Fish, Fish and More Fish: Traveling Portugal

Those of you that know me know that I don't eat fish.  Clams, oysters, octopus, lobsters, crabs, shrimp--you name the sea creature (including seaweed) and I don't only not eat it, but am sensitive to the smell.  I've taken a beating over this throughout my marriage to my husband. I didn't know there was even anything wrong with me until I met him and his family.

Yes, according to the family that travels the world and is so tolerant of every culture and custom, they cannot wrap their heads around a girl raised in the Midwest by a vegetarian mother.  I never knew I was odd or that I should be ashamed of my tendencies to lean towards the vegetarian side of the menu.

Or the fact that I am a careful, patient person. I am not a risk taker.  I think this trait is actually a perk in my chosen profession of pre school and junior high school teacher, well, and even mother.  I mean, every single time I've tasted seafood it has had the effect on my taste buds of touching a hot stove. Really, I'm not very interested in trying it anymore.  I'm 46 and I figure I will spend my years left choosing the things that I actually might enjoy to eat or experience, call me timid, but it's not like I'm locking myself in my house and refusing to come out.

Some people, if they die tomorrow and are checking in with St Peter at the gates, they might say I wish I tried that spiny sea creature, it looked so delicious! My regrets might be more along the line I didn't burn some journals or shave my armpits  Hey, that is me, and I am not you, or that other girl over there, and this is my thought.

Well, all of this to say after dining at about every fish restaurant we could possibly think of for twos weeks, I had had it.  I am not exaggerating.  We were at Fish House, Fish Grill, Fish Market, Fish Night, Sea Life, Ocean Fish, Town Fish, Sun Fish...all with very nice wine and white tablecloths, but oh boy.  I am becoming an expert at recognizing fish in multi-languages.  

I threw a bit of a fit, seeing that our restaurant for the evening was a place with a giant grill on the middle so you could see your fish cook--the name:  Fish Grilled in the Middle of the Restaurant. After the last restaurant, where the man was showing off a lobster bigger than my 13 year old I could only imagine the parade, the grilling, the de-boning and the aroma. No thank you.

I googled vegetarian restaurant Lisbon.  The first one popped up with many accolades, why not?  My husband reluctantly cancelled Fish Grilled in the Middle of the Restaurant and made a reservation at Terra. Yum.

For starters, we got in the cab and it was the first restaurant that the doorman or the taxi driver did not recognize. A little red flag, but not everyone enjoys a full vegetarian menu.  We found our weathered looking restaurant and entered.  We then were informed it was a BOO FAY. Mmm. My husband pouted across the table and I had to stifle my laughter, as this restaurant was the antithesis of every single place we had eaten on the trip.

We were clearly in someone's backyard sitting in metal folding chairs.  We ordered wine, that if you got through the first glass, tasted better.  Birk and my husband sat arms crossed across the table, but I was able to try everything on the buffet without fear for the first time on our longish trip.  They ate a little.  I ate a lot.  The dinner will not go down as the best on the trip, but it will be remembered for being able to enjoy someone's back yard.