Capri, Fuseta, Algarve, Portugal

As a youth I was, I think, fairly honest. I can say with certainty that I still am, which may explain why I have so few friends. Thus I don't think the state of our 2025 holidays so far can be attributed to the fact that I Iied when I was seventeen. But notwithstanding that, boy has it been raining on me! Unseasonal wetness in Sri Lanka made me hope for some rays during our annual visit to the Algarve where we spend a little time with cheery chums M & I.

Olhão is both a town and small county, an unfashionable area (for now) and much the better for that. Just 10 minutes by train (and a ruinous €6.40 for 4, return) to the east lies the pretty little town of Fuseta, where the Ria Formosa reaches the sea. Today's particular destination has been something of a Shangri-La for I. Everyone else in her family has been: she's heard it's great: but in four years she's never made it there.

We arrive early. We locate the place. Ms I ensconces herself in a coffee shaped place while we three go for a walk. We reach the giant statue at the far end. This fisherman knows what we didn't. He wears a large sou'wester as the heavens open.

Capri is a sunny island. Capri the restaurant is also a haven as we get there, forming puddles around the table. The southern Portuguese are lovely people, but I wish they were into the habit of shutting the door. We shiver for a while, but the large menu brings warmth, as does the counter display of the freshest fish imaginable. We had hoped for a table in the cosy room round the corner, but it was filled with a birthday table. That became raucous quite quickly: we warmed up quite quickly. All good.

The menu doesn't seem to feature starters, but we already have some excellent bread, olives, and little sachets of the sardine pate made along the road in Olhão. M fancies the Mixed Fish. Nope, says João, whom I take to be the owner. (Like all waiters, his mileage is prodigious, despite it appearing that he needs a new hip.) Why not? Because they don't have the precise fresh stuff which the kitchen needs. Said kitchen is staffed by three formidable looking ladies. Hooray! it's about time that restaurants realised that women ae much better cooks than men. What they were able to do was to take fresh fish, not only cook it perfectly, but also add a certain je ne sais quoi.

Squid (lulas in Portuguese) is not my favourite. This whole beast (not just the usual seaside rubber rings) was terrific, the tenderness of the tentacles nothing short of sensational. The red mullet (salmonetes) were larger than the ones normally to be seen in the market, and therefore much less fiddly to eat. I forget what M ate, but L's chunk of tuna was perhaps the best I've ever sampled. I'm not quite sure what the kitchen did to enhance it, but it was bang on. Oh, and it all comes with tatties and salad and a jug of lovely garlicky herby oil.

We were facing the dessert cabinet, which proved irresistible. Torta de Laranja is a Swiss roll of a thing. How the sponge can be so orange soaked without falling apart is yet another one of life's mysteries to which I am not privy. Bolo de Balacha  was a new one on me. Had I just read the menu translation of wafer cake, I doubt it would have trouble my palette. But the layers of biscuit, softened with some sort of flavoured cream (cinnamon?) were more than enough to make me renounce my normal no pudding for me, thank you.

We really didn't mean to order the second litre of vinho verde, honest. A half was what we meant. But hey ho it made the rain go away. And wonder came with the bill. All that food and wine with change from €100. And that was one of the more expensive meals during the trip.

Weather? Well just remember to take it with you.

The other three also liked-

Ria Formosa, 16, Avenida 5 de Outubro 14, 8700-302 Olhão  +351 289 702 504 

The two cataplana dishes which we shared were generous in the extreme. One featured prawns and monkfish, the other pork, clams and prawns. The leftovers with rice fed the four of us the next day. Meat dishes, usually served on skewers, were also large. The place was mobbed. So why didn't it appeal? Well, the puddings were disgusting. One resembled Angel Delight on a non-angelic day, and the centre of the so called cheese cake was reminiscent of shaving foam. But, I hear you say, you seldom order dessert, so what's the problem?

Hard to say. I found the owner creepy. Nothing wrong with sitting in a corner keeping aa beady eye on your staff. But why did they all seem so on edge, not to say unhappy?