The Best Places to Eat in Nazare, Portugal
We didn’t come to Nazaré for bifanas or sangria. We came for the waves.
It’s the kind of place where the Atlantic tries to kill you. Where surfers ride 100-foot skyscrapers made of water. It’s also where grandmothers in seven petticoats sell grilled fish while the ocean roars like a war drum just a few hundred yards away.
Nazaré’s reputation isn’t subtle. It’s loud. It’s wild. It’s famous for Praia do Norte, home of the biggest waves ever surfed. If Poseidon had a front porch, this would be it. But it’s not just about the waves. There’s a split personality here. Down below: the beach town: surfboards, families, salty air. Up top: Sítio, perched on the cliff, quiet and religious.
That contrast is what hooked us on arrival. The town breathes two ways. Sacred and savage. Tourist-friendly, but unbothered by the attention. A town that breathes it all, in and out…back and forth, like the waves below. We came because we’d heard the food was honest. The fish, fresh. The views, insane. And yeah, we wanted to see the waves. But we stayed longer than expected because Nazaré felt like something more.
We rolled into Nazaré on a dusty afternoon bus from Lisbon. The station was small. Quiet. Salt hung in the air like a warning. Away from the waves and the town. We were hungry. Tired. But we’d heard the rumours. Big waves. Bigger flavours. The town greeted us like an old fisherman. Friendly, but not trying too hard. We walked a few blocks. Downhill. Past white-tiled walls and laundry flapping. Then we saw it. The funicular. A small red tram climbing the hill, the only way to get above the waves. We paid the few euros and stepped inside.
Halfway up, the beach dropped out behind us. And the cliffs rose. We reached the top, stepped out, and everything slowed down.
Sítio felt like a different town. Cobblestones. Old women in scarves. A church square with kids kicking a football. No Wi-Fi signs. No rush.
And the entrance to the waves. Not like waves at a resort. Not background noise. These waves had weight. You could feel them in your chest. From the edge of the cliff, we looked down at Praia do Norte, where the Atlantic flexes its muscles every winter. It looked peaceful. But you could see the swell building. We stood there for hours.
And then the hunger hit.
We didn’t have a plan. Just a vague list of places and a gut feeling. The kind of hunger that also wants a memory. So we wandered. Through narrow backstreets. Past houses that looked like they hadn’t changed in decades. Cats sleeping on windowsills. Men drinking coffee. Charcoal grills. Garlic. Sea breeze. There’s a rhythm here. The waves crash. The streets twist. And the food waits.
We didn’t come for foam or tweezers. We came for fish pulled out of the ocean that morning, slapped on a grill, and served with a wedge of lemon and nothing else.
And for that, Taberna d’Adélia is the spot.
It’s not flashy. The outside looks like every other old building near the beach. But inside, it’s the kind of place that feels like someone’s proud grandmother runs it. Maybe she does. Fishing boats hang from the ceiling. Nets and ropes decorate the walls. Locals leave handwritten notes and “thank you” trinkets near the door. The waiters bring the fish out on a tray before they cook it. Not to show off—so that you know it’s fresh. It smells like salt, smoke, and butter.
We ordered the oven-roasted redfish, which came with açorda—a garlicky, soupy bread stew. The fish was soft, flakey, and perfect. No fancy plating. No garnish. We drank vinho verde, the local white wine that tastes like it was made to be drunk outside, next to the sea. We also had grilled squid and a dish with clams and garlic that disappeared fast. Taberna d’Adélia isn’t cheap, but it’s fair. You don’t feel ripped off. You feel full.
And we didn’t stop there. How often are you on the edge of the world?
Sitiado
Up in Sítio. Retro and relaxed. Tapas-style food with a Portuguese heart. The fried octopus was soft on the inside, crispy outside. The seared tuna with avocado, wasabi, and soy is something you’ll talk about for years.
O Casalinho
This one’s for the locals. Nothing fancy, but always full. Their seafood rice with lobster is rich, messy, and served hot. Order dessert—chocolate mousse or almond pudding.
A Tasquinha
Tiny, packed, and perfect. The fish soup hits like a warm blanket. Try the espetada de lulas (grilled squid skewers). Order baba de camelo for dessert if you’re feeling brave. It translates to “camel drool.” Sounds gross, we know.
Meia Laranja
This is takeaway heaven. A whole rotisserie chicken with piri-piri and homemade fries for eight euros. Find a bench, crack a beer, and call it a Nazare picnic.
Sabor’art Café
You’re in Portugal, so don’t expect a huge vegan scene, but this place delivers. Smoothies, vegan brunch, good coffee. It’s a break from all the seafood. So yes, your vegan friend will survive here.
In Nazaré, eating out isn’t a luxury. It’s daily life. Tables with paper covers. Plates that don’t match. Wine that comes in tumblers.
It’s not about style. The food isn’t perfect. It’s better. It’s honest. Would we go back? Hell yes. Especially during big wave season—November to February—when the town shakes. We came looking for a surf town. We found something more.
And when someone asks, “Should I go to Nazaré?”
We don’t blink.
Go. And go hungry.
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