If you haven't heard by now, the Portuguese know their wine. Producing it, aging it, consuming it and enjoying it. So, you wouldn't be surprised if I told you that I can't recall too much about the weekend that the boy and I recently spent in Portugal, visiting his parents.
Except that I can...Because another thing that the Portuguese know how to do? Serve humongous portions of food. Serve and eat humungous, colossal sized amounts of food, mitigating the effects of all the wine you're drinking to wash it all down. And then, here's what happens: after all of this eating and drinking and "Oh, Lauren, you only ate one plate full; here are seconds, but save room for cheese and dessert," you're left in a coma the rest of the afternoon, in perfect synchronized time for the non-stop soccer matches that just happen to be playing on tv; and if you're me, this will further induce the catatonic state.
Thank God for the Kindle.
But in between eating and drinking and comas, we all managed to tour the beautiful waterfront city of Porto (Parents included). And while I awkwardly tried to dodge parental discussions of marriage and my desire for him to move to California, we admired Porto's impressive architecture, lively squares, river-front restaurants and countless churches. And here's what I thought: It's nice, quaint and historic. I envy their relaxing spirit, their incredible seafood restaurants, and their tolerance levels for alcohol. I hope to visit again, because only in Portugal, is it okay to tour wine caves at 10 a.m. and indulge in every tasting. As the Portuguese say with their wine glasses up, Ching Ching!
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