HAPPY MEAL

Many tascas, the no-frills dining spots in Lisbon, have vanished. But others, Austin Bush discovers, are being lovingly reinvented.

- Austin Bush

YOU KNOW WHAT a bistro is. If hard-pressed, you could probably define trattoria, too. But how about a tasca? That question was on my mind as I ate lunch at Tasca do Gordo (or "Fatty's Tasca"), a no-frills canteen on Lisbon's waterfront.

Housed in a windowless concrete building, the interior was just as plain: white tiles, bright lighting, red plastic chairs. But the place was packed with construction guys, office workers, families, and buddies on lunch dates.

"Tascas are for sustenance, not for opulence," said the food historian and chef André Magalhães, who is my go-to when I want to learn more about Portuguese cuisine. He was drizzling chili oil over dobrada tripe braised with white beans and served in a terra-cotta bowl. Between bites, Magalhães gave me a quick lesson on the tasca's humble beginnings.

In 1755, he explained, Lisbon was flattened by an earthquake, which was immediately followed by a tsunami. To rebuild, laborers were recruited from Portugal's far north and Galicia, in northwestern Spain. They came in great numbers. Over time, some of those working as carvoeiros, or charcoal vendors, opened shops that sold wine and, eventually, one-pot dishes, like the tripe and bean stew Magalhães and I were enjoying. And so the tasca was born.

"Any person who needed to count his pennies would go to a tasca," he said.

During the 20th century, tascas dotted every neighborhood of Lisbon, serving as affordable lunchrooms for the working class. They also became associated with homestyle Portuguese cooking, using everyday ingredients like salt cod, sardines, and potatoes.