It's the bifana, silly. Strips of pork sauteed with garlic on a crusty roll. On this relatively blank canvas one can think a web of potentialities: a spoonful of caramelized onions, a dab of horseradish, a few leaves of cress. Perhaps a pickle.
But that would be to lose the plot. You have pork and a roll. Afonso will allow provolone, but that's it. For more than a week, every time I walked by Afonso's place there was a line of 25 people. Every time ― and always precisely 25.
Until one cloudy weekday around 4 p.m. on my way to my favorite Lisbon grocery store ― there was no line. Afonso's must be closed, I thought. So why is the cashier resting on his elbows, looking out at the pigeons? My Portuguese will never be more assured than at that moment. "Dois com queijo." Finally, I rode the bull.
Three euros each. Cash only. Takeout only. The only condiments are mustard and piri-piri hot sauce. No seating. A nearby bench wraps around a tree. I stood and ate while inspecting the motorcycles parked along Rua da Madalena. The KTM 790 looks fun.
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