Folhados de Salsicha

Walk into any pastelaria in Portugal and there they are. Rows of golden folhados behind the glass, puff pastry shining from the egg wash, the ends of the sausages peeking out. You point, they wrap it in a paper napkin, you eat it standing at the counter with your bica. This is Portugal.

Avó Leonor didn't make these often because she made everything from scratch and puff pastry is work. But when she did, usually before a romaria or a family gathering, she'd make dozens. The house would fill with that smell of butter and pork and something browning in a hot oven. We'd hover near the kitchen, waiting to steal one the moment they came out.

This is the kind of recipe that doesn't need improving. Sausage. Pastry. Egg wash. Maybe sesame seeds if you're feeling fancy. That's it. The genius is in the simplicity. The flaky layers of pastry, the savory meat, the way it all comes together in your hand. Peasant food. Street food. The food of pastelarias and festas and train station cafés.

I've seen people try to complicate this. Add cheese. Add mustard. Make it "elevated." Não mexas nisso. Don't mess with it. Some things are perfect as they are.