Our original plan to visit Restaurant Faria in Ribeira Grand for the Sunday morning rise and shiner dinner for breakfast, but the owner was on holidays so they were temporarily closed. That was a real bummer as our breakfasts here had become one of the highlights of recent trips. Imagine arriving at a slightly skudgy Portuguese café restaurant at 7am, being promptly served a large metal pitcher of red wine, baskets of fresh bread, then told the day’s meal options include octopus stew, beef stew, potato and chorizo soup, fried rabbit, fried fish. There is no menu. There are no prices. One time we went there with a crew of twelve and to make space for us, the owner kicked out two local dudes who were taking up a four-person table. They just had to find someplace else to sit. The wine pitchers are instantly refilled when they run empty, as are the bread baskets. You can wipe your mouth and fingers on the tablecloth. About two thirds of the way into your meal you realize two things. First, you are getting rapidly wasted on red wine on Sunday morning. Second, you’ve misunderstood breakfast your entire life.
Well, cousin Paul Fernando, as usual, delivered. He told me to be at his house at 6:30 am and we’d be going to a similar restaurant, but in Porto Formoso. Nobody else on my team wanted to go, so it was just Paul, Natercia, and me. In twenty minutes (a very, very, very long ways to travel for breakfast for typical Sao Migueleans), we arrived at Silenco Das Palavras, which Paul Fernando pronounced to me very solemnly as we entered.
“Silence of the Words?” I asked.
“Silence of the Words.”
I thought about it for a second.
“What does it mean?”
“I have no idea.”
It didn’t matter. Of course Paul and Natercia knew most of the people there, including the server, and he quickly seated us at a long table then brought out a big jug of red wine. The venue was smaller than Restaurant Faria, but nicer, and very cozy. Paul Fernando had warned me earlier that this place only served soup, like that was going to make any difference to my enthusiasm for a winey Azorean breakfast. The soup was served in steel bowls, and was mostly broth, collards, potatoes, carrots, and other floating substances which were difficult to identify, but worked together to produce a formidable and delicious soup. As I was into a few spoonfuls, the server returned with a plate for each of us that contained the reason for the deliciousness of the broth – boiled meats. There were ribs, pigs feet, and shingles of beef. I did an autopsy on the pigs feet with my fork, teasing out as much flesh as I could and tossing it into my soup. I can confirm that pigs have a hell of a lot more meat on their asses than in their feet. I did the same with the beef and ribs, sucked the bones, then gobbled up the rest of the soup, with the help of the fresh bread as sponges.
We had a lovely meal together, and it was only ruined when Paul Fernando said he had to take a leak then snuck away and paid the bill. I will have my revenge.
Before driving back, we stopped at the port area and then beach area of Porto Formoso. I had never been here before and it was lovely, especially the beach which was devoid of humans and being punished by the large boiling waves crashing into the black sand, crafting a different beach. We stopped at their favourite café/gas station on the way back and enjoyed espressos and a pastel de nata. Yes, it is possible to get fantastic coffee, not to mention fancy liquors, gifts, and baked goods at a gas station.
Once back at base camp, the cousins started arriving and all flew into action, as today was the John and Maria Borges sponsored family home picnic. A lot of things started to happen. A raging wood fire was started in the brick oven. Squash and apples were skinned and cubed, other squash were halved, buttered, sugared, and doused with port wine. Potatoes peeled and boiled, onions fried. Coleslaw made. Trays of natas, pumpkin pie, rice pudding, Halloween monster cookies, and cakes were brought in from vehicle trunks. Tables were assembled, clothed, chaired, and set. Music was queued. Yams were foiled and fired, as were the squash apple casseroles. Mini-chorizos were bbq’d. Buns were sliced. Trays of cooked chickens and fried fish were purchased. Wine bottles were uncorked. Beers were opened. Juice was poured.
It was a magnificent affair. Everybody came. It lasted all day and into the night. An Azorean family jamboree. A jantarian extravaganza. Uma festa do comida e bebidas e amor.
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