SALA de João Sá

There are chefs who cook ideas and chefs who cook memory. João Sá is firmly the second kind, and SALA — a small, warm room on Rua dos Bacalhoeiros, a street named for the men who once landed the cod — is where he sets his down. The menu moves through Portugal, but not the postcard version: this is the country as remembered from a specific kitchen, with the sea, the Alentejo and a good deal of São Tomé in it.

The cooking is technically serious without ever announcing itself. A course built on carabineiro will pull sweetness out of the head and use it to season the tail. Bacalhau turns up somewhere, inevitably, and is treated with the confidence of a chef who knows the ingredient is a cliché and intends to win the argument anyway. Fermentation and preserving run underneath a lot of the menu, giving dishes a depth that reads as old rather than fashionable.

The room seats very few people, which is the point. Plates are delivered by the people who cooked them, explanations are short and unpompous, and by the third course the whole thing feels less like a restaurant service and more like being fed by someone who wants you to understand something. The wine list is thoughtful and fairly priced by starred standards.

Honest notes: it is a long menu and a long sitting — set aside three hours and do not book anything after it. The Baixa location means you walk out into tourist traffic, which is a slightly jarring landing. Book well ahead; the room is small and word has spread.