The cozido is as tasty as I’d imagined it would be, each ingredient, graced with only a memory of the smoky morcela, remarkably seeming to hold its own. And despite the cabbage, which has been tamed by the items around it, the dish has remarkable finesse. Trying it all, even a piece of the pig’s ear (surprisingly tender), is sheer indulgence.
António, reserved and distinguished, with great sweeping waves of white hair, sits proudly at the head of the table. At the end of the feast, as his guests chatter away, he reaches over, unlocks a cabinet, and pulls out another bottle. Isabel smiles approvingly as her husband pours each of us a glass. He announces modestly that it’s an 80-year-old bottle of Madeira. It is worthy of the occasion, he says, for the cozido is perfect.
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