Holy Week Part V: Francesinha and leftovers

After the wine we poked around Gaia for a bit, got soaking wet, and went back to the hostel for dry clothes.

On the way home, we saw these boats on the river, loaded down with barrels presumably full of Port wine. The wine used to be shipped this way, but now it goes via temperature-controlled truck and now the boats are just for show.

We also glimpsed the sun just as it was setting, the only time we saw it in Porto. I took a photo to remember it by.

For dinner that night, we again did what the girl at the hostel desk suggested, and went to the Santiago Cafe for a Francesinha. We had asked our friend David about the Francesinha, and he wasn't able to explain what it was, just that he didn't like it. 

Having experienced it, I will try to explain. 

First off, pronunciation: frã.se.zi.ña (blogger doesn't do IPA, so this is the best I could do). 
Second, where to find it: in the north of Portugal, but especially in Porto. If Porto was a country, Francesinha would be the national dish. There is even a Irmandade da Francesinha (Francesinha brotherhood) that celebrates the dish. 
Third, what is it comprised of: the Francesinha comes in layers. Starting from the bottom up we have: a kind of thick, chewy sandwich bread, then linguiça, then steak, then ham, followed by another layer of bread, a layer of melted cheese, and a bath of special francesinha sauce. You can also get a fried egg on top, and french fries on the side. 
Fourth, what is the sauce: it's a secret. On tasting it, I figured some kind of chili sauce, probably with a tomato base. Wikipedia says there's beer involved too.
Fifth: a free ride to the hospital to recover from your subsequent heart attack. Seriously, this seems like it should be one of those things you find in a greasy diner where if you finish the whole thing you get your picture taken to put on the wall and your meal for free.

Here's a picture I stole from the internet because I forgot to take one of my own.

The restaurant was packed, and we ended up eating at the bar because there were no tables available, but that was fine. The menu had three options for entrees: Francesinha, Francesinha with an egg on top, and Francesinha with and egg on top served on a bed of french fries. But really there was only one option. As far as I could tell, every single person in the restaurant (which seated maybe 40-50 people) got the Francesinha especial--with a fried egg and french fries. I think we tried to order something else--the regular Francesinha perhaps--but that was what we got. 

Sitting at the bar, we got to watch the cook churn out Francesinhas at a prodigious rate--grilling sandwiches, frying eggs, melting cheese and doling out ladles of chili-beer sauce. 

For desert (I think I had it in the back of my head that it's spring now, and I need to bulk up for Gorge season) I tried to ask the waiter what one of the things on the menu was, the rest being pretty easy to figure out. (pudim=pudding. got it.) But, he just smiled and said something with the gist of, "no, you'll like it, I'll just bring you one."

And he was right. This is aletria, a typical desert of Portugal. At first glance I thought it was rice pudding, but it wasn't. It is kind of pudding-y, but what it is is threads of dough boiled in milk with sugar and orange zest and some other things, boiled down until it gets a kind of custardy consistency. super delicious.

Not much else to share about the trip. We stumbled home, unbalanced from the food babies, and went to bed. The next day we caught the bus from Porto to Vigo, then another from Vigo to Lugo. It poured down rain the whole time, and I read Oliver Sacks's Island of the Colorblind.