Soup of the Day

If you ever go the Azores, a group of 9 Portuguese islands off the coast of Portugal, often referred to as the Hawaii of Europe, pack a lunch.  Breakfast and dinner too.  For as long as you will be staying there. 

Of course that might put you over the baggage weight limit for carry-ons as said limit is somewhere around, oh, nothing heavier than your big toe.  In which case, you will need to check your luggage, the cost of which involves some kind of new math calculation wherein the luggage ends up costing about 10 times the price of your ticket.

But I digress.

It seems that no one there really knows what is on their menu.  On at least 4 occasions, in 4 different restaurants when I asked what the soup of the day was, no one knew.  They stood there looking at me like, ‘’well do you want to order it and take a chance? I looked back at them, like, ‘do you want to go check and see what it is?’  One waiter said “I think it might have vegetables in it.”  

All four times, I won out, and the waiters finally went back to the kitchen to see what the soup of the day was.  I had no idea that a simple question of ‘what’s the soup of the day’ was really a game of Stump the Waiter, the Waiter Who Doesn’t Want to Find Out.

This kind of exchange was not limited to the soup, however.

In another restaurant, the waiter asked me if I wanted something to drink.  We had not been given a drink menu and there were no drinks listed on the menu we were given.

I responded, “Yes.  Do you have wine?”

He replied, “Yes, what do you want?”

I looked at him.  I waited a beat. He didn’t flinch.

I asked, “Well, what kind of wine do you have?”

“Red or white,” he answered.

Again, I looked at him.  I waited a beat. He didn’t flinch.

I asked, “What kinds of red and white do you have?“

Oh,” he says.  He had a look of annoyance on his face, as if what I was asking for, to see the drink menu, was a herculean task for him, one in which he had no interest in doing.  He pulled out a digital tablet and opened it to the wine menu selection, proffered it to me, saying, “Here you go.”

Not really sure if this was just a fun game they play with tourists or if our specific waiter was just a jerk in general. 

Next problem.  Whatever you do, don’t get hungry between the hours of 2 and 7.  There are no restaurants open during those hours.  That is Siesta time. Otherwise known as, We Need a Break From Not Knowing Our Soups of the Day time.

On the tiny island of Sao Jorge, our guided tour ended at 2:30.  The tour did not provide lunch.  As our guide was dropping us off, that was when he informed us that we would likely not find anywhere to eat, as the restaurants would all be closed, except for drinking.  We could get a drink.  Just not food.  Liquid lunch just wasn’t going to cut it for us at that moment.

Our ferry back to Pico Island wasn’t until 7 pm.  We were starving and didn’t think we’d make it until we were back on Pico.  Ernie and I wandered around until we found one place that had 2 people seated at a table, eating food. 

We weren’t sure if we were seeing a mirage. Our hopes soared.  It was like finding the holy grail.  The time was 2:55 pm.  We approached the waiter and asked as nicely as possible, hoping he’d take pity on us, if they were indeed serving food and if so, could we get a table. 

He hesitated.  He started to shake his head and make an apology.  But he saw the abject and desperate look in our eyes, the hunger clearly on our faces, and you could see his compassion for our plight take over and said, “Uh, not really, but maybe I can go ask the chef.  If so, the only thing we can give you is chicken and fries.  Are you ok with chicken and fries?”.  “YES,” Ernie and I exclaimed in unison.  He could have said the only thing we have is eye of newt and we’d have said yes, so hungry were we.

The waiter returned and said yes, we could be served.  Hallelujuah.  And it was the best chicken and fries. 

That problem solved, little did we know we’d be greeted by the next one about 5 hours later.

We arrived back in Pico at around 8:30 pm.  We thought we’d have dinner in the town where the ferry was.  A google search yielded only one restaurant open.  It was some kind of buffet place.  One, I hate buffets.  Two, the menu on this buffet was akin to eye of newts.  Limpits, octopus, and other things I can’t pronounce and have no idea what they are.  That was something else we discovered about the food there.  They seem to have an aversion to vegetables.  Fish and meat in abundance.  And French fries. Green vegetables, not so much.

We then figured we’d just eat at a restaurant in the town we were staying in.  The town we were staying in, wasn’t so much as a town, as it was the end of the earth where the only inhabitants were 3 people (we being two of those), 10 cows, and a horse. We checked google again, to find out that of the 4 restaurants located there, only one was open.  Huh.  Ok, well, we didn’t need choice at that point, just happy at least one place was open.

Pulled in a half hour later.  It was closed.  Even though online it said it was open until 10.  It was 9 pm.  They must have decided to close early.  Did I mention that the village only had like 3 people in it?  Next move, we decided to try the supermarket.  The teeny, tiny little supermarket in the very remote, off the beaten path, end of the earth, oceanside town that we were staying in.  You guessed it.  Closed.

Back to our Airbnb where I munched on some of the crackers the host had left us, and a pack of nuts I had brought with me.

Our food challenges however, were not over yet. 

At one restaurant, I played it safe and ordered the fish and chips.  Cod, or Bacalao as it is called in Portugual, is like the national fish of Portugal. It’s everywhere.  I like Cod.  However, turned out that on that particular day, in that particular restaurant, they decided to deviate from the norm.  No Cod.  Instead, it was Triggerfish. Which I overheard when another person had ordered it and the waiter delivered it to them.

I immediately did a google search on it.  Sounded like it would be a delicious fish.  Until I got to the part about the possible neurotoxicity of it.  Apparently, there are some fish in the Azorean Islands that can get these toxins from the algae or whatever living on the coral reefs.  Triggerfish being one of those. 

My fish arrived and I couldn’t eat it.  I couldn’t send it back either without seeming like the neurotic person that I am.  Fortunately, I had had the soup (this being one of the restaurants where the waiter didn’t know what the soup of the day was and said he thought it might have vegetables in it) and I ate the fries, so I didn’t go completely hungry.

All in all, I think I had maybe, 3 good meals the whole 9 days.  On the plus side, I lost a few pounds.  However, I am pretty sure that I’ll put those pounds back on within 48 hours of being home.

The Azores.  A feast for the eyes.  Just not for the stomach.