Day 57. Sunday 4 May.

Still awaiting the election result, with fingers and everything else crossed. Hope our two non-votes aren’t the difference!

With many days of rain forecast, D wondered if we might be stuck in this rather isolated cabin, as the hard surface track runs out about 300 metres further back. He said he’d go for a walk to check and came across some kind of ‘paintball event’…or lots of colored paint throwing, across all ages. Presume that’s the reason there’s plastic ties all along the route. Hiking routes are scattered around the nature reserve on which we border.  We’ll give it (car going through water) a go…

Made it to Valonglo railway station which is recommended as the way to get into Porto (rather than taking a car), then off to the Rio Douro, targeting Lever as our first destination.The roads wind high above the river and T is surprised that there’s little open ground at this point; it’s all or largely urbanized and with many manufacturing businesses. Blending with this there are forests of eucalypts and a bushfire had obviously been through in recent years. Small plots of vegies and grapes blend with housing.

Then headed towards Penafiel, taking the Roman Route (Rota Romanico) (ancient gold mining) but detoured into a little spot well below the main road, where we could see some gazebos that looked like a market or fair. A steep cobbled walk down, to find that they were all selling biscuits/pastries/ bread and seemed to imagine a vast number of customers. T interrogated one of the stall holders to discover this was an annual event, where the Capel de Nossa Senhora do Salto is opened just once a year. It’s a celebration of a local saint and usually there’s a procession to the chapel but today, because of rain, there was no procession.

The chapel, in the Parque da Senhora do Salto, recognizes the legend of da Senhora do Salto which  tells that a knight, chased by the devil, jumped off a cliff, but was saved by Our Lady, who appeared and rescued him. In gratitude, the knight ordered the construction of the chapel of Nossa Senhora do Salto on that site. The legend has two variants, a more dramatic one with the knight escaping and the other calmer, with the knight losing his balance and falling off the cliff.  There was also mention on the fairly scant information boards of two lovers, so maybe the devil was an angry father?The chapel is tiny but was heavily decorated with carnations and roses and music was playing through a speaker setup. The music bounced off the canyon walls…pity it wasn’t a choir, T thought.  The terrain was amazing, canyon and rushing water. Young and old folk arrived, climbing many steps to light a candle/offer a prayer.

Passed through Recarei and Crete, no particular destination in mind but, with constant rain, abandoned the winding road and headed for home, stopping at an Intermarche for tonight’s menu. D added a bag of briquettes to get a fire started. Heavy rain became heavier, then cleared to nothing – even the roads were dry the closer we got to home base. 

T had decided that a seafood pie would be nice: a piece of white fish and handful of prawns would go with some of that ‘never-ending bag of baby calamari’ and the challenge would be to make pastry. Which was done (a blender was in a corner cupboard). Fire was over-successful and front door had to open to let some fresh air!

Dinner. Trish’s Fish Delish Dish.

Day 56. Saturday 3 May. Federal Election Day.

Another damp morning but we departed Montedor at about 1030, as results were just coming in – but nothing to indicate the outcome. We arrived at our destination around 1530 to learn the likely result, but the most important news was that our dear (orange) Jessie was likely to win in the electorate of Bean. 👏

Since our new destination was only 90 km from Montedor – about a couple of hours – we could and did visit Ponte de Lima, a trip aborted yesterday. 40 km, so an easy drive, until you get into the traffic at Viana do Costello and then Ponte de Lima! But the parking area was huge – so we went straight into a spot beside the river. 

Stopped at an old pillory and got talking to a woman of about our age from Brazil. Had a lovely conversation covering language (she had some, but quite enough, English to communicate), colonizing, travel.

Walked across the lovely Roman bridge to the starting point, kayakers doing their training thing below on the Rio Lima. Another church of course, Igreja de Santo Antonio da Torre Velha and a statue of Santiago.

One of the Caminos starts here – it’s 159 km to Santiago de Compostela. We have seen lots of pilgrims in the last couple of days, and lots more today, and surprisingly quite a few of mature age.

We came across an old guy at a Camino souvenir business, which might also have been the official start poin; he was putting on a performance, we think to send walkers on their way.

On our way back we were faced with a small election rally – Portuguese elections are on 18 May. Very low key, more fun than passion. Apparently the current Government is slightly right, and there have been signs suggesting corruption. Who would have thought? But we have no idea what the situation is, or the issues, although we suspect energy reliability may become a feature. Hold that thought.

The esplanade for coffee was buzzing with cafes and local food stalls (all shades of chorizo, black to pale) calling to us. T wanted to do a really authentic dish (adapted) tonight, using baby squid from previous purchase + local chorizo + potatoes and tomatoes. The town reminded us of some British/Tudor towns: the bright colours of southern Portugal not evident and architecture less ‘square’. And the day was damp grey. 

The next stage to the Watermillhouse Cottage, Campo in a Nature Reserve east of Porto, was a couple of hours – a bit longer when Doris got lost after our stop for supplies. But we arrived; we had been advised that the last section was a bit rough, and it was, but Josie managed stoically, albeit with lots of alarms and annoyed sounds as the daisies touched her sides!

Another ‘fantasy’ accommodation with a rushing stream beneath (could be tricky at night), no neighbours, a woodland garden and soft rain. Still manifesting those lotto numbers!

Dinner. Adapted, Authentic Portuguese calamari stew: calamari, chorizo corrente de vinho, onion, garlic, tomatoes, potatoes, red wine, herbs and spices.

Day 55. Friday 2 May.

The weather looked threatening, then cleared, then…..all day, with occasional light showers.

Off we went to Viana do Castelo, about 7 km down the road, to visit the Igreja de Santa Luzia. It was up a long and windy road, signposted at 90 km/hr: 40 km/hr was a sensible speed.

The complex was impressive, sitting atop a mountain, overlooking the city like a ruler, as perhaps it once was. It was called a sanctuary, so we wondered…far too remote for a regular church. Inside it was as you’d expect, but curiously restrained compared to some. And in the mountaintop garden, there was Santa Luzia, looking like she was missing something from her left hand. Perhaps something containing Vinho Branco? Reminded us of someone.

From there we went chasing a fabric shop identified on Google this morning. After Apple Maps told us there was no such address, Tom Tom, the car GPS, gave us a route that looked promising. We arrived – at some sort of housing complex, obviously not what we were after. Checked again: the store is actually in a different town about 40kms away. T was not that serious about visiting.

New plan. Into town to find a different store. Directions OK this time excepting that it was in the middle of Centro, so traffic was busy…and they all had horns! On the way, a car pulled out in front of D at one stage from a slip road on the right, requiring emergency braking for the first time on this trip and he instinctively used his horn, again for the first time, but was mortified to note that it was an L plater (he always tries to cut learners lots of slack – and distance). He apologized to the instructor as we passed.

Underground parking beckoned, so in we went. Found the fabric shop easily – T browsed, but was taken aback by how expensive items were: twice what you’d expect to pay in Oz and nothing exciting enough.

Back to the underground car park. D started to redeem the ticket – two euros – put the coin in and the machine then advised the transaction was annulled. A queue was forming, patiently. The guy behind politely took the ticket, placed it over the reader, and it said: Two euros. D put two coins in and Voila (whatever that is in Portuguese) the card was ratified. D let everyone know that it had cost four euros: they didn’t share his concern.

Took the ‘coast’ road on the way home, but as it was in fact set back from the shore decided to venture down some side cobblestone tracks for a closer look. Stopped at a site that had a couple of motor homes set up for the night: we were green with envy (Gloria redux). A short stroll along a boardwalk to marvel at the colours and the water until the spotty sky told us it was time for a glass of wine.

Dinner. Pork sausages, with steamed vegies.

Day 54. Thursday 1 May.

1 May is a traditional ‘start of spring’ holiday in Portugal and a day for protecting homes from evil for the year ahead by packing sprigs of yellow broom into doors and windows to ward off the devil for the rest of the year.

So having the devil sorted out, for us, today was to be something of a rest day: a bit of shopping for dinner, washing clothes, planning for days to come, relaxing…..

A walk to the Atlantic beach was on the agenda, so off we set at about midday. Followed the cobblestone roads in a generally Westerly direction, and came across a couple of unique wooden sail windmills, taken over and preserved by the local municipality.

A narrowing track from there led down to a walking path above the shoreline. There were some very informative billboards about the geology – lots of it in scientific terms a bit beyond us. Interesting that the first one discussed four changes in the landscape over millennia caused by naturally occurring climatic cycles (in simple terms: glacial era followed by warming, followed by glacial era…) – no mention of anthropomorphic influence. Meandered along, enjoying the views, the rocks, the flowers, the occasional little green guy…

Met several walking groups & solos on the Camino route (this section from Porto to Santiago about 200 kms).Chatted to two German ladies of a certain age relishing the walking on this coastline; the weather & colours were outstanding. When we commented on yesterday’s conditions they laughed; they’d spent the day in luxury in a spa hotel, ‘a gift from my friend’ – the other one. They were each carrying 10 kg backpacks as their only luggage, mostly water,  but had no pre-bookings each night: made it up as they went along. The night without power had been a torch & bread.

On the return leg of our Camino we noticed some folk enjoying lunch and a drink at a modest beachside restaurant, so decided ‘why not?’ (D was hoping for a bowl of chips).Ordered beers and a serving of the clams to share ( he’d seen or imagined some customers with clams and chips). Ours came with bread, but all was delicious & Camino travelers also called in. So engrossed forgot to take a before photo, so this is after

So our rest day was not so restful – about 9k steps. Weather was perfect after the rain yesterday, and the evening is peaceful.

Dinner. Portuguese baby Calamari, adapted…

Day 52. Wednesday 30 April.

Time to hit the beach? Well, at least stand on the sand at Nazaré and measure that big surf. It was about an hour up the road from Lisbon and a diversion from D’s time/location plan (but he accommodates it graciously).

A couple of guys were on body boards (we didn’t bring ours and T’s tape measure wouldn’t have done the measuring job anyway); a bunch of spectators on the shore had camera phones poised. It was a beautiful beach and marvellous grey sky. And those guys put on a performance: we wouldn’t have ventured in

Into Nazaré for morning coffee and a stroll. Wandered into an area very obviously targeting tourists, but T picked up some nice figs.

After the regular Portuguese tart and espressos, and navigating some more cobblestone streets, we were back on bitumen, D zooming in and out at 120 km/hr – but not all the time, mainly obeying speed limit signs (which marked him out as non-Portuguese) and T wishing it there were only 80 km/hr zones. Only one driver really bothered D, flicking his lights, wanting to overtake in the fast lane when it was impossible, as a truck, bus and other cars were ahead occupying both lanes….D said a few words to himself and flicked the Peugeot hazard lights at him – he backed off. The main issue is the merging: often cars traveling at 70 km/hr will simply pull over into traffic moving at 120 km/hr (or more). 

Rain set in as we moved along…Doris’ instructions were clear for a change: ‘for about 85 kms go straight…’ Phew! It’s so good when she’s in that mood.

Over the Douro bridge at Porto, through rush hour traffic and a bit later we were at our destination…or we thought so…

A phone call to the host’s representative, Eugenio (no English) was interesting, especially as the tractor was just doing repetitive tractor things with sand and there was nowhere to go. D got out of the car (with umbrella) walked around the bend…road totally dug up ahead, we could go no further. Came back, abused by the workers, in Portuguese, so he just assumed they thought, with his unkempt hair, that he was Trump. Eventually, T confirmed with a voice at the phone end that we had arrived and there was a tractor…ah! ‘Roadworks’…’Just wait, we come to you’ and then Eugenio arrived in a little blue truck and signaled for us to turn around and follow him. Which we did and came to this ‘tiny house’ with tight parking undercover at front door! We have no Portuguese, he has limited English – parlez vous Francais? Qui, un peu. OK. Merci, beaucoup, est tres beau! So far, so good.

Eugenio says,‘demain tout ira bien’. Not sure what that means, but we trust his judgement. But that’s about it, although through gestures and pointing we got a pretty good introduction. And this little place is magic.

We have a couple of resident cats, and a rooster (not D).

Dinner: An oven thing on a cold evening – should have been spare ribs from butcher section of supermarket (in soy & marmalade marinade) but the ribs were tres spare…more like bacon strips..oh well! Warm & tasty, once D got the oven going (Q: why does every oven and stove top have different ‘drive buttons’?) 52 days, 52 WTF. (WTF = Which Thing Functions, or something like that)

Day 52. Tuesday 29 April.

Having effectively lost a day yesterday, our bucket list was overflowing: so how to choose destinations in a city full of museums & galleries?

First destination – the LX factory cultural area and the Liraria der Devagar bookshop (collocated as it turned out) – the next challenge was how to get there. It turned out that the simplest way was the 728 bus from our local metro, Moscavide, to Alcantara Mar, about 11 Km. It was great because we had another overview ride, like a Big Red Bus, but without the commentary.

Duly arrived, ready for coffee – the LX Factory was once an old industrial textile complex, but now claims to be home to Lisbon’s trendiest restaurants, bars, and shops, located beneath the Ponte de 25 Abril Bridge. The bookshop is marvelously quirky, offering stacks of books, records and some artisanal items. We spent about two hours in the complex, just drifting, but T had two highlights: the jazz vinyls playing upstairs in the bookshop and a lady in one of the stores, discussing yesterday’s power outage – ‘the government is not telling us the true story’ – claims that the heat caused the problem just don’t stack up, as higher temperatures, in the 40s, are common, and it was nowhere near that.

Back on the bus, heading for the Museu Nacional de Arte Contemporânea – Museu do Chiado featuring Portuguese romantic, naturalist, modern and contemporary art, in the form of selected pieces from the leading art movements from the second half of the 19th century to the present day. A bit too much focus on old stuff for our liking (meant we missed the opportunity to go to current artists at Underdogs, another gallery) but it was beautifully quiet. Yes,T lost her man again but staff took pity, scanned security screens throughout building, made a phone call and identified that he was waiting at the entrance door, having lost his wife who was at the exit door around the corner. D was not agitated.

Back on the bus, heading for home and a well earned beer (that had to wait) because T noticed a sign pointing to the Fado Museum, (we’d lost the chance to do real fado in a late night cave), so we got off the bus at the next stop and made our way there. Good decision, as it was a terrific exhibition and well worth the last 90 minutes of the opening. Fado, as D was to learn, is rooted in the cultural identity of Lisbon and Portugal, from the 19th Century. The word “fado” translates to “fate” or “destiny” in English, and the poetry of the words and the music often reflects on the harsh realities of life, longing, and the human condition. T draws similarities with Irish ballads/culture/melancholy – very much part of her heritage.

So that was the end of our last full day in Lisbon.

Dinner. Potato Omelette Surprise – the surprise being that the six eggs D bought yesterday in his surge of power outage – panic- buying turned out to be hard boiled! Fortunately there were two fresh eggs still in the carton from a previous buy.

Day 51. Monday 28 April.

D knows that many scoff his extraordinary planning focus: generators, first aid kits, torches, red wine…(but T’s toothbrush needs new batteries and…!!!) 

At about 1100, just before heading out into another brilliant sunshine day, the power went off…all power, and internet and phone. Not to worry, we’ll just wander in the parkland nearby, get a coffee…use phone torch to get down 4 flights of stairs.

But….no cafes operating, traffic lights out, retail out…down at Oriente (biggest transport hub in Lisbon) thousands were milling, dragging suitcases down stairs, retail workers were enjoying sunshine and a smoko….a bit later retailers were guarding shop entrances.

There was no internet, no power and later we heard the goss that a ‘hack’ had struck Portugal and Spain (and later France was added). Oh well, we can go back to apartment and use gas for a coffee. Saw that there was some movement at nearby supermarket Cor, so perhaps we could get those batteries. It was Covid re-visited! Crowds were doing toilet paper, trolleys were overflowing, long queues at ATM and in store,  somehow checkouts were still operating and staff were managing. Just in case…we picked up bread, one potato, one onion, tomato juice (and a red) and in the frenzied atmosphere forgot the batteries.

Arrived at main entrance to apartment block…electronic key code not working of course and neither would the actual key provided. D was not impressed…Fortunately another resident arrived with a working key, so we were in. 

The afternoon passed and most frustrating issue was ‘not knowing what was happening’. T was temporarily pleased: we couldn’t go out because we had no sure way of getting back in, D was restless (wondering what the world was doing), we had no confirmed accommodation after Wednesday, was there enough fuel in the car to leave Lisbon? Could we get out of the car park? Service stations closed…no GPS…blah, blah, blah. Electricity dependence! But the bar across from our apartment was able to serve beers all afternoon, D observed from our 4th floor window. At 1830 D went out to learn what he could and T would be at front door to let him back in at 1900 for a team-change. 

A round of Scrabble started (before a proposed candlelight dinner – tea lights) and was abandoned when daylight faded. Candle lit, gas burner lit and then a cheer went up from below…lights came on next door building…then ours, another cheer. Still no internet or phone (10 hours outage)…Guess we’ll learn what it was all about in due course. Back to normal.

Dinner. Fish curry.

Day 50. Sunday 27 April.

Not quite sure how to tackle Lisbon after the shock of crowds yesterday, so we decided to use the Big Red Bus option to get an overview. It has worked for us before, pretty much everywhere.

So, onto the Metro, now as experienced users – able to top up our Navigante Occasional cards seamlessly (without the assistance of a lovely young lady unfortunately) and get to Cais do Sodre, where we could buy our tickets and get on one of the three routes.

Joined the queue, jostled on board an almost full bus and tried to get the ear phones to work. Moved seats…moved seats….eventually found a single outlet and shared the earplugs – one earpiece each. By this time we were a third of the way through the red line, having spent most of it with bum up trying to get some audio. Fortunately, we’d walked this way yesterday so probably didn’t miss too much.

We stayed on until the line ended at the starting point for all three lines: red, blue and green. Then took the green, which essentially covered the old area of the city, in a much smaller and more comfortable bus. It wended its way through narrow streets with tight turns, with great driver skill. And there were people everywhere. We had read that we must experience the Route 28 tram – we passed many of them on this route, people jammed in, and with long queues. Will give that a miss.

By now it was time for lunch, so we hopped (actually limped gingerly) off short of the finish, and into Hard Rock Lisboa. Bathroom stops sometimes have priority but when there was still no service, gave the (probably) best drink in the house a miss. Might try serving that when we get home.

Just up the street in some shade we found a delightful little cafe for some beers and ate our pre-prepared wraps from home.

Walked slowly up to catch the blue line through a long section of markets, offering lots of souvenirs and crafts.

There wasn’t much opportunity for photos while we were on the buses, but one in particular took D’s fancy. Although he wondered at the connection, he knows a couple of (former) librarians who could and would use those cannon.

The blue line took us very near to our home base, so we got off before the end for a short walk to the apartment, via a supermarket to get essential ingredient for tonight’s dinner: red curry paste!

Dinner. Vegetable curry.

Day 49. Saturday 26 April.

So much to see and do! And being back in a big city is quite a change from our recent bucolic lifestyle.

First task was to sort out public transport. Much Googling seemed to indicate that a Navegante Occasional card was our best option – out of many, some with a range of inclusions. So off we went to our nearest Metro, Metro Moscavide. Found the right machine, punched in the information (two cards, cost 50 cents with 10 Euro credit each: total 21 euros), contactless payment,…..wait, wait…wait…

A young woman approached and asked if we needed assistance. As we spoke, the machine advised that the transaction was declined. Start again, this time using a credit card. D typed in his PIN – declined: wrong PIN. Start again, this time with the right PIN. Success. We were on our way on the red line (changing at Alameda) and then green line to the waterfront getting off at Cais do Sodre.

Walked along from the Metro stop, seeing fishermen adapting to the situation, as they do. And we saw at least two (smallish) fish being caught.

Next destination was Bellem, for a walk along the waterfront. Usually that would be by train, but trains weren’t running – possibly due to strike action. So the alternative was the 15E bus or tram. And of course everyone else wanting to travel in that direction wanted the same. A fair bit of pushing and shoving to get on board: D crossly demanded that pushing stop, and surprisingly it briefly did.

The waterfront walk passes several big cultural things: museum of art, architecture, and technology (MAAT), car museum (Museu Nacional dos Coches), monument to explorers (Padrão dos Descobrimentos), Electricity Museum (Museu da Electricidade – which looks a bit like Canberra’s Fitters and Turners). Sailboats/ cruises went by, folk were on bikes, scooters, feet and group pedal outfits. It was a lovely happy scene.

We searched for a coffee and snack, stopping in at a couple of swanky and very expensive (overpriced) restaurants.We’ve been caught previously at over-priced, over-glam eating spots so departed without too much embarrassment (there were plenty of glamorous patrons on a beautiful sunny Saturday).  D googled and we eventually came across a little gem, short staffed, with the front man worked off his feet, mopping his brow, running between tables, counter and the pig-chopping board but with a constant happy face and interaction with customers (some were obviously family/friends) and the local blokes who turned up for a beer or a wine and takeaways. We felt it intrusive to take a pic: he was fantastic, dealing jovially with everyone who came in.The specialty of the cafe was pork – it was in pretty much every dish on the menu, with the exception of a vegetarian soup and a fish cake, the latter made with Bacalhau, the traditional salted and dried codfish. We sampled all of the three available starters – croquette, fish cake and empada – and opted for a second empada each, with some beers. T thinks she won’t bother buying some codfish (hoping to turn it into something else) but noted that it was on menus at various cafes today. Watch this space.

Walked from there down to the waterfront again, but by this time were washed out so began the return journey. Not so busy, but still pushing and shoving to board, and no attempt to offer seats to those with any sort of mobility/age issues (not just us!), so different from our Madrid experience.

Dinner. Vegetarian spaghetti.

Day 48. Friday 25 April.

ANZAC Day in Australia was pretty much over by the time we arose, and Essendon humbled by Collingwood. We were expecting significant disruption due to the 25 Abril commemoration, but this did not eventuate.

We had the luxury of a later check out (which D had not divulged to T) so while he caught up with the news she bustled to get out. But the pay off was a lovely chat with one of our hosts, Carlos.

We took a detour on the route to Lisbon to revisit Arraiolos and the tapestry interpretative centre that was closed when we were there on Tuesday. It was closed again – today is a public holiday ‘to celebrate freedom, so it’s a free day’ a shopkeeper in a store that was open gleefully told T.

After sampling the espressos and empada at the same delightful cafe as last time – they remembered the request for extra hot water – we drove up to the circular castle. It was a ruin, not inhabited, but we could freely walk around. D could picture such a castle in the Napoleonic era, when castles were besieged and stormed: it was very reminiscent of descriptions of sieges in the Bernard Cornwall ‘Richard Sharpe’ novels.

So, onto Lisbon via the slower route. Just had to stop for the roundabout statues that were, on first glance, so life-like.

As we neared Lisbon, within about 30 km, it occurred to both of us that if we’d been heading to any major Oz city we’d by now be deep in suburbia/urban development. It wasn’t until we were about 10 km from our destination that we became caught up in city density – a lot of it, of course, being high density apartments. And the little white cottages with colored trims were gone. We were in modern urban environs. But the traffic throughout was light, and surprisingly was sedate.

We arrived at our destination and parked outside. We’re in apartment blocks built for the Expo in 1998 and subsequently sold up. So far, so good, but the messages D had sent last night and this morning had no reply, so we had no idea how to get in nor how to access the on-site parking. D rang the contact: ‘you haven’t received the advice?’ Apparently there had been a computer issue (of course). Instructions arrived via WhatsApp, so we decided to walk the route before moving the car. First instruction was to press the ‘key hole button’ and insert the code. What key hole button?

Eventually worked that out, got into the apartment, picked up the remote and decided to recce the parking. Found two access doors from the street: which one? D, a bit slow, eventually pressed the remote: presto!

Back to the car, entered, found our spot, parked, unloaded, headed for the lift, up to our fourth floor: wrong block. Back to ground floor, cross to our lift, up to fourth floor: all good.We’re a travelling circus with bags of food and wine unloaded at each destination. D does a fine job in keeping up the supply of cumin seeds and wine.  (D later went back to find that our lift from the parking was in a different block. But the intrigue didn’t end there: there was a code, but where was the key pad? The code was entered on the numbers of the lift – duh – trial and error.)

So, we were in. Spacious, seemingly quiet, and very close to the train line into the city centre. 

Needed to get milk for the morning cuppa and ‘something to stitch together the leftovers from last night’….something would jump out at T  (and it did) so headed off via Apple Maps to a Mercado which was in fact, we think, wholesale, but was close to a Lidl, so we came back with far more than milk and the ‘something’ (zucchinis on special, 1 red capsicum, 1 potato, 1 purple onion, 1 small eggplant, a can of tomatoes and a jar of chick peas)….tomorrow night’s meal is already programmed.

The zuccinis made a delicious soup and last night’s pork & apple became a salad, with rocket and a bit of that capsicum. We’re far from starving. T reckons it’s time to get brave and actually commit to a piece of salted, dried cod, the National food (and it’s in every shop). Having tried this in a fancy restaurant in Norway some years ago, we’ve not been inspired to repeat but this time, if T finds a jar of red curry paste, then maybe it will get a run.

Dinner. As above.