"There's nothing in Tunes," she said.
I groaned. We had a two-and-a-half-hour layover in the Algarvian town of Tunes (pronounced Too-nesh) and I was already hot and tired.
And hungry.
I envisioned us at the cheap and nasty café at the station, fighting to keep one another awake while we awaited our transfer to Lisbon. Our train from Portimão had taken us to this hub town, where we were scheduled to take a first-class berth on an express train to Portugal's capital city, the second-oldest European city, after Athens, Greece.
"There's no way I'm staying in the station," said DW.
She consulted Google for restaurant recommendations and found a place, just 400 metres down the road from the train station. It seemed to have favourable reviews, so she suggested that we check it out. If there was nothing to see in Tunes, the best we could hope for was a decent meal.
As the road came to a bend, we could see a small patio that was already occupied by what appeared to be locals at a couple of tables. At one, three men, apparently on a lunch break; at another, three women, having a leisurely lunch date.
A man who seemed to be the owner motioned for us to take a table on the patio between the two occupied tables. As we sat down, we ordered a bottle of white wine that seemed to be the choice of the tables to either side of us.
We had two hours. One bottle of wine was nothing.
The owner of the establishment, Zig Zag, indicated that the special of the day was an assorted meat platter. We saw that the gentlemen at the table to one side of us were eating it, and it looked amazing, but there was so much meat on the platter.
"No," the owner said, in French (he didn't speak English but was fluent in another language we could speak, "that platter is for three people."
"We'll have the same, but for two," we told him. We also ordered a salad and a plate of fries.
The platter for two was generous. The salad was plentiful. The fries, more than enough.
The meat platter was a mix of beef and pork, perfectly cooked and seasoned. The salad was fresh, and the oil, vinaigrette, and fresh herbs were delicious. And the fries were the best we had had since one small tapas bar in Lagos.
As there was no menu, we had no idea how much the meal cost but we didn't care. We knew that it wouldn't be as costly as Porto or Lagos, which at this point hadn't been unreasonable. Certainly, no more than what we'd pay at a restaurant in Ottawa.
For dessert, I sent DW inside, following the owner, to see what was on offer. "You know what I like," I told her, "and please order me a coffee with it."
DW had ordered a sort of creme brulée, while I received an almond pudding. All washed down with fabulous coffee.
The owner emerged from the restaurant with two bottles and two tiny glasses in hand, and placed them on our table. "A complementary drink," he told us.
One bottle held a grappa-like liqueur: the other, a small, ceramic-like jug, held a cocktail that he had mixed, himself. The mixture, on our first sip, was strong with cinnamon. It was sweet and delicious.
The grappa-like liqueur was good but burned the back of our throat, the cinnamon concoction was incredible, and we pushed our welcome by filling our glasses, no larger than a dram in size, several times.
With all we had to eat—the meat, the salad, the fries—a bottle of wine, and dessert, our bill only came to 38 euros. We had one of the biggest meals of our vacation and paid so little for it. Plus, the owner was kind, courteous, and generous.
Tunes may not have much, but it does have this gem of a restaurant. We were the only foreigners at the establishment, at the time, and we were treated like special guests.
If you're ever in the Algarve and find yourself at the hub town of Tunes, I can't recommend enough this wonderful find to kill the time during a layover.
Days later, in Lisbon, we're still talking about our layover meal.
Our vacation continues, tomorrow.
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