Letter #4: Perfect Prawns
By: To The Letter
Tags: Travel Writing, Food And Drink, Food Writing, Letters, Friendship

by Alexis Watts

Photography credit: Kelly Duoos

Dear M,

I wasn’t sure how to start this — should I tell you about my recent experiences with cooking ennui? Nah, Helen Rosner captured what I’m feeling perfectly. Should I mention my devastation over the long list of NYC closures which includes so many of my (our!) treasured places? It feels too soon, too sad. Maybe I should go off about the most recent BA fumble and all of what irks me about it, but honestly, I am too tired of repeating the same arguments (mainly, that food media needs to be better). The pandemic makes everything that is disappointing feel like it’s on some kind of endless loop.

This weekend I watched a movie where the main characters were in a small apartment, crowded around a long table with others, eating and telling stories. The light was soft and I felt a deep ache for the simple pleasure of sharing food in close proximity with friends. It’s one of the many things we’ve lost this year, and I hope never to take for granted again.

From there I started thinking about all the great meals from The Before — the unforgettable ones. Like our last meal with the girls before I left New York — sampling the best of Buvette, our small table practically overlapping with the next. Or those New Year’s brunches at that one diner in the UWS? So much informs the meals that stick with us. The food has to be good, sure, but it doesn’t have to be elevated. The company is essential. The light, how you feel, how the people around you feel, where in the world you are, how many hours of sleep you’re on — these factors all contribute to a Great Meal IMO.

About five years ago, I spent a few days in Porto, Portugal by way of London. I convinced two of my friends (who are some of the best women in my life) to come with me for the trip. We rented a small, centrally located Airbnb and spent days wandering Porto’s hills, docks, and tasting rooms. One day we walked to Piscina das Marés, a saltwater pool built into the seashore. The beers were cheap and the sun was bright and the water was…fucking cold, to be honest. But it didn’t matter.

On our walk home (or maybe it was on our way there, I can’t be sure) someone told us about this street nearby, where we could find a row of restaurants with grills out front. Fishermen delivered the day’s catch straight from the boats docked across the street, and you could eat lavishly at a reasonable price.

Photography credit: Kelly Duoos

We made our way there and picked a restaurant by the glorious smell of the food. The place was simple inside, just a few tables and weathered wood-framed-walls. There was a ton of outdoor seating with mismatched chairs next to its humble grill. We were early for dinner, but famished from a day spent drinking in the sun. We ate so well and drank 2–3 bottles of rosé for good measure. What I remember most were the giant prawns grilled to perfection and served in a garlicky, peppery, bright, olive oil. We ate it with endless crusty bread, slowly sopping up every bit over secrets and stories and rib-splitting laughter.

Photo credit: Kelly Duoos

We were in the kind of mood where the restaurant staff couldn’t help but smile and joke with our table because the kind of joy we were experiencing was utterly infectious. With the staff, we experienced the seamless kind of communication that can happen while traveling, where despite only knowing about three words in each other’s language, understanding comes easily.

The three of us also devoured grilled calamari, ribs, as well as a smattering of other small and lovely dishes I can’t quite bring to memory (did I mention the wine?). Everything was incredibly fresh. The air smelled like the sea. The light was golden and warm. I sat in close proximity to the best company as we ate with our hands and off each other’s plates with uninhibited enthusiasm. I think one of my friends may have even hugged the proprietor at some point, in an affectionate display of gratitude. It was truly a Great Meal. A perfect day.

I don’t think I could ever recreate the prawns we had, as they were likely local to Porto, but when I crave similar flavors I turn to Rick Martinez’s Shrimp Scampi, which turns out amazing every single time I make it. Add extra crushed red peppers for heat. Serve it with warm crusty bread, and rosé. Add a handful of friends, as soon as it’s safe to do so.

I can’t wait ’til we can do things like that again.

Miss you,

Lex