Most of my memories revolve around food and drink. Time is demarcated in exceptional meals, and perfect pours. Without fail, when the temperatures first break into the 80s each summer, I lust after grilled sardines, and a bottle of Vinho Verde. The char and saltiness of the fish, the soft, earthy potatoes, and the tart, mineral finish of the young green wine of Portugal's Minho province in the far north. I can recall this meal along the coast in Nazare as distinctly as a childhood friend.