I cook two things. Once a month my dining room in Graça becomes Casa Duarte: twelve seats, one long table, six courses and a lot of wine from the Douro. The rest of the month I cook privately — dinner parties, small weddings, a birthday where somebody wants the food their grandmother made, but better.
The cooking is Portuguese but it is not a museum. Whatever the fish counter at Mercado de Santa Clara has that morning decides most of the menu. I buy whole animals, I use the whole animal, and I would rather serve you a perfect grilled carapau than something with tweezer marks on it.
If you have a grandmother’s recipe you want cooked properly, bring it. Those are my favourite jobs.
Elsewhere