
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 fried spirals of Portuguese feiras, piped hot into oil and rolled in cinnamon sugar. Street food you eat walking, paper cone in hand, powdered sugar on your chin. This is what summer tastes like.
Close your eyes and you're at a feira. The accordion plays somewhere behind the stalls. The smell of grilled sardines fights with the smell of hot sugar. And there, always, the fartura stand with its copper cauldron of golden oil and the man with arms like tree trunks piping spiral after spiral.
I ate my first fartura at the Feira de São João in Évora, holding Avó Leonor's hand, the paper cone already going translucent with grease. I burned my tongue because I couldn't wait. I've burned my tongue every time since. Some lessons we don't want to learn.
Farturas are not churros. I need you to understand this. The Spanish have their thing, we have ours. The spiral shape, the lighter texture, the way they shatter when you bite and then give way to something soft and almost creamy inside. Different dough, different technique, different soul.
At Mesa da Avó, I've served farturas as the final course. People don't expect it. They expect some refined dessert, something that looks like it belongs in a pastry case. Instead I hand them a paper cone of fried dough dusted in cinnamon sugar and watch their faces remember being eight years old at a village festa. That's what food is supposed to do. A cozinha é memória.
Farturas descend from the broader Iberian tradition of fried doughs that arrived with the Moors, but the Portuguese spiral form became standardized at feiras and romarias by the 19th century. The name derives from 'fartar,' meaning to stuff or satiate, a promise these indulgent spirals deliver. Every Santos Populares celebration in June features fartura stands, the smoke and sugar smell inseparable from the festival itself.
Quantity
250ml
Quantity
60g
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
from 1/2 lemon
Quantity
150g
Quantity
3 large
at room temperature
Quantity
about 1 liter
Quantity
150g
Quantity
2 teaspoons
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| water | 250ml |
| unsalted butter | 60g |
| vegetable oil | 1 tablespoon |
| granulated sugar | 1 tablespoon |
| fine sea salt | 1/2 teaspoon |
| lemon zest | from 1/2 lemon |
| all-purpose flour | 150g |
| eggsat room temperature | 3 large |
| vegetable oil for frying | about 1 liter |
| granulated sugar for coating | 150g |
| ground cinnamon | 2 teaspoons |
Mix the sugar and cinnamon together in a wide shallow dish. Set aside. This needs to be ready the moment your farturas come out of the oil. Hot farturas, immediate coating. No delays.
In a medium saucepan, combine the water, butter, vegetable oil, sugar, salt, and lemon zest. Place over medium heat and bring to a rolling boil. The butter must be completely melted and the mixture actively bubbling before you add the flour.
Remove the pan from heat. Add all the flour at once and stir vigorously with a wooden spoon. Return to medium-low heat and keep stirring until the dough forms a ball that pulls away from the sides of the pan and leaves a thin film on the bottom, about 2 minutes. The dough should look smooth and slightly glossy. Transfer to a mixing bowl and let cool for 5 minutes.
Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. The dough will look like a disaster after each egg. Keep beating. It will come back together into a thick, smooth, pipeable paste that falls from the spoon in a thick ribbon. If it's too stiff, beat in another half egg. The consistency matters more than the exact count.
Heat oil in a deep pot or Dutch oven to 180°C (350°F). Use a thermometer. Too cool and your farturas absorb oil and turn greasy. Too hot and they burn outside while staying raw inside. Fill a piping bag fitted with a large star tip (about 1.5cm) with the warm dough.
Hold the piping bag over the hot oil and pipe the dough in a spiral pattern, starting from the center and working outward to about 10-12cm diameter. Use scissors or a knife dipped in oil to cut the dough from the tip. Work in batches of 2-3 depending on your pot size. Don't crowd them.
Fry the spirals for about 2-3 minutes per side, turning once with a slotted spoon or spider, until deep golden brown all over. The ridges from the star tip should be defined and crispy. Listen to them. They should sizzle steadily, not violently. Adjust your heat if needed.
Lift each fartura from the oil and drain briefly on paper towels, just for a few seconds. While still hot, roll it in the cinnamon sugar, pressing gently so the sugar sticks in all the grooves. Serve immediately. Farturas wait for no one. They're best eaten within minutes, standing up, preferably outside, definitely with powdered sugar falling down your shirt.
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.