Portugal

Portugal looks west, not into the Mediterranean, and that is precisely why it belongs here. Its kitchen is built on the same grammar — olive oil, garlic, wine, bread, the sea — spoken with an Atlantic accent. Salt cod was the fish that taught a nation to wait. Cataplanas still close over clams in the Algarve. In Lisbon, a custard tart leaves the oven with its top blistered like a small sun. This is peasant cooking raised to ceremony: caldo verde in a bowl, a glass of Vinho Verde, the smell of sardines on a June street.