Pasteis de nata

This being my first visit to Portugal, I’m late to the pasteis de nata party, but I do see what the fuss is all about.

Bite into one of these egg tarts and the pastry shell discernibly cracks, giving way to a buttery chewiness. At the shop under my apartment I detect a hint of lemon zest in the custard. I suspect these are near-impossible to make by yourself: Achieving the characteristic char without curdling the custard is a devilish trick, achieved only by brief exposure to super-high heat.

Each morning I put on a mako pot of Sical-brand Portuguese coffee, walk three flights downstairs and watch as my pastry man uses tongs to delicately place two natas in a paper sack (cost: 1.60 euros). By the time I open my door, my coffee is ready. Rituals like these reinforce my belief in slow travel, and I will keenly miss them.

If your corner pastelaria is out of natas, that’s a good thing! There will be fresh, warm ones coming along at any minute. I’m eating about four a day; I’m sure my doctor would approve.