dan S.
Google
Óbidos, that quaint pearl of Portugal, has revealed to me a most peculiar establishment—a farm-to-table shop where the vegetables are not merely consumed but leave behind wooden coffins to live their second lives as bookshelves. This enterprising use of refuse impressed me, for it combines two great human virtues: thrift and storytelling. The vegetables, they claim, are grown just beyond the charming medieval walls, kissed by sunlight and caressed by sea breezes. And truly, the carrots seemed to have more character than many a poet, while the onions offered layers of flavor (and emotion) beyond the reach of mere mortals.
But it is not the food alone that warrants commentary. Upon finishing their earthly duties, the crates that carried the produce are repurposed into bookshelves lining the shop's walls. These wooden relics, now dressed in philosophy, fiction, and cookbooks, seem to whisper the wisdom of the ages—or at least offer excellent recipes for soup.
The irony of reading Plato's musings on simplicity from a box that once held turnips is not lost on me. Nor is the poetic justice of a once-empty crate, destined to house life's knowledge instead of life's nourishment.
Would I recommend this place? Certainly. It is an honest establishment where the food is fresh, the books are plenty, and the ingenuity is boundless. It is, after all, rare to find a place where one may feed both the body and the mind in such harmony.
But beware! The cleverness of the place might convince you that your own idle fruit baskets deserve a literary second act, and not all ideas are as charming in practice as they are in Óbidos.
