Palitos de Coimbra

Coimbra gave Portugal its oldest university and these slender little cookies that have fueled students through centuries of exams and late-night studying. I first tasted them at a tiny pastelaria near the Sé Velha, handed to me by a woman who'd been making them since before I was born. She didn't measure anything. Her hands just knew.

Palitos are humble cookies. No cream, no filling, no showmanship. Just butter, sugar, flour, eggs, and a little lemon zest rolled into thin sticks and baked until they snap. The kind of baking that looks simple until you try it and realize the simplicity is the challenge. Too thick and they're heavy. Too thin and they burn. The grandmother I documented in Coimbra told me the dough should feel like an earlobe. I laughed, but she was right.

At Mesa da Avó, I serve these alongside coffee at the end of the meal. Guests always reach for seconds. There's something about the lightness, the way they shatter between your teeth, the subtle sweetness that doesn't overwhelm. This is the kind of baking that padarias used to do before everything became about spectacle. Cookie sticks. Nothing more. Nothing less. Everything they need to be.