With all that Atlantic, you know Portugal has got to have a mean sea cuisine— and any garlic and olive oil loving culture is going to do it right. Ever since Pedro casually mentioned something about a fried cuttlefish some time ago, I have been gently demanding to be taken to said cuttlefish. So there we were in Setúbal, looking for the right place for some choco frito, when the ameijôas were brought up.
In their violet-tinged shells, scented with cilantro and garlic, sweet little clams glistened marvellous folds of marigold. There were warm, buttered slices of bread which, when saturated with the garlicky clam liquor, made me forget that there was a cuttlefish on the horizon— but then, it arrived.