I first had manakish at a tiny Lebanese bakery near our old apartment, the kind of place with one oven, one baker, and a line out the door by 7 a.m. He would pull...

This is the dish I make every August when the tomato plants finally give up all their fruit at once and the counter is buried in more tomatoes than a normal family can reasonably...

In Morocco, mint tea is not a drink so much as a small ceremony. Someone pours it from high above the glass, a thin gold stream that catches the light and finishes with a...

My avó grew up not far from Mirandela, and alheira was the smell of her kitchen more than any other dish I can name. It is not glamorous. It is a fat, curved sausage...

My mother's mother grew up on Sao Miguel, in the Azores, in a house close enough to the water that lapas, limpets, were simply something you gathered off the rocks at low tide rather...

Every Portuguese grandmother has an opinion about pao de lo, and every region thinks its version is the only correct one. My Trans-os-Montes grandmother made a fully baked, dry-ish version good for dunking in...

Pão de Deus translates to 'bread of God,' which is a lot of pressure to put on a breakfast roll, but honestly, once you've had one warm from the oven with its sticky coconut...

Every year around the end of June my husband drags the grill out from the garage like it is a ceremonial event, and every year I hand him the same bowl of marinated pork...

My mother-in-law is from a village not far from Coimbra, and the first time I sat at her table for Sunday lunch, she set down a pot of chanfana and told me, only half...

Every August back in the village, the festa would spill out into the street with long tables, grilled sardines smoking away on tiny braziers, and always, always, a big bowl of feijão frade salad...