Trivia Re The Seventh Sentinel.

When I sat down for lunch with my husband and friends ,who we hadn’t seen for more than thirty years, I turned up my nose at the dish of roasted goat. After all, it conjured up memories of my late Uncle’s goat stew that he used to make whenever we went on picnics to the Botanical gardens in Zimbabwe. Into an enormous pot, over a coal fire, my uncle would gleefully toss in  freshly killed goat (I kid you not), potatoes, lashings of garlic and an assortment of vegetables. I loathed it! Instead I feasted on crunchy bread with soft innards, and fruit, all the while ignoring my uncle’s indignant “Eh pa, what’s the matter with you?”

I say ‘turned up my nose’, but in actual fact I couldn’t smell anything because I had the flu. Totally bunged up nose, temperatures of 40 C, and not much of an appetite. All this on our tour (research) of the sites mentioned in The Seventh Sentinel. I ordered a plate of Bacalhao, salted cod fish, soaked overnight in water, then prepared with layers of onions, potatoes, eggs, garlic and parsley, and need I say, drowned in olive oil. Usually a delicious traditional dish, but with no olfactory senses, after two bites, I gave up. But my hubby didn’t. He persuaded me to try some of his roasted goat; the house special. I managed a small portion of ribs and despite my illness, it was scrumptious. So I decided that this was what my Sentinel would eat.

If you are ever in Tomar, Portugal, this is the place to eat and don’t be tempted by the other items on the menu. Try the roasted goat, and the local beer, you won’t be sorry. In  my mind’s eye, I could see the thugs leaning on the rail overlooking the river Nabao, and there really was a lone black swan there, jostling for titbits amongst the other ducks. I love ducks, as a child, we had two called ,Tar Tar (spelling is debatable, but that’s how it’s pronounced), and Ne Ne.