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The Sausage Slinging Suitor

Updated: Apr 8


The highlight of Week 22 was hands-down the Sausage Slinging Suitor.

The Invitation

One day as I was walking home, I passed my neighbor who recently had surgery, sitting outside a café. He had a large box on his lap. Using a combination of hand motions and English, I asked if he needed me to mail it for him. Of course he did not understand but excitedly tried to tell me something with Portuguese and emphatic facial expressions. I got the idea that all was well and he would not be carrying the box.

Later that day as I was working in my window, I saw him downstairs with his son on our little square, pulling sausages out of the box. Suddenly, they were just below my window, slinging sausages in the air and saying something I did not understand. My neighbor went inside his apartment and came back out with a chorizo cooking dish which he waved in the air. I texted my friends.

[4:02 PM, 7/20/2023] Lisa Tis: oMG I think my neighbor is cooking me chorizo tonight [4:03 PM, 7/20/2023] Lisa Tis: He was waving a long string of chorizos around on the square below, brought out the flaming chorizo dish and asked if I wanted beer [4:03 PM, 7/20/2023] Lisa Tis: with my chorizo [4:03 PM, 7/20/2023] Lisa Tis: That is all I understand – “beer with chorizo”

After all these years I finally get my “Romeo and Juliet” moment and it’s a guy slinging sausages and talking about beer.

The Dinner

Later, I was in the apartment getting ready for poker night, when the neighbor motioned for me to come for chorizo. I don’t speak Portuguese and they don’t speak English but how bad could it be?

After arriving at the apartment I was hastened into one of two chairs at the table by the son, with his dad in the other one. The son wanted to know if I liked wine. Sure. I like wine. Do I like tinto (red) or branco (white)? I said “either” and made hand motions that I hoped communicated indifference. He asked again so I chose tinto (red). He looked satisfied with my choice and ran out to fetch the wine.

While he was out, his Dad showed me how to cut the chorizo, pull off some bread, which was very nice by the way (I must find out where he gets it from) and stuff the chorizo inside. After eating a couple pieces, we sat in silence for a moment. Then we played with Graça, his dog, until that was no longer exciting.

Next, we both stared at the door to give us something to do. I regretted not bringing my phone so I could fire up the translation tool. Finally, the son came back with a bottle of red and a bottle of white wine but opened the white. Ah, men. So predictable.

The Strange Part

The three of us sat and tried to chat. Most of the limited conversation I could understand centered around my marital status and age, both of which seemed appealing to the son. I wondered how fast I could drink the glass of wine and get out of there without looking like an alcoholic. As we drank our wine, we watched weird game shows on TV that seemed like a strange knockoff of “The Price Is Right”.

When dad got up to check something simmering on the stove, the son took this opportunity to try and pin me down on a possible date. Wow. These Portuguese men go straight to the punch line. He even kissed at the back of his hand, which I hope was something lost in translation and not him wanting to plant one on me while papa had his back turned.

The Graceful Exit

Finally, his dad finished tending what was cooking on the stove and joined us. When his son reached for more wine and offered me a refill, I declined as I still had some in my glass which was part of my exit strategy.

Before they started dishing out whatever was in the big pot, I polished off the rest of my wine in one gulp. While trying to make motions that I hoped would indicate playing cards, I said I had to go to poker night. I thanked them for the chorizo and vino and headed out and up the hill to my poker game.

While chorizo night got a bit weird with the son, I still love the dad. I cannot wait to start learning more of the language so I can hear all of his stories of a life lived in our beloved beco.

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