Cavacas das Caldas

Caldas da Rainha gave Portugal its most playful ceramics and one of its most beloved sweets. The cavaca sits in every padaria window in that town, stacked in pyramids, white-glazed and glistening. Bite through the crackly sugar shell and there's almost nothing inside. Just air, just softness, just sweetness.

I first tasted these at a pastelaria near the old thermal hospital, sitting across from Dona Lucinda who had made cavacas for forty years. Her hands moved without thinking, shaping the choux, knowing by feel when the dough was right. "It has to fall from the spoon like this," she said, showing me. "Not too thick, not too thin. You'll know." I didn't know. Not then. But I learned.

Choux pastry frightens people. It shouldn't. It's flour, water, butter, eggs. The technique matters more than the ingredients. Once you understand what's happening (the flour cooking, the eggs binding, the steam puffing), you can make it with confidence. The glaze is even simpler. Sugar and water. The magic is in the contrast.

At my Mesa da Avó dinners, I sometimes serve these as a tribute to the regional sweets that never make it to Lisbon. Every town has its treasure. Caldas has the cavaca.