Bacalhau à Brás — Fish and Chips in Liquid Form?
As anyone who has become a regular reader of mine will no doubt know by now, I recently spent a few months living and working in the fine country of Portugal. It was a really fun and positive experience, and one that taught me a whole lot about trying new foods. One thing that I simply knew I had to try was the Bacalhau à Brás, a codfish dish listed on every single article about local foods to try while abroad in the country.
The list of ingredients seemed pretty simple, being made from potatoes, onion, and of course, cod. Even as someone with a narrow set of tastes, these ingredients were all acceptable to me, being simple, and familiar to the British taste palate. Really, this was just the ingredients for fish and chips, with a bit of extra onion added in, a British classic I was intimately familiar with. So, during one of my first weeks in Lisbon, I whipped out my phone, and started searching not just for any BaB, but one that’s supposedly great. After all, there’s no point going to the local equivalent of a greasy spoon diner to try a shining example of a national dish is there?
The restaurant
Google reviews warned me of two things which were important to know going in, and which would have annoyed me deeply if I hadn’t been forewarned. First was that the restaurant I picked didn’t accept cards, so this would be a cash-only visit. Second, was that I should expect to be charged a lot for water. The menu didn’t explicitly mention a price, and I’m used to coming from a country where tap water is legally free. However, a common thing at these tourist trap restaurants is to heavily push the customer into getting the bottle of “filtered water”, then charging a lot for it. However, since I knew that I’d be paying through the nose for simple water before even sitting down, I was able to bear through it suitably un-outraged.
The restaurant was a small, seafront eatery, with outdoor seating. In Lisbon, the majority of restaurant space is outdoors. Since the weather is generally preferable than what you get back in England, the inside seats, if they exist, are usually a few small tables, and are greatly overshadowed by the vast spread of dining area that spills out onto the street before the doors. I passed by a few restaurants with pushy waiters doing everything they could to get me to sit down on the way, but I already knew exactly where I was going to eat. I was greeted by a man who seemed to own the place, and took a seat.
I ordered a small dish of olives (which I had discovered previously that I really enjoy), a plate of Bacalhau à Brás, with a bottle of water. I would later find out the bottle was about four euros-ten, which was a bit steep, but, whatever.
I will note that the wait time really dragged on. I had been planning to go to the cathedral that day, but this certainly put a dampner on my timeline. I had the feeling that the man who served me was the waiter, owner, and head chef of the restaurant, all in one; he gave off a level of hecticness and hurry, but overall, I didn’t mind too much. I was down a quiet seafront street, with a lovely park-like area across from me, fresh sea air, and glorious sunshine shimmering off the gentle, salty waves. Despite it being the dead of winter, it was equivalent to a warm mid-summer’s day in the UK, and I was basking in every last wonderful second of it. As I sat there, I just remembered to savour the moment — to take in every last second of Lisbon, and to never forget where I was. I was there, and it was perfect.
It wasn’t too long before my olives and drink were brought over, which I began to slowly graze on. Initially, I intended to save a good amount of the olives for when my main meal arrived, but as my wait time stretched on, I eventually couldn’t help myself, and nibbled uncontrollably, until they were all gone. They really were the best olives I’ve had to date, and came in a wonderful dressing. I suspect there was olive oil in it, but it was also composed of other herbs and flavours, perhaps a mix of some kind of wine vinegar too? I honestly don’t really know exactly what it was, or I’d have sought it out again, but it really brought out the taste of them, and was delicious to scrape up the last of in its own right. The olives also delivered their best whole — none of this pitted nonsense you get in the UK. In Portugal, you nibble around the stone every time, and I really do think it’s better that way.
The water was a little more problematic. It wasn’t particularly chilled, it was cool-ish, but not the borderline frozen that I’d normally seek out. Over my entire trip, I started to get the impression that chilled water is somewhat disliked or even frowned upon in Lisbon, as several different servers seemed baffled by the idea I’d want my water to be cold. Still, here it was served in a heavy glass bottle, so thick that it looked like it provided more water than it really did. I got through a small glass or two before my food came, and it was tough to pace myself with only a small amount of not-so-cold water, being someone who likes to drink a lot of liquid with a meal, and the hot weather. While this was water situation was certainly enough to elicit a small grumble from me, it didn’t ruin the mood, and I still anxiously awought my meal.
Bacalhau à Brás
At long last, my meal was brought over, and what a meal it was. A large plate, with a large pile of yellow on it. On top of the small mountain of food was perched a single black olive. I believe this one was pitted, as it was more part of a meal than a standalone snack, and was drier than other olives I’d encountered, as it was sans-dressing. However, it was still a pleasant garnish to accompany the main feast with which I was about to get acquainted.
The texture was a smooth paste. Despite me having briefly researched the recipe, and having heard that it was made from shredded potato, it all broke down and mixed together well. It wasn’t at all like mashed potato, but rather more liquid-y, and goopy. It was blended with the cod, really blitzed together. It wasn’t chunks or bites of fish, but rather the individual little fishy fibres integrated into the meal on a fine level. I assume what was once onion provided taste, and some level of texture, contributing its moisture and slight jelly consistency, but you wouldn’t notice pieces of onion as such. It was really an ingredient rather than an element, and you wouldn’t identify it directly as being in there.
It had a distinctly creamy flavour, the blending was absolute and allowed the texture to match the taste. And it was most certainly fishy — the cod flavour really shone through, it was the same cod from fish and chips, but a very different meal in every other aspect. The flavour had that key similarity, but the presentation and form of everything else offered something original and new, and something which I would most definitely be interested in having in the future.
It’s hard to analyse more than one element of this meal, as it really was just one thing. Some meals are made up of a main meat, a side, and a sauce; several elements. This really was just Bacalhau à Brás. It was made of several ingredients of course, it’s not as plain as just a single fish on its own, but all that was on the plate was simply the pile of dinner. It was simple, but indulgent, understated and yet stately.
By the end of the plate, I was more than satisfied. It was deceptively filling, despite looking like only a modest plate of food. It was certainly a dense dollop I was given, not in texture necessarily, but simply due to being solid food all the way through — no gaps or air bubbles of any kind. I turned down the man trying to tempt me to stay for coffee and dessert, paid, and left, wandering with a full stomach back into the sunny, shining city.
Home cooking
Ever since I had tried this meal for myself abroad, I’d been interested in giving it a go for myself back home. While writing this article, it occurred to me that now would be the perfect time to obtain the mostly simple ingredients, and make the dish for myself. So, one evening, I gathered everything together in the kitchen, and got to work.
Obviously, in the UK I wasn’t easily able to obtain a great hulking solid block of salted cod like they use in Lisbon, but as the process of preparation involves washing all the salt off and soaking it in water anyway, I simply used fresh cod as a substitute. I don’t know if this means I would have missed out on any taste, or thrown off the texture at all, but it was the best I could manage. I began by cooking the fish in the oven while I prepared The other ingredients.
The recipe said to chop the potato into matchstick sized pieces, but oh boy, do I not have the delicate hand for that task. My solution instead was to simply obliterate all of the potatoes on a cheese grater, and honestly, it most certainly had the desired effect of thin, shredded pieces of potato. There was even a yellow puddle of juice at the bottom, which I drained off. After putting the heap of potato on a separate plate, I subjected a whole onion to the same treatment. This really stung my eyes, and due to the layered, separate nature of the onion, it didn’t end up in as neatly shredded pieces as the potato, more a puddle of mush, but it was better than anything I could have cut by hand. Eyes on fire, I moved onto the egg prep, which simply involved beating eight eggs together in a bowl, with some herbs and spices.
Soon the cod was cooked, so I pulled it out, grabbed two forks, and mashed it all into oblivion. The pieces of fish were squished to cover two plates rather flatly, and that left me with all my shredded ingredients.
Next, I began to fry the potatoes in batches. I did find that, in its damp and shredded state, the slices would tend to stick together, and as much as I tried to break these apart, it would still, to a degree, fry together like a little bird’s nest. As I worked my way through the hulking plate of potato, I finished preparing the rest of the meal, and laying the table. I also had to remember to move the cooked potato to a kitchen roll sheet to dry off the excess olive oil, between putting on each panful.
The onion came next, and while the recipe recommended to fry it for a full fifteen minutes, it soon became clear it would be burned to ashes if I cooked it that long, even though I was at the recommended “medium-high heat”. Because of that, I added back the potato a little early, then mixed in the fish. Once it was all roughly stirred in, I finished off by decanting the whole bowl of mixed eggs into the pan, and got to stirring.
As it wasn’t the highest heat ever, the eggs didn’t immediately set, but you also had to remember to keep stirring, or else the very edges of the pan would begin to omelette-ify. I simply focused on stirring these back in, and mostly, it worked itself into a moist and sticky consistency, without being as runny as raw eggs, or as set as scrambled eggs.
After three minutes of stirring and cooking, I took the Bacalhau à Brás off of the hob, and began to serve up. Honestly, the more appetising parts were on the top of the pan, and when the stuff touching the bottom was revealed, it looked a little more grey and blended, as opposed to a yellow-gold and fresher appearance. However, the whole thing was more or less served into one, uniform, large plate of food. I finished the picture with a small handful of oily olives on top of each pile, and served the meal to my guests/guinea pigs.
Home Eating
I sat down, grabbed my cutlery, and prepared to dig in. It was immediately obvious that this was not as good as the one I’d had in portugal. But I mean, of course it wouldn’t be. Assuming that I’d be good enough to cook something on my first attempt that would be comparable to someone who has cooked it all, day, every day, for decades would have been pure hubris.
I think the biggest problem was that, despite my efforts, the chunks of fish and food were a little too big, not as integrated and hashed up as the pro-chef had prepared it as. Rather than pure fishy fibres, it was actual cod flakes, which stood out a little. Although the clumps of onion and potato had come apart somewhat when stirred into the egg, it was still slightly noticeable that the ingredients were a little bit separate. This wasn’t just in texture, but in taste too. You could really taste each ingredient, but you could taste them more separately. A mouthful didn’t necessarily taste like Bacalhau à Brás, it tasted like potato, onion and cod in a mouthful. The real thing really blends the food perfectly into one flavour, but what I created had a less cohesive taste.
I will say that the olives really saved the day. In the one I had in Portugal, there was only one olive served as part of the meal itself, which I had eaten separately. This one had a handful, and biting into one with a mouthful of the BaB really helped enhance the flavour of both, and make the olive feel rich and dutifully mediterranean.
I was easily able to wolf down the large portion I’d served myself, but I definitely think there was massive room for improvement. If I’d tried this rendition of meal as my first time, I think I’d be indifferent to it, and not excited to try it again. However, knowing how good it can be, I don’t want to simply give up on this meal so quickly. I think in future, I might want to try cooking it on a slightly lower heat, try drying the potato shreds slightly before throwing them in the pan, to reduce them sticking together, and perhaps, once everything is together in the pan, running an electric cake whisk through the mixture on low setting, to try to more completely break up the cooked together parts, and separate the fish a little more. Of course, I’d have to make sure to not whisk too much air into it, and risk changing the texture of the mixture too much, and sacrifice the dense warmth that the meal provides. That’s all up to home cooking experimenting, and finding the way that works for me, and, as of now, is not the advice of someone who knows all that much about cooking.
It’s also worth noting as a quick addendum that I had some reheated leftovers the day after, and it actually tasted somewhat better. The harsh flavour of the onion had had the night to soak in and become one, and all of the taste really did seem more cohesive, and came together as one meal. Too bad simply chilling this meal in the fridge overnight every time doesn’t sound like an appetising or viable option, because it weirdly worked for me this time. Oh well, it still didn’t make the pieces of food any smaller, but it was an interesting point of improvement nonetheless.
Conclusion
Overall, I will definitely look back on what I ate in Portugal as a special meal. It was one of the first big meals I ate there, trying the local tastes, all by myself, and in the most wonderful sunshine to boot. It was a big memory of my trip, an outing that stands out among the many things that I did. While what I tried at home may not have lived up to what I had while I was away, and wasn’t quite on the level of being a ‘success’, it was only the most mild of a failure — it was still enjoyable, and a good meal, it just needed a little improvement. I hope that one day, I can try this meal again, properly, and would recommend this as the one thing you try while in the country. While some of their other dishes were delicious, you can toss an octopus or sardine on the grill in any country and get something roughly correct. But, I have a sneaking suspicion that if you want a true, delicious, properly cooked Bacalhau à Brás, it’s Portugal, or nothing.
