The parrot is a curious figure, a character in anecdotes, capable of mimicking the human voice, a potential companion to humans—whether in the calm of the home or the turbulence of the seven seas, perched on the shoulder of a one-eyed pirate. In a tavern in the heart of Lisbon, however, the friendship between the colorful bird and humanity is strengthened by another bond: the pleasure of the table.
On the map of Lisbon’s gastronomy, the “X” marking the treasure lies at number 13 on Rua Lucinda Simões, next to the Arroios Market. There is no longer a cheerful, chattering bird waiting for customers at A Taberna Os Papagaios, but in exchange, one can find in the owner, Joaquim Saragga, the true adventurous spirit of corsairs.
A good conversation paired with an excellent meal is the promise—and delivery—of Os Papagaios, in an environment that recalls the unpretentious and welcoming spirit of traditional taverns, with raw wooden tables and chairs, relaxed décor that invites long meals into the afternoon, as long as there is conversation and one last bite.
Do not expect, however, the minimalism of haute cuisine. Although refinement and sophistication are present between the lines of every menu option—in the careful choice of products and the occasional substitution of an ingredient in a centuries-old recipe—the proposal is visceral, traditional Portuguese cooking. Literally visceral.
Liver, tongue… a complete anatomy from snout to tail. Os Papagaios serves hearty, substantial dishes meant to prepare modern-day travelers of Lisbon—office workers, local neighbors, and, of course, attentive tourists—to continue their daily journey with stomach and spirit fully satisfied.
A word of warning to sailors: despite the rusticity of this “root” Portuguese cuisine, do not be fooled—there is true craftsmanship in the menu, disguised beneath tradition, with a layer of gastronomic sensitivity: in a tuna pica-pau, in a pheasant broth, in rabbit cabidela; after all, our appetite also enjoys—and allows itself—to be surprised.
So it is no surprise at all that A Taberna Os Papagaios has climbed to the first place in the Top 101 Restaurants of Lisbon, organized by ImmigrantFoodies in partnership with Mensagem de Lisboa.
here the 101 TOP
A recognition that tradition, simplicity, and good food can indeed go hand in hand.
Hunter of flavorful childhood memories
Joaquim massages one part of his body or another—the forearm, the neck—a recent tic, the result of a motorcycle accident during one of the rides he still enjoys to release adrenaline. It may seem like dangerous therapy, but nothing compared to another type of vehicle this now-tavern keeper is certified to operate—or rather, to pilot: helicopters.
Born 48 years ago at Maternidade Alfredo da Costa, steering Os Papagaios is the latest stop in the life of a Lisbon native with the soul of a corsair, who has crossed land and sea between France, England, and the United States—a journey that earned him two diplomas, seemingly unrelated, on the wall: helicopter engineer and chef.
As for what is harder—piloting a helicopter or a kitchen—Joaquim has no doubt: “The level of stress in both is the same.”
Sincerity seems to be a non-negotiable trait of the pilot who traded the cockpit for pots and pans, first responsible for the neo-tavern Sal Grosso and, since 2023, at Taberna Os Papagaios, carrying on a house that opened its doors in 1952 and which, unlike today, did have a parrot greeting customers.
Well, “greeting” might not be the best word:
“I never met the parrot that used to be here, but the legend is that it stayed at the door, in a cage, calling customers thieves,” Joaquim says.
Typical for parrots, let’s be honest.
As typical as the restaurant now aims to be in the hands of this helicopter pilot, who embraces a gastronomic concept he defends fiercely: “The kitchen at Os Papagaios can be defined as seafood and also Portuguese dishes, made the way I like to eat and served the way they should be,” he explains.
A cuisine “as it should be,” which for Joaquim means preparing dishes that explore the full anatomy of animals, without prejudices that, to him, make no sense—such as dividing cuts into noble and less noble, for instance. After all, for Joaquim, the true flavor lies in the viscera.
Turning to the viscera is his way of feeding an emotional memory—from when, at 11 or 12 years old, he accompanied his grandfather on hunting afternoons in Alentejo. The grandfather whose name he inherited but whom he addressed more affectionately: “He was Father Silveira,” Joaquim recalls, of their hunts for pheasants, partridges, woodcocks, rabbits, boars, and deer.
The results of the hunt always ended up in the pot, and there it is—a memory that lingers in Joaquim to this day, though sincerity does not allow him to lie about one sad conclusion:
“Yes, I try in my kitchen to return to that past, but I feel that, despite all my effort, I will never be there again.”
But keep trying, Joaquim.
Visceral Portuguese cuisine with touches of Asia
Reviving the past is only one of the challenges driving Joaquim’s cooking. The other is new and unexpected: facing the refined palate of his fellow Lisboners and Portuguese people in general. Remember that unshakable sincerity? Here it comes again:
“The problem now is that the Portuguese palate has become very sensitive,” Joaquim diagnoses, making a brief concession to politeness by choosing the word “sensitive” instead of another he found more fitting. But not for long.
“It’s easier for a Scotsman, a German, or an Englishman to enjoy ox tongue or oxtail than a Portuguese person, who sometimes even makes a disgusted face when I offer the dish,” he laments.
To counter the “disgusted face,” Joaquim adopted an interesting strategy. For example, he “de-materializes” the tongue, grinding it into a tender paste, served to the customer as a complimentary portion without any details about its anatomical origin—only revealing afterwards, once approved, that the delight came from a part of the ox victimized by malicious tongues.
The most curious of these tactics, however, lies in choosing an inviting name that hides the true nature of the dish—like a house classic, Brincos de Princesa (“Princess Earrings”), whose appearance on the menu refers to the sparkle of jewelry adorning body parts that do not reveal the geographical source of the food being served: lamb testicles.
The challenge of balancing the visceral with the more reserved palates of Lisbon has benefited from the important contribution of chef Nuri, an immigrant from Bangladesh who has earned Joaquim’s trust and admiration to the point that he calls her his “right arm,” maintaining quality without losing grip of the demanding rhythm of a professional kitchen.
Not to mention the subtle Eastern touch she brings through spices, as in the unforgettable Goan cabidela bearing Nuri’s signature—a dish Joaquim does not hesitate to call the best in Lisbon, if not beyond, to avoid hurting sensibilities.
And if it’s the former teenage hunter and current helicopter pilot, motorcyclist, and chef—who has adopted sincerity as his compass—saying so, who would dare doubt it?
For those who do, simply head to Taberna Os Papagaios and see for yourself.
O jornalismo que a Mensagem de Lisboa faz une comunidades,
conta histórias que ninguém conta e muda vidas.
Dantes pagava-se com publicidade,
mas isso agora é terreno das grandes plataformas.
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