Not long after dawn on a drizzly Sunday morning, we make our way to the bus stops out front of the teleférico (cable car). A number 77 wends its way up through the morning cloud and mountain settlements to Santo António da Serra. The air is noticeably cooler, and we’re all feeling the chill from the fresh breeze.
It’s Palm Sunday and so the rest of the bus is basically local old people carrying woven palm leaves to church. We follow them off the bus and past a parish chapel to the famous market. Inside is shelter from the chill and a quiet, quite ordinary little country market. There’s not much going on, just a couple-dozen locals shopping or snacking.
How are we going to fill 3 hours until the next bus?
And then I order a couple of sandes de carne vinha d’alhos from the grubby counter with the surly fella pouring shots for a gaggle of even surlier regulars. Rolls filled with uninspiring gristly grey meat are handed over with a grunt. Still, they’re hot, so how bad could they be?
How bad? Zero percent – they’re piping-hot perfection. The fatty pork is cooked in a delicate balance of white wine, garlic and herbs until it becomes smooth and buttery. We wolf them down, and the edge is taken off our chills.
It’s the breakfast ponchas that really warm us up
Alfie counts 6 poncha places and, good boy that he is, asks, ‘In what order?’ not ‘Which one?’ So we start with the most appealing – a small counter topped with jugs of vibrant orange, green and yellow juices and desiccated citrus husks. Cheryl orders a poncha tangerina, and I go for the classic citrus à pescador (fisherman’s).
The barman gets to work. Hand-juicing the fruits, tossing in the rinds, in goes some sugar and then the signature move: With his big caralhinho (the distinctive wooden poncha stick), he starts pounding before grabbing it with both hands for some hard and fast swizzling to mix in the rum and juice. Easy to see why they call it a caralhinho.
These cocktails have a fruity kick like a rum-soaked multivitamin mule. Being health conscious, we get our 5-a-day on, only missing 1 bar from Alfie’s count. A few ginja (sour cherry) liqueurs as well and who feels cold? Each drink also comes with a little plate of snacks – marinated broad beans with tripe and milho frito (fried cornmeal) being our favourites.
Do we really have to catch the first bus back?
It’s not just us who warm up – the market goes from being empty to bustling by the time we finish our first ponchas. Plenty of tour groups have arrived, and some catchy folk music and dancing has got the crowd hopping.
All of a sudden, it’s time to find the bus back – there are only 2 and the last is 4 hours away. But the sopa de trigo (tripe soup) isn’t tender yet and the fire for the espetada (meat skewers) hasn’t burnt down to coals yet. Why do we have to leave this fantastic market so early? So Cheryl can have a nap and sleep-off her breakfast ponchas it turns out.
