Driving into Lisbon in autumn, you might be forgiven for thinking you’ve landed in a dream.

The sunlit, beaming city of winding streets dotted with houses in pink and yellow, and swathed in bougainvillea blossoms seemed incredible to our fatigued gazes. Having left a freezing Paris at 3am, in the dark, we were unsure if our bleary eyes were playing tricks on us.

A 100-year-old tram had just creaked past as we walked up the Alfama neighbourhood’s old Moorish lanes, and now we were sitting in a sunny courtyard we had discovered by accident. Someone’s washing hung over our heads, and an old lady tottered out to collect her post as we sat there, drinking light white wine and picking at a plate of peppers doused in garlic and oil. Everyone around was ordering platters of enormous sardines, but I chose squid, which turned out to be excellent: burnished to a rich dark red by the grill, stuffed with garlic, coriander and olives, and served with couscous.

Unlike Spain, Portugal faces the Atlantic Ocean, and its cuisine is marked by all kinds of influences including, but not only, the Mediterranean. In the 15th and early 16th centuries, the Portuguese were the world’s best explorers and navigators, and while they were busy exporting a brutal, religious-minded colonialism, they also transformed many of the world’s cuisines, ferrying produce, foods and techniques between the Americas, Africa, India, China, Japan, and the Pacific Islands. Their gifts to India, for instance, include cashew nuts, papayas, chillies, tomatoes, guavas, pineapples, potatoes, corn, and kidney beans.

Portuguese cooking itself is peppered with herbs and spices that reflect the country’s seafaring past: saffron, coriander, cinnamon, cloves, oregano, chilli, nutmeg, rosemary, and the famous piri-piri, which is an African chilli pepper. But while the food is enriched and enlivened by the fruits of Portugal’s voyages and plunders, at heart, it remains the sustaining cuisine of a peasant people. And seafood reigns supreme: sardines, tuna, eels, cod, octopus, squid, clams, swordfish, sea perch, shrimp and crab. Some of this is imported now, I was told, because demand far outstrips supply (they have the highest fish consumption per capita in Europe, and the fourth-highest in the world).

Lisbon is a city of very steep hills, and unless you have knees of steel, your legs start to cave after a while. This was serendipitous, because one of Lisbon’s most beloved traditions is its quiosques de refrescos (refreshment kiosks). These are small kiosks dating from the 19th century, often cast in wrought iron in art nouveau style. These are scattered all over the city, in squares, plazas and other public places, offering chairs and tables, and cheap drinks (coffee, lemonade, beer, port, wine, and fruit sirops ) and snacks. Some even serve sushi, cocktails, and desserts. And they’re perfect for a little pause between sightseeing.

Brought back to life by some white wine and a Pepsi in the late afternoon sun, we went off to the eight-decade-old Conserveira de Lisboa, in the Baixa district, for a look at its famed canned wares. Tinned foods are perennial favourites in Portugal for some reason, and establishments like the Conserveira do brisk business in canned fish and seafood. It was full of tourists who’d had the same idea — but who could resist this gem of a shop with its walls lined by colourfully-wrapped retro tins of fish? The Conserveira was born in 1930, and three of its original brands of canned fish still exist, with their entrancingly kitschy packaging: Minor, Tricana and Prata do Mar. Their products include sardines, tuna, squid, cod, anchovies, mackerel, eel and octopus; the fish is salted and boiled before being tucked into a can with various spices, sauces or oils. (If you don’t like fish, they also sell honey, sea salt, and chocolate sardines). Your purchases are wrapped in plain brown paper and tied up with twine, as if you were in the village shop of an Agatha Christie novel.

Finding ourselves with time to spare, we took the magnificent Elevador de Santa Justa up to the Largo do Carmo square. The wrought-iron, neo-Gothic beauty was built in 1902 to help people get around Lisbon’s steep slopes, and it bore us gracefully to Bairro Alto, Lisbon’s party spot.

Tapas in a humming Bairro Alto bar reinforced our impression that we should extend our stay: ham, cheese, prawns in tomato sauce, and fritters of bacalhau , or salted cod, the nation’s pride and joy.

Dinner on our first night was a comedy of errors; looking for one unmarked restaurant, we accidentally ended up in another. When we discovered we were at The Insólito ( insolito is Portuguese for uncommon), and not its more affordable cousin, The Decadente, we were halfway through our tiny starter. But having tasted the intriguing smokiness of the thyme-infused duck carpaccio, the bright burst of the orange ravioli, pears and port on top, and the potent, smoked cocktail that it came with, we knew we were on to a good thing. So we stayed put.

The duck was followed by a light, herby sea bass in rosemary olive oil, on veggies and quinoa-amaranth salad, and then lamb on the bone, slicked in lime, honey and herbs. Aubergines and mushrooms brought up the rear on a bed of spiced couscous dotted with goat cheese, almonds and onions. Its North African tones were rich and dense, and incredibly complex.

Lisbon was turning out to be full of surprises and serendipitous joys. And it was only our first day.

Naintara Maya Oberoi is a food writer based in Paris; @naintaramaya

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