I tried my first papas de sarrabulho last night, at a restaurant run by relatives on my father-in-law’s side called Imigrante (how fitting — that would be me). I wanted to try it, but I think they were a little reluctant to serve it in case I might not have any clue what I was eating and became revolted by the idea or the taste. I had to be more emphatic in saying that I really did want to try it, before they believed me.
I’d heard about papas de sarrabulho before, a hearty dish that’s popular in the winter and available on restaurant menus in the north but not in the rest of Portugal. It’s discussed in the same company as another Minho dish called rojões (which I’ve eaten and enjoy from time to time). Both dishes are made from pork parts, the parts you have to request from a butcher these days. Like a lot of Portuguese food terms and expressions, papas de sarrabulho doesn’t translate into English very smoothly. I’ve seen sarrabulho referred to as “mashed blood” or “blood stew” as it’s a mix of chicken, pork, and other meats, thickened with bread and well-seasoned. Portugal is just one of a number of cultures that has blood on the menu.
If you’re not gagging yet and wonder what my reaction was…
This is a good time to mention that I was raised in two very different cultures simultaneously: one in which food is never wasted and another which wastes food on a regular basis. I ate things at home that would make my school friends run for the hills and starve rather than be forced to eat it. This turned food into more than an ethnic marker, it implied a class marker as well, although no-one would make that point out loud.
That said, I refused to eat tongue and tripe at home while growing up, mostly because of the smell. I also lived on a goat farm for a while as a teenager, which turned me off all goat dishes for years and years. It wasn’t until I lived around Caribbean restaurants again that I could give goat another try and eat it without being reminded of the goat farm. That level of disassociation takes time and lots of sampling of new food.
Which brings me back to the papas de sarrabulho: I ate the whole bowl and it was better than I’d expected. If you’re not a fan of cumin, this dish won’t win you over. I happen to love cumin, and it helps that I made a similar-tasting dish the last time I bought a whole chicken and made a stew out of the parts. If you’d like to try it out or are just curious about what’s in it, here’s a recipe in Portuguese and one in English.
January 16, 2016
Album: Portugal [Winter 2015/2016]
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