the taste of portugal

[Ficlet] Huff Puff

EngPort - Portugal gives England an unusual Easter present. Please look at this link after reading the fic if you want to see the abomination.
This is short, but I couldn’t let a certain dear nerd’s birthday pass by without giving her something to read. Love you, Hoof. Many happy returns!


“You know that traditionally you give people chocolate at Easter?” England asks. “Eggs. Sweets. Flowers. Maybe a pet bunny rabbit if you think the new owner will look after it responsibly.”

Portugal’s smile is an easy, natural thing, as though he hasn’t just blithely deposited an abomination on his friend and lover’s lap with an innocent Happy Easter. “I gave you chocolate on Dia dos Namorados.” (Portugal had, in fact, given England a lot more than just chocolate on Valentine’s Day, but even thinking along those lines again is beginning to make England’s ears turn red.) “You have many bunnies already, and I always give you desserts for your birthday, so! I found something new.”

England, still seated on his sofa with Portugal’s Easter gift sitting in his lap, regards his companion somewhat suspiciously, Portugal reclining comfortably on the sofa beside him, his arm thrown casually along the chair’s back. Despite knowing Portugal for a long, long, long time, the other Nation is still capable of a cheerfully bland look that is almost impossible for England to interpret.

Right now, England is attempting to work out whether Portugal is actually serious about the present he has handed England and is looking for praise for his ‘good taste,’ or if Portugal is being a happily merciless friend and has handed over a joke gift.

A gift of a large blue teapot shaped like a puffer-fish is rather hard to fathom, even if England loves tea and tea-sets, and Portugal is excessively fond of fish.

It’s still a hideous teapot.

“…A novelty teapot?” England tries a little weakly, because he really doesn’t want to be rude if this is a heartfelt gift. Portugal had looked so proud of himself when England had unwrapped the puffer-fish, and, if it’s well-meant, the love and duties of friendship (and the desire to continue sleeping with this particular handsome idiot for the next decade and beyond) will require England to make pleased noises and display this teapot in some noticeable location so Portugal’s feelings won’t get hurt.

Portugal’s smile gets a little brighter, full of soft April sunshine. England feels like groaning at the sight of it. “Not just novelty, I think? The design allows for practical use.”

England is never putting this teapot in his kitchen and using it. (For a start, none of his tea-cosies would fit over the fish’s tail.) “That’s…” he hunts vainly for an appropriate word, “nice?” Nice is good. “What ever made you buy it for me for Easter?”

“I saw it, and could not wait to give it to you.” England is touched. He thinks. And very distracted by Portugal’s hand, which has found its way along the sofa back, his fingers beginning to play very lightly with the fine hairs on the nape of England’s neck. “I wanted to see your face when you saw it.”

The sentiment is either incredibly sweet, in which case England should probably give Portugal imminent kisses, or absolutely deserving of Portugal getting the piscine teapot dropped on his ridiculous head.

If only England could work out why Portugal has given him this damn teapot.

Portugal’s hazel eyes are both bright and unreadable. “Do you like it?”

“…Ah,” says England, tightening his grip on the teapot in his lap. The pad of Portugal’s thumb keeps brushing along the side of England’s throat, slowly, and it’s scattering all the words out of England’s head. “It’s very original?”

Portugal’s lips twitch. “Inglaterra.”

England vainly ignores Portugal’s amused tone and questioning gaze. “I can’t say I have terribly many puffer-fish-themed items in my arsenal -”


England gives up. It’s Easter, Portugal is being unfathomable, and the pretty pain-in-the-arse’s thumb is pressing lightly, teasingly, on England’s pulse. A man - even a Nation - can only take so much.

“Portugal. Why in the name of God did you buy me a teapot shaped like a puffer-fish?!”

Portugal breaks as well. And laughs at him.

Oh I’m feeling it alright today, thanks to my faves, Portugal. the Man. The Alaskan natives are back with their first proper single in awhile, not including their electro groovy one off, Noise Pollution, from earlier this year. The groovalicious, funkadelic psych pop vibes they deal out on Feel It Still are decadent and scrumptious. It shimmies and swaggers with a slick sheen and a soulful vintage charm. Feel It Still is like Danger Mouse gone Fitz and the Tantrums. The hooking jam, which I’ve already listened to countless times today, is likely a taste from Portugal. the Man’s next album, Gloomin + Doomin. No release date has been announced yet, but I’m hoping we get to hear it by the time the band plays their Greek Theatre show in Berkeley on July 28th. They’ll be playing an intimate show at the Independent in San Francisco on March 13th, too! 

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anonymous asked:

There is a portuguese recipe that is rice with chicken. But involved with blood. And organs (hearts, livers and kidney). Also tastes like vinegar. Its called Arroz de Cabidela. Portugal, tell us, how the hell did you have this idea????

Port: “It was made back before I was a kingdom, because back then, ‘inferior’ meat was eaten more often.”

Catherine of Braganza: Poems

Catherine arrived in Portsmouth on 13 May 1662. It had been a long and stormy crossing, and as soon as she arrived she asked for a cup of tea. So rare was it at this time that there was none available; the princess was offered a glass of ale instead. Not surprisingly, this did not make her feel any better, and for a time she was forced by illness to retire to her bedchamber. Eventually though Catherine and Charles II were married, on 21 May 1662. Initially Catherine, a deeply pious Catholic who had been schooled in a convent, found it difficult to fit in at the bawdy and fun-loving English court. But over time she established herself, and as the pre-eminent woman in the kingdom became something of a trend-setter. Although she adopted English fashions, she continued to prefer the cuisine of her native Portugal - including tea. Soon her taste for tea had caused a fad at the royal court. This then spread to aristocratic circles and then to the wealthier classes. In 1663 the poet and politician Edmund Waller wrote a poem in honour of the queen for her birthday:

Venus her Myrtle, Phoebus has his bays;
Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise.
The best of Queens, the best of herbs, we owe
To that bold nation which the way did show
To the fair region where the sun doth rise,
Whose rich productions we so justly prize.
The Muse’s friend, tea does our fancy aid,
Regress those vapours which the head invade,
And keep the palace of the soul serene,
Fit on her birthday to salute the Queen.

Edmund Waller dedicated another poem to the Portuguese Queen after she recovered from a serious illness, which sadly caused the death of her first unborn child. The poem also shows Charles devotion and love for his Queen.

In the month of October 1663, Catherine was attacked by a dangerous illness. In the wanderings of her delirium she imagined that she had become the mother of a son; a circumstance which ( as it would have rendered her of considerable importance, both in the eyes of her husband, and of the nation at large,) was naturally at the uppermost importance in her thoughts. Among other morbid fantasies, she expressed her wonder that she should have been delivered without pain, but seemed afflicted at the notion that her imaginary child was ugly. Charles, who stood vigil at her bedside, insisted, with a view of soothing her, that he was very pretty boy.

“Ah!” she replied, “ if it were like you it would be a fine boy indeed, and I should be well pleased.”

The disorder gradually gaining force, Charles is said to have been affected, and even to have wept over his injured wife.

Waller, in his verse to the Queen on her recovery, alludes to the unexpected sympathy of her husband in the following lines:-

Farewell the year! which threatened so

The fairest light the world can show.

Welcome the new! whose every day,

Restoring what was snatched away

By pining sickness from the fair,

That matchless beauty does repair

So fast, that the approaching spring,

(Which does to flowery meadows bring

What the rude winter from them tore)

Shall give her all she had before.

But we recover not so fast

The sense of such a danger past;

We that esteemed you sent from heaven,

A pattern to this island given,

To show us what the blessed do there

And what alive they practised here,

When that which we immortal thought,

We saw so near destruction brought,

Felt all which you did then endure,

And tremble yet, as not secure.

So though the sun victorious be,

And from a dark eclipse set free,

The influence, which we fondly fear,

Afflicts our thoughts the following year.

But that which may relieve our care

Is, that you have a help so near

For all the evil you can prove,

The kindness of your royal love;

He that was never known to mourn,

So many kingdoms from him torn,

His tears reserved for you, more dear,

More prized, than all those kingdoms were!

For when no healing art prevailed,

When cordials and elixirs failed,

On your pale cheek he dropped the shower,

Revived you like a dying flower.

During her sickness, and in the belief that her days were numbered, the Queen affectingly appealed to her husband’s feelings, imploring him to give his support to her native country in its contest with Spain, and, when she was dead, to allow her body to be interred among her own relatives, and in her own land of Portugal. Charles, at this moment, is said to have fallen onto his knees, and to have bathed his wife’s hands with his own tears.

There was also another poem dedicated to her, although perhaps in the most unsavoury of ways. The poet’s name in question was John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester - so, there can be no stretch to the imagination as to the contents of this certain poem.

One day, we are told, the King and some of his courtiers were drinking some “Lisbon” (Portuguese white wine) and were trying to think up a rhyme for Lisbon. The Earl of Rochester coming in… Now, says the king, here’s one that will do it.

“None of us can make a rhyme to Lisbon” the King tells Rochester.

“No!” says the Earl. “That is strange! If it please your majesty?”

“Why! can you do it?” the King asks.

“Yes, Sir.” the Earl nods. “In a stanza, if your majesty will grant me your pardon?”

“You’re thinking up some mischief now.” The King says, smiling upon Rochester, “Well, I grant you my pardon.”

Upon which, Rochester, taking a glass of wine in his hand, said;

A health to Kate!
Our sovereign’s mate,
Of the royal house of Lisbon.
But the Devil take Hyde,
And the bishop beside
Who made her bone his bone.

At which the king, biting his lips, and frowning at Rochester, bid him be gone.

Eurosong's ESC '17 ranking and commentary

Good afternoon, folks! The clock is ticking down to the final and it’s now about that time of the year where I unleash my commentary on all the songs. I tried to limit myself to a few sentences per song, but since there´s 42, this will doubtless be considered by some as a big read. Tongue in cheek in part but very candid about my views on some of the songs - don’t proceed if you don’t want to see a few songs savaged. As the ancient Romans said, de gustibus non est disputandum, and these are just my views and tastes.

1 Portugal
From which planet did this extraterrestrial talent come and why do his people want to break our hearts so exquisitely? I cannot speak highly enough of these three perfect minutes of melancholy, longing, and yet, at the same time, love and hope. This performance speaks to the soul so intimately. It is a pure and timeless composition that I feel like I’ve known all my life, but have been waiting all this time to hear. Extraördinary and twelve cuts above everything else in the contest in my eyes.

2. Hungary
How I love the fearless Magyars and their tendency to dance to the beat of their own drums, sending things that sound like nothing else in the contest. This is one of the most emotional performances in the contest and certainly one of the most meaningful lyrics - talking about the prejudice he faced as a Romani and the salvation he found in songwriting. The music is a sui generis blend of rap, traditional folk and other elements - and the pure passion invested into the lyrics and their delivery gives me goosebumps.

3 Belarus
This is what three minutes of unshackled, care-free joy sounds like. Naviband are adorable, their chemistry pure, and their song is so full of joie de vivre. I feel like I’m out in the primordial forests of Belarus hearing the call of the ancients.

4 Armenia
Another nation keen to exhibit its traditional music in curious new blends is Armenia, who this year bring us something that sounds at once distinctly Caucasian and East Asian. A curious mélange of genres and influences make this almost as far as you can get from the tired “Melfest reject” mould. I love the non-linearity of this song, and the æthereal feel that makes the song feel like a forgotten psalm to the gods. Great effort.

5 Iceland
If you combine dark but infectious electro beats with some of the most subtly meaningful lyrics of the contest, you get this, in my book, one of Iceland’s best contributions to the contest in some time. Svala’s song is very personal to her and, through an extended metaphor, talks about struggling with accepting yourself for who you are. A very underrated track in my eyes.

Keep reading

Dear tourists,

There is absolutely nothing traditional about canned sardines in portugal. I have never tasted a canned sardine. I have never met anyone who has ever tasted a canned sardine. I have never owned a canned sardine. We dont eat canned sardines. The only reason they are popular is because you idiots heard we ate sardines and immediately thought that could only mean canned sardines, and as a consequence, amidst the niche-market of “lets make shit looking like it’s from 1955”, which blew out of proportions in the past couple of years (thanks Catarina Portas), canned sardines became the hit. Canned sardines did exist back in the day, it still does. Except that’s not what we mean when we say that eating sardines is traditional. I hace no fucking clue who came up with that canned sardine bullshit.

The traditional sardines you are looking for are the ones grilled outside on a hot summer day and smacked onto a piece of bread, dripping of olive oil. Not a can of touristic franchise bullshit.

Yours truly.

jilydidntdie  asked:

hey! sandhya, and i really recommend the song 'feel it still' by portugal the man :)

omg i ADORE portugal the man woegijerogjeiogre i love your taste!!!!! also i love your url!!!!!! i love jily!!!!! i love the truth!!!!!!!

SANDHYA: that feeling of satisfaction when someone you love calls you by your favourite nickname, dancing on your own to the beat of your favourite throwback songs, a cat choosing to go towards you when there are tons of other people around, the smell of lilac in the spring, the sight of lightning through a window, and ripe peaches and apricots.

🌹 name aesthetics 🌹

visionsofmylife  asked:

What are a few of your most played songs at the moment? I'm in love with your music taste!! thank you and much love xx

Smile- Portugal. The Man

Higher Love- James Vincent Mc Morrow

Lua- Bright Eyes

A World Alone- Lorde

Kissing the Lipless- The Shins

Okay there’s just a few haha