I spoke the other day about the joys of random discovery; you can add this to the supporting documentation for that argument.
I was wandering around the other day and I saw an impressive-looking statue of a man on a horse (who turns out to be King John I, a Portuguese king from the 1300s). I thought to myself, I should probably photograph that, because like all tourists I am drawn to elaborate statues like a moth to a flame.
It turned out there was some kind of makeshift market behind the statue called Mercado da Baixa, and it included this place:
I mean, look at that. It’s a griddle full of grease and random sausages. If you can say no to that, clearly you are a stronger man than I. I took one look and knew instantly that I needed those sausages in my life.
Obviously I ordered a sandwich.
The reason some of the sausages look so dark is that the last pieces she crammed into the sandwich were from a morcela sausage, which is a blood sausage. Now, I know the knee-jerk reaction from many people who grew up in North America is that this is gross, but trust me, it is not gross. It has an addictively intense flavour that doesn’t have any of the organ-like notes you might be afraid of, and the texture is almost creamy (again, this sounds weird for a sausage, but trust me: it’s so good).
It was actually the best sausage in the bunch, but the other ones (including chorizo) were quite good too. The bread was a bit overwhelmingly crusty, but it was still a top-shelf sandwich.