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After a staggering day at work…

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We feast!

Clockwise, from left: the greater chunk of our group of thirty. Marta and Neal toasting the good life. Jane breaks out her impeccable Portuguese to negotiate the entrees with our beloved chef.
Clockwise, from left: the greater chunk of our group of thirty. Marta and Neal toasting the good life. Jane breaks out her impeccable Portuguese to negotiate the entrees with our beloved chef.

My Lo scouted the most charming of establishments, half an hour hike from the palace under an early-rising full moon. This family-run, hole-in-the-wall specializes in food from the Island of Madeira, pointing towards the north-western coast of Morocco. The service was beyond polished, and the fare outrageous.

It’s amaaaaazing” is a well-known verbal habit of mine, though I contest it is always with the utmost authenticity. In part, I’m choosy and strive to avoid anything short of amazing. A tall order, I know. But gosh darnit this meal was the real thing! The people, the place, the good cheer; without which a successful eating is impossible. Time is slow, eating is plenty, and the glass never runs dry.

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There is no shortage of olives, olive oil and fresh cheese in this country, doled out like bread to start any meal. An improvised garlic bread; toasted English muffin lathered with garlic, herbs and butter. Fried polenta with chips. If so desired, “beef cow fashion house”, or beef: house style. As you wish.

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Fresh squid, cooked tenderly in a garlic and herbed butter sauce. Shrimp, drenched in herb infused olive oil and garlic. Fish with a passion fruit glaze. Shrimping pinkies, apparently a McKnight tradition.

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More pinky shrimping a la Dr. Evil. Marta bears another seafood dish for the family-style passing. A fresh salad.

Clockwise, from left: Neal and Fred. Bill and Jane. The chef's daughter with her son? Baby cousin? Adorable.
Clockwise, from left: Neal and Fred. Bill and Jane. The chef’s daughter with her son? Baby cousin? Adorable.

Everything is fresh, abundant and cooked with good care. Our bellies can’t afford dessert, so instead we are treated to a traditional, merry folk song, and sent off with hugs and good tidings.

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