Going to Lisbon? It's a crime to not eat Pastel de Nata
Is it pasta-de Nadal — a pasta liked by the tennis maestro? I started reading the phrase 'Pastel de Nata' in a couple of British food columns. I still wasn't paying attention, so I continued to think this PdN was a) Spanish, b) a savoury. Then I read some descriptions that identified it as 'a sweedish item', as my school mess manager used to call desserts and puddings. Finally, I understood that this 'Swedish' item was Portuguese.
Last year in Oxford, I saw something called a pasteleria — Portuguese for bakery — had opened, and there was a long queue outside. Walking past it one day, I saw the queue wasn't there so I leapt in. 'Hi, can I please have one of those...?'
'It's called pastel de Na'a, sir. How many would you like?'
'Oh, just the one, please.'
'Just one? Oooo-kkkay.'
He tonged a small round thing onto a plate, an object that looked like a cheese puff from Kathleen's in Kolkata, only made by a very stingy, miniaturist puff-chef. 'That'll be £2, thank you.'
I brought the thing to my mouth, intending to bite it into half. It disappeared down my gullet before I could stop, leaving a memory of something crisp cracking and a warm wake of high-end custard. A few days later, I spent another two quid, and this time, the biting into half was successful, and I understood that it was the main point in eating one of these — to feel the slightly blackened salty pastry pull apart under your teeth and then to capture the ooze of the custard on to your tongue.
'Ah, you're going to Lisbon for the first time? The
