Pasteis de nata are a thing everyone tells you that you MUST eat while in Lisbon. Usually, there is no explanation of what pasteis de nata actually is. You just need to eat it.
Our tuk tuk guide veered off the street en route to the Torre de Belem and declared that no, actually, pasteis de nata is not what you want. What you really want is pasteis de Belem. Then he put us in a line and told us he’d wait until we’d eaten some.
When Fes and I got into the building, I still didn’t quite know what was going on. When the young man at the register asked how many I wanted, I hesitated before saying
“…two?”
Except Fes cut me off before I finished the vowel and proclaimed, “SIX!”
Pasteis de Belem, like the more generic pasteis de nata, are little custard pastries with crisp, buttery, flaky exteriors. They came with little packets of sugar and cinnamon, so you could eat them naked or dress them up however you like.
What was special about these particular pastries was that this particular establishment has been making them with the original recipe since 1837.
The recipe came from the nearby Jeronimos Monastery, where the monks had a long history of making these little treats. See, the monks would use egg whites while ironing clothes that needed to be crisp, like starched linen. With all those egg whites being used, what should be done with the yolks? Make delicious pastry of course!
When the monastery closed in 1837, a nearby sugar refinery bought the recipe from them. And now it’s 189 years later and here we are.
When we exited the building with our six pasteis, we walked about four feet before stopping to start eating. Why? Because that’s what everyone else was doing. There clearly wasn’t anything more important than eating these little pastries.
They were gloriously fresh and warm. They were divine. They were crispy outside. The centers were pudding-like, a little bready. Everyone was correct. We had to eat them. Now.
Was it wise for us to eat three of them per person, immediately? No. They were insanely rich. These little things are meant to be savored with a coffee and not eaten en masse.
By the end, pastry flakes cascaded down our clothes. Every flake that shook itself free was pounced upon by a half-dozen very fat pigeons. These pigeons were the janitors of the street, picking it clean of every fallen calorie.
Thank you for your service, pigeons.
