A Load of Tripe in Porto

Dusk on the Douro. As the golden glow fades, one-by-one the neon signs on the port houses in Vila Nova de Gaia light up, Offley, Calem, Ferreira, the Sandeman don with his cape and rakish Andalusian hat. On the right bank of the river the facades of Porto’s Ribeira district cast their electric yellow reflections on the waters where the high-prowed rabelo boats bob, glossed black as the wine they once carried down from the terraced slopes upriver.

The waters of the Douro and the dark port wines link two U.N. World Heritage Sites: the vineyards carved into the rocky hills high above the river’s serpentine descent from Spain and the ancient city where the Douro meets the Atlantic.

Arrive in the Ribeira by funicular down from behind the Teatro São João and you suddenly emerge from tunnelled shadows into the magnificent vista of the river spanned by the great arch of the Dom Luís I bridge, its Eifelesque grandeur immersed in the lingering rays of a summer sunset. Built in 1886, this engineering marvel is not, as many believe, the work of Eifel, but that of his Belgian associate Teófilo Seyrig. The Frenchman is however responsible for the slightly older Dona Maria Pia bridge which spans the Douro gorge just a little up.

Ribeira is Porto’s riverside heart. A hive of ancient lanes permanently shaded by multi-storied houses linked by washing lines and alive with the bustle of urban life which has grown on these steep shores since the city called Portus Cale by the Romans gave it’s name to one of Europe’s oldest nations in the 11th century. Of course it’s been poshed up a bit, tourists now outnumber washer women and fish wives and café terraces have filled up the Praça da Ribeira cramping the style of the street urchin would-be Decos. There’s tastefully fancy new hotel, the Pestana Porto, newly opened in one of the ochre houses on the corner where cod-fishing fleets used to moor.

Gentrification has not however taken over. Porto remains a rough and ready place. Its citizens take northern pride in the saying that Porto works while Lisbon plays. They are happy in the nickname of tripeiros _ tripe eaters _ dismissing the effete inhabitants of the capital as alfacinhas _ lettuce eaters. In the confusion of streets around the wonderful Bolhão market, seemingly endless road works squeeze hordes of shoppers onto narrow pavements and into the path of beggars and hustlers, raucous lottery ticket hawkers and gypsy women traders dodging police with their bundles of fake-label T-shirts.

Along Rua de Santa Catarina and its tributaries there are havens to be found. Alongside the FNACs, Zaras and other pan-European chains are venerable stores specialized in surgical appliances, hardware, seeds, dried fruit, miscellaneous wheels, flags. Bolhão is one of Europe’s great markets. Behind its iron gates, the two story courtyard is filled with gleaming white slabs of tripe, hams from Chaves, fat crimson cherries, paprika-red choriço, alheira sausages from Mirandela, cumin-scented blood puddings, ripe peaches and meddlers, fresh-baked loaves. All this spills over into the surrounding rows of grocers, butchers and pastry shops that appear to be little changed since the 1920s. The Confeitaria do Bolhão is the place to try a francesinha _ a hearty Porto speciality that’s basically a huge white bread sandwich filled with steak, ham, cheese, bathed in a thick gravy with mysterious list of ingredients like mustard, beer, wine … like I said, hearty.

In the belle époque interior of the Café Majestic, white-coated waiters hover with trays loaded with toasted rye bread, pasteis de nata, pataniscas de bacalhau, glasses of chilled vinho verde and concentrated cups of coffee that are called bicas in the rest of Portugal, but known as cimbalinos here in the north. There’s also tea and scones with cream and jam _ recalling the British influences in this city where port wine traders from England once formed part of the city’s commercial elite.

Running through the heart of Porto is the Avenida dos Aliados, the local Champs d’Elysée, lined with grand banks and trading houses running up to the towering city hall. High on the hill to west is the baroque tower of the Clérigos church, one of the symbols of the city. It sits alongside the fabulous Livraria Lello a neo-gothic bookshop dating from 1906 where the excellent choice of volumes on Porto and Portugal are lit by sunlight from the stained glass ceiling and reached by the amazing twisting double staircase linked the three stories of books

On the hill opposite is the Praça da Batalha once the centre of Porto’s high society, the screen of masked balls, wild bachelor parties and operatic imbroglios in Júlio Dinis 1850s novel Uma Família Inglesa. Now it’s a mixture of chic and shady where down-and-outs line up outside a mobile soup kitchen beside the grand Teatro São João and the Hotel Batalha _ a modernized 1950s block which retains some local charm despite being incorporated into the French Mercure chain. It was a real bargain at 60 euros a night for a room for three. The corridors are decorated with photos from the next-door theatre and the rooms offer great views over the city.

Back on the riverside, Dom Tonho is Ribeira’s most famous restaurant, boasting a guest list that includes the likes of Eusebio, Fidel Castro and Catherine Deneuve.

However following a local recommendation we went this time to its more modest neighbour Mercearia renowned for fresh fish and tripe. Like most of the restaurants on the quay, this place is built into the old arched storehouses built into the cliff.

Upstairs is quieter, the window tables offer great views across the river to the port houses in Gaia, and the mighty stone walls are decorated with framed prints of old Porto. Downstairs it’s more down to earth with FC Porto memorabilia taking pride of place.

As with most traditional restaurants in Porto, they don’t make much fuss about port wine. We asked for a glass of dry white and were told they didn’t have any so made do with a icy glass of meia-seco. With it came aperitifs: a dish of whole prawns, some creamy cheese from Azeitão south of Lisbon, tuna paste, olives, good crusty bread rolls.

For the main courses we went for two Porto favourites. First up, polvo à lagareiro _ barbecued octopus. We got three thick tentacles, blacked over coals, doused in olive oil, with a sprinkling of garlic and raw sliced onion served with grilled green pepper and batatas à murro _ tiny whole potatoes baked in ash of the grill. It was … okay, could have done with more garlic, salt and the portion was on the small side.

Next up, tripas à moda de Porto – the city’s signature dish. The legend behind this dates back to the 15th century when the Portuguese went off to conquer the North African port of Ceuta. As the fleet prepared to sail out of the Douro, Porto’s patriotic citizens gave all their meat to feed the troops, keeping only the tripe for themselves. The resulting speciality is a huge stew of white beans, cattle guts, chorizo and carrots usually augmented with such delights as pig’s ears, cow’s feet, lard, bacon, smoked ham, a chicken. It’s all served with a big bowl of boiled rice. This one was nicely seasoned but a bit heavy on the beans and thin on the meat, just a meagre scattering of chunks of chewy tripe and some slices of sausage.

Our wine was a Quinta de Picoto, a fresh Douro red at 12.50 euros. The febras _ pork slices _ with chips which our little'un selected were fine, but this was a disappointing meal not improved by the dessert. Our leite-crème (crème brulé) was supposed to have been caramelized on the spot, but was in fact served cold and undistinguished. The ice cream appeared to be of industrial origin. Overall it was cheap _ 86 euros for three, but I’ve eaten better at the next door Filha da Mae Preta _ which locals tend to deride as a tourist trap. In the end I wish we’d tried the Dom Tonho.

Next morning things got better quickly. The boat left from the Vila Nova de Gaia dock at 9.0 a.m. We were taking a trip up the Douro from Porto to the vineyards and this was an unqualified success.

Our purpose-built vessel was an updated barco rabelo, but instead of hauling a cargo of wine barrels it was set with breakfast tables for the 60 passengers on this purely-for-pleasure trip.

The views were spectacular as we pulled out of the quay under the great iron bridge with Porto rising out in all its summer morning splendour on one side and the circular church of the Serra do Pilar convent high above us on the opposite bank _ the scene of heroic deeds during Portugal’s civil war in the 1830s.

Our cheery guides were pointing out the baroque Palácio de Freixo on Porto’s outskirts as we were served milky coffee and honey coated croissants for breakfast, then we were out of the city, sitting back on the sun deck and admiring the increasingly wild scenery as the successive meanders of the river each revealed a new landscape _ forests of chestnut and eucalyptus, rocky promontories, villages churches covered with blue azulejos, patrician mansions and a surprising number of glass-fronted homes in the modernist style inspired by world-renowned Porto architect Alvaro Siza Vieira.

We travelled with RentDouro which offers these day-long trips from 53 euros-a-head, or even less for larger groups. We passed through a couple of locks that took the boat up 14 and then 35 meters and were then served with an excellent lunch of vegetable soup, stewed steak, and chocolate cake and copious amounts of a very drinkable Douro red.

As the afternoon drew on, we hit serious wine country where embankments of ancient stone terraces rose above us on all sides loaded with vines carrying the raw material both for the excellent Douro table wines and the port itself. The boat moored at Peso de Régua the river town at the heart of the wine trade, where we had an hour to pick up some bargains at the excellent shop run by the Port Wine Route before catching the train for the panoramic journey back along the river to Porto.