Lisbon earthquake, and serves as a model of the architectural style from that time. More recently, this beautiful yet oft-neglected square has been given a new lease on life thanks to another calamity – the Covid-19 pandemic. Over the summer, chef André Magalhães took over the square’s charming red kiosk – the oldest in Lisbon – and overhauled the menu, filling it with traditional drinks, delicious sandwiches and petiscos. And since the start of November, the grocery store Comida Independente has been organizing a successful farmers’ market in the square on Saturdays, bringing Lisboetas in contact with independent producers and one another – a balm in this strange time of social distancing.

The pandemic has inspired a new passion for quality loaves in Lisbon, a city saturated with industrialized bread. Baking bread became an escape for many people during global lockdowns, and the Portuguese capital was no exception – talk often turned to bread recipes or the desperate search for flour and yeast, which flew off supermarket shelves. Like in many European countries, bread has always been an important part of the Portuguese diet. It’s an essential part of the culinary traditions in the Alentejo, where wheat bread is widespread, and in the north, where corn and rye loaves are also found. In difficult times, it was a staple that fed many empty stomachs.

On a quiet street in the Campo de Ourique neighborhood, a green awning hangs out front of Pigmeu, giving the restaurant a bit of a French look. But inside, the nose-to-tail menu couldn’t be more Portuguese: As one might guess from the restaurant’s name (it’s a play on the words pig and meu, “mine” in Portuguese), the dishes feature pork and offal as well as seasonal vegetables. Miguel Azevedo Peres is the mastermind and talent behind Pigmeu, which he opened in December 2014. Since his first kitchen job in 2007, Miguel has cooked at various restaurants in Lisbon, including Estrela da Bica, and for a time had the concession for the café at Museu do Chiado. But it was a desire to focus on sustainable meat consumption that led him to go in an entirely different direction with Pigmeu.