Seaside Towns

On sun-baked ropes strung between balconies and harbour posts, marine life dries beside laundry. Towns wake slowly to the rhythm of the tide; fishermen haul nets, women fold linen, and children chase gulls along the quay. These are lesser-known seaside towns that still live by the sea’s clock—where what the locals eat depends on what the water yields, and how they cook it is shaped by generations of tide and toil.

Image credit: Yunho Jeong, Unsplash.

Nazaré, Portugal
In this seaside town on the central west coast, the scent of salt and smoke drifts through narrow streets before the sun has fully risen. The Atlantic’s pulse can be felt in the morning clamour of the fish market. Shimmering rows of mackerel, sardines, and carapau (horse mackerel) glint under the first light, while octopus and cuttlefish sway on wooden rails, drying in the breeze that carries the distant sound of waves. Nazaré’s roots stretch back to ancient times, but the town rose to prominence in the Middle Ages, bound up with a local legend of Our Lady of Nazaré, credited with saving a nobleman from riding off a cliff in 1182.

Nazaré. Image credit: Luana Norões, Unsplash.

Food in Nazaré
At home, cooking begins from the waters and ends with the stove left on low. Locals grill sardines, simmer fish stews thick, and dress everything with olive oil, garlic, and vinegar. Meals are relaxed, eaten late, bread always on the table, conversation as essential as salt. Locals recommend trying caldeirada, the town’s rich fish stew, a medley of the day’s catch, simmered with onions, potatoes, and tomatoes until the flavours ripple together, deep and briny.

Caldeirada de Peixe, traditional Portuguese fish stew. Image credit: wetravelportugal.com.

Families gather at Restaurante A Tasquinha or Taberna d’Adélia, where the food tells a story of the ocean’s generosity and the sun-warmed, unhurried rhythm of life in this Atlantic town.

Octopus fritters and monkfish stew. Image credits: A Tasquinha.

Common sights in Nazaré. Image credits: @travelsven and Marina Maliutina, Unsplash.

Marsaxlokk, Malta
Across the Mediterranean, Marsaxlokk wakes to the gentle sway of its harbour, a kaleidoscope of luzzu boats—traditional, brightly painted wooden vessels—bobbing like painted dreams upon the sea. Once a Phoenician port, and later a vital fishing hub under Roman and Arab rule, the village has long lived by the rhythms of tide and trade.

Fisherman village in Marsaxlokk. Image credit: Calin Stan, Unsplash.

Most luzzus bear the painted Eye of Osiris for protection. Image credit: Mick Haupt, Unsplash.

Food in Marsaxlokk
The morning air carries the briny scent of the sea, mingling with the chatter of fishermen sorting their catch—bright red mullet, gilt-head bream, and the plump, sweet lampuki that are usually laid out on local tables. Maltese home cooking is generous. Fish is baked or stewed with capers, tomatoes, and olives, while rabbit or bragioli (beef olives) slow-cook in wine-rich sauces. Meals stretch across hours, accompanied by bread and olive oil. Fish might be lightly grilled over charcoal, rubbed with sea salt and lemon, or stewed slowly with garlic, tomatoes, and a splash of local wine, letting the flavours mingle as lazily as the tide. The Sunday fish market is a ritual, where locals haggle and share recipes alongside crates of fresh prawns, squid, and octopus, much of which will end up in classic dishes like aljotta, a fragrant fish soup, or in simple platters of lampuki pie, still warm from ovens.

Fresh catch at the Sunday market of Marsaxlokk. Image credit: Ana Matei.

For the most authentic taste, families drift toward the harbour line, where restaurants such as Tartarun or La Nostra Padrona serve seafood with pride.

Grouper, razor clams and artichokes in ‘nduja broth, and oysters. Image credits: Tartarun and La Nostra Padrona.

Trondheim, Norway
Dawn spills over the Trondheimsfjord, and the city’s wooden wharves catch the first pale light, red and ochre reflections shimmering on the water. Fishing boats rock gently, nets piled high with the morning’s catch, while smoke from kitchen chimneys drifts across narrow streets where centuries of traders, fishermen, and monks once walked. Founded by Vikings and crowned by the soaring Nidaros Cathedral, Trondheim has always moved to the rhythm of the fjord—its people reading the seasons in the tides, the light, and the bounty of the sea. Even today, home kitchens and harbour stalls alike echo that same cadence, where fresh cod, salmon, and shrimp are transformed with care into dishes that taste of both water and soil.

Trondheim. Image credit: Darolti Dan, Unsplash.

Food in Trondheim
Fish is smoked, salted, or cured, each technique coaxing out its natural flavour while carrying centuries of tradition. Among the city’s staples are gravlax—also known as gravadlax or gravlaks—smoked salmon, and the prized winter cod, or skrei, celebrated as the finest Norwegian cod.

Gravlax is a study in simplicity and subtlety. Its name comes from the Swedish and Norwegian roots grav, meaning “grave” or “trench,” a nod to the old practice of burying the fish in the earth to ferment it lightly, and lax or laks, meaning salmon. Today, the fish is cured with a generous rub of salt, sugar, and fragrant dill, sometimes accented with pepper, juniper, or a splash of aquavit, a Scandinavian spirit. Left to rest for a day or two, the salmon emerges silky and lightly salted, with a gentle sweetness and herbal aroma, usually sliced paper-thin and served with mustard-dill sauce and crisp or rye bread.

Winter spiced gravlax. Image credit: Kvaroy Arctic.

At home, cod, salmon, mackerel, and shrimp are cooked in different ways: gently pan‑fried with butter and herbs, slow‑cooked in creamy stews, or folded into fragrant fiskesuppe, a fish soup that balances the sweetness of the catch with root vegetables and a splash of cream. Winter cod is often poached or baked, its firm flesh absorbing subtle seasonings, while smaller fish like herring are pickled in vinegar, sugar, and spices, a tart counterpoint to the more robust, earthy flavours of potatoes and rutabaga. Shrimp and prawns are boiled and served cold, often with lemon and dill, letting the delicate taste of the sea shine. Even salmon finds its way into gravlax or is lightly smoked to bring out a deep, silky flavour. Meals are practical yet thoughtful, vegetables from local fields appearing alongside seafood, roasted or mashed, complementing the fish, while open-faced sandwiches with smoked or cured fish, buttered crisp bread, and pickled garnishes are a staple for lunch.

Fiskesuppe (creamy Norwegian fish soup). Image credit: Scandinavian Cookbook.

Trondheim’s restaurants mirror this philosophy. Fine-dining destinations such as Speilsalen and Fagn craft tasting menus that celebrate the freshness of the fjord with seasonal vegetables and Nordic herbs, while traditional seafood preparations thrive at places like Restauranthuset Havfruen, where fresh catches are grilled, poached, or served in classic fish soups. Even casual bistros, such as Bula Neobistro, take local flavours seriously, presenting the city’s seafood with quality. From home kitchens to restaurants, Trondheim’s cuisine is anchored in the sea and the soil, a simple, exacting celebration of freshness and seasonality.

Image credit: Speilsalen.

Aurora salmon, mussel sauce with chives and chervil, white asparagus, celeriac cream, and caviar. Image credit: Speilsalen.

Lakka, Greece
Lakka, on the Ionian island of Paxos, a bay curved like a lover’s arm, fringed with olive groves and homes leaning toward the sea. Laundry flutters on lines above octopus stretched to dry, both gestures belonging to the same domestic choreography. By day, the waters invite swimmers and kayakers to explore hidden caves; by dusk, the harbour transforms. Fishing boats return, grills flare, and the scent of charred seafood mingles with jasmine. Families and travellers gather at long wooden tables by the quay, eating, laughing, as the tide exhales against the water’s edge.

Lakka. Image credit: Paxos Local Guide.

Food in Lakka
In Lakka, home cooking follows the clock of the day and the shade of the terrace. Fish is fried crisp or baked whole, vegetables are stewed slowly in olive oil, and lunch often becomes dinner without much notice. Food is shared, plates passed around, wine poured without measuring. Eating here is less about courses than about staying at the table. If one wants to dine out, a famous is Akis Restaurant; they serve a mixed plate of seafood plainly tossed in wine, herbs and olive oil; fried seafood platter, great baked fish and black risotto with clams, characterised by its intense black colour, derived from squid or cuttlefish ink.