Waking promptly with only some mild effects on the noggin to punish me for necking a jug of sangria last night, another part of my anatomy was rather more unimpressed as I paid reckons for my consumption of the excessive and as I now understand, classic portuguese dish, the francesinha.
For the uninitiated, the francesinha is a slice of bread stacked up with ham, steak, sausage, more ham and another slice of bread to complete the formal sandwich conventions. It is then topped with a block of melted cheese and a fried egg, drowned in half litre of thick beer and tomato gravy, and then typically surrounded by a generous portion of french fries. It is often paired with a jug of porto ipa - a tradition which of course I conformed to.
Needless to say, it is heavy. Very heavy.
With the shadow of the francesinha behind me, the rest of the day was spent touring the steeped and cobbled streets of what must surely be one of the most intricately designed of all European cities courtesy of a great free walking tour, marshalled expertly by the brilliant porto walkers tour company.
Following a fascinating few hours learning about tiles, incestuous love trysts and the entrepreneurial use of egg yolks, we parted ways at the foot of the immense and imposing Luiz 1st bridge and gave the very entertaining and informative guide a decent tip for his efforts.
The afternoon was spent learning more than I ever thought I might about port at the Vila Nova de Gaia; the home of Taylor's.
I leave you with the very personal revelation that have rarely seen Liz more excited about anything than the port and cheese selection proffered to us at the conclusion of our port wine tour (Here is the proof).
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