
Chef Margarida
Areias de Cascais
The sand cookies of Cascais, where three simple ingredients become something that melts on your tongue and sparkles like the beach at sunset. Butter, flour, sugar. That's all. That's enough.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by
The glazed choux pastries of Caldas da Rainha, crisp shells hiding soft interiors, born in a town of thermal waters and whimsical ceramics, sweet and proud and unmistakably Portuguese.
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.
Cavacas have been made in Caldas da Rainha since at least the 16th century, their history intertwined with the thermal town founded by Queen Leonor in 1484. The local padarias developed the recipe to sell to visitors who came for the healing waters. The same town that gave us Bordallo Pinheiro's whimsical cabbage ceramics perfected these humble puffed pastries with their distinctive sugar glaze.
Quantity
250ml
Quantity
100g
cut into pieces
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
150g
sifted
Quantity
4 large
at room temperature
Quantity
300g
Quantity
3-4 tablespoons
for glaze
Quantity
1 teaspoon
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| water | 250ml |
| unsalted buttercut into pieces | 100g |
| fine sea salt | 1 teaspoon |
| granulated sugar | 1 teaspoon |
| all-purpose floursifted | 150g |
| eggsat room temperature | 4 large |
| powdered sugar (açúcar em pó) | 300g |
| waterfor glaze | 3-4 tablespoons |
| lemon juice | 1 teaspoon |
Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Preheat your oven to 200°C (400°F). Sift the flour now if you haven't already. Have your eggs cracked into a bowl, ready to add one at a time. Choux waits for no one. Everything must be ready before you start.
In a heavy saucepan, combine the water, butter, salt, and sugar. Set it over medium heat and bring to a rolling boil. The butter must be completely melted before the water boils. Watch it. Stir it. The moment it reaches a full boil, all at once, dump in all the flour.
Stir vigorously with a wooden spoon until the dough pulls away from the sides and forms a smooth ball. Keep stirring over the heat for another minute or two. You're drying the dough, cooking out excess moisture. A thin film will form on the bottom of the pan. That's good. That means you've done it right. Remove from heat and let it cool for 5 minutes.
Add the eggs one at a time, beating vigorously after each addition. The dough will look broken and slippery at first. Keep beating. It will come back together into a smooth, glossy paste that holds soft peaks. When you lift the spoon, the dough should fall in a thick ribbon that holds its shape for a moment before sinking back. This is your test. If it's too stiff, the cavacas won't puff. If it's too loose, they'll spread flat.
Using two spoons or a piping bag fitted with a large round tip, drop mounds of dough onto the prepared sheets, spacing them 5cm apart. Each mound should be about the size of a walnut in its shell. Don't fuss with perfect shapes. Cavacas are rustic. They puff where they want to puff.
Bake for 25-30 minutes until deeply golden and puffed. Do not open the oven door for the first 20 minutes. I know you want to look. Don't. The steam inside the oven is what makes them rise. Open the door and they collapse. After 20 minutes, you can peek. They should be golden, firm to the touch, and hollow-sounding when tapped. Turn off the oven, crack the door open, and let them dry inside for another 10 minutes.
While the cavacas cool, make the glacê. Sift the powdered sugar into a bowl. Add the lemon juice and 3 tablespoons of water. Whisk until completely smooth. The glaze should be thick but pourable, coating the back of a spoon thickly. Add more water by the teaspoon if needed. It should flow slowly, like honey in winter.
Dip each cooled cavaca into the glaze, turning to coat completely. Let the excess drip off for a moment, then place on a wire rack set over a baking sheet. The glaze will pool slightly at the base. That's traditional. Let them set for at least 30 minutes. The glaze will harden into a sweet, crackly shell. The contrast between that crisp exterior and the soft, hollow interior is what makes these special.
1 serving (about 45g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Margarida
The sand cookies of Cascais, where three simple ingredients become something that melts on your tongue and sparkles like the beach at sunset. Butter, flour, sugar. That's all. That's enough.

Chef Margarida
The Christmas turnovers of Alentejo, where humble chickpeas become something miraculous inside a crispy shell. Proof that Portuguese grandmothers could turn anything into celebration.

Chef Margarida
The butter cookies of the Azores, shaped into golden rings by island grandmothers who knew that the best things in life are simple: good butter, fresh eggs, and a cup of strong coffee.

Chef Margarida
The almond cookies of the Algarve, where Moorish orchards still bloom white against blue January skies. Three ingredients, centuries of tradition, the taste of southern Portugal in every tender bite.