I am back at my home base in Switzerland after nearly six weeks in Portugal and it is not an easy transition. Going from balmy t-shirt weather (unseasonably warm) to just a tick above freezing (seasonably gray) was to be expected. Warding off the inevitable aches and pains from not moving my body enough is working out reasonably well so far, but the necessity of sitting or standing in front of this box taking care of business occupies far more hours than is healthy.
Of course, I miss my horse, which seems like either a weird or an obvious statement, depending on one’s affinity for pets. Seeing my four-legged friend more or less daily plus moving around outdoors most of my time are both powerful serotonin hits. I try not to think about it too much and concentrate on planning my next visits.
What I did not expect was the lunch crisis.
In Portugal, lunch was usually my main meal. And I was not alone. The restaurants were always full with people taking a proper break. After wrangling animals in the morning, I was hungry for more than “just a salad,” and was never disappointed.1
After a coffee and some time for my meal to settle, I was back in action and full of energy. Whether I was hungry again in the evening or not was secondary, but could be dealt with easily, whether in a restaurant, take-away, or at home.
Interestingly, many restaurants in Portugal are only open for lunch. When you think about it, that’s a great business model. What if working in gastronomy didn’t automatically mean running yourself ragged to serve day and night? More people might do it. Which leads to my visiting spouse’s perpetual astonishment at the sheer number or restaurants in every town. How do they all stay in business? he marvelled. For one, they are not all open all the time. And: People go out to eat here. Enjoying food and the company of others is much more a part of life in Portugal than in our snobbity corner of staid Switzerland.
Weekend lunches in Portugal are the crowning glory of the week. This is where you sit with family and friends and catch up over a bottle or two of wine. I was often too busy to fully take advantage of this (or had forgotten to reserve a table early enough), but the couple times I was able to indulge during my recent stay were delightful.
This past Sunday, my first back in Switzerland, was gloriously autumnal. The sun was breaking through the morning’s fog cover and I suggested to spouse that we have a proper Sunday lunch, preferably up on a hill where we can go for a walk in the woods afterward. Restaurant One: fully booked.2 As we head down the hill (to cross a river and go up another hill), I quickly dial ahead to Restaurant Two. In 20 minutes? Yes, they will have a table for us. Phew.
In Restaurant Two, there were two family groups treating themselves to Sunday lunch. So far, so good.3 Seated at the window with a view of falling leaves, spouse and I enjoyed a lovely, leisurely meal sans smartphones. During our walk afterwards, we sadly realized that this could hardly be a weekly occurrence. A bill approaching 200 ducats (with only one glass of wine!) was not really sustainable.
This fact was pounded into my head again today, after a quick business lunch with a friend downtown. Soup, main course, water, an espresso. We both rolled our eyes when the bill came. “Not in Portugal anymore, are we,” she said. And the food was not nearly as good as Victor’s eel stew.
Of course, it helped that lunch was usually after 1 p.m. While some lunch kitchens close at 2, many serve until 3:00. Very civilized. I have never adapted to the Swiss Pavlovian response to the church tower tolling 12 noon. (Do not ever try to get a Swiss person on the phone at 11:55.) I am simply never hungry at 12, no matter what time I had breakfast.
This is not because Swiss enjoy Sunday lunch as much as the Portuguese. It is because for anything above the level of McDonald’s, one must reserve a table. Spontaneity is not a trait to be found in this country.
I was at first charmed by this and felt at ease, until it became clear that both were there to celebrate birthdays. In this country, you don’t go out with your family on Sunday just because. It has to be a special occasion. One is obliged.
The bill, the timing, the food... this is so true!! !! In Australia cafes close at 3 . At 3!! That's when we need coffee! And food courts close at 7. As if we were all geriatric chickens. I am never hungry before 8 pm, and my lunch is usually around 1 pm too . People are weird and I am afraid we're the only sensible ones out there u.u obviously.