I dropped in this afternoon and asked to book a table at Tapas 65, the little hole in the wall where we ate a few nights ago. Small place, with only a few tables, an excellent atmosphere (Brazilian music,) and just a few steps from our front door. Our meal two nights ago was a lot of fun and tasty to boot so it seemed a logical choice for our final night. The gal working behind the counter was dubious at first about giving me a table but I explained we’d been in once and that it was our last night here. Mentioning that the Arroz de Pato was excellent sealed the deal. One of the kitchen guys gave me a thumbs up.

The crazy Atlantic weather roiled on for the rest of the afternoon following the soaking we’d received while visiting São Franciso. Today, it took pork cheek empanadas for lunch to beat back the chill. At one point it was sleeting. We killed the afternoon watching HGTV, BBC World News, and an old Belgium classics bike race on Eurosport. When it came time to go out, the rain had stopped.

Our reserved table was waiting for us and we settled in. MLW had opted for the Arroz com Pato (duck rice) that I had and really enjoyed. Changing up, I had Posta Grelhada (a chunk of beef done on the grill to perfection.) And of course, we shared one last piece of Touchinho do Céu, Bacon from Heaven that we enjoyed previously. Tonight we went with two more Douro wines from the Dialogo vineyard, a producer that frankly knocked my socks off.

The food was great, and a little interaction we had with some American women who were interested in the place was fun, but the highlight of the evening was the waiter. We got into the usual language discussion and I told him our Spanish was good, but that “Eu falo um pouco de Portuguese” which he loved. He told me (in Portuguese) that from now on, no more English. That mostly worked though every once in a while we had to rely on Spanish.

Truth be told, while all these restaurant people probably go in the back and say among themselves, “Can you believe those dopes?” in their native language, I don’t care. The experience is ours and every interaction like this makes it into a wonderful memory. (Besides, I doubt they actually say that about us.)