So were Friday, Saturday and Sunday, for that matter. Not so much today, unfortunately-- it was way too Monday for that.

So, Thursday. The cooking class was wonderful. It was held at the Marriott, which is an exceptionally nice hotel. Very swanky. The class wasn't held in the kitchen, which was kind of a bummer since I like professional kitchens, but hardly surprising since I'm sure all the kitchens were in use getting ready for the lunchtime masses and so forth. Instead, it was held in a conference room. A bunch of long tables had been pushed into a large U surrounding another large table, where the chef did the actual cooking. In front of each of our seats were copies of the recipes that the chef was preparing, a Marriott pen and Marriott notepad for the taking of notes, and a handy-dandy Marriott folder. It was all very organized, and very conference-like. One nice feature was the trays loaded down with cold beverages-- juices, sodas, sparkling water-- in addition to the usual bottles of still water. I had two cans of Diet Pepsi, because I had missed my train (and thus the coffee portion of the proceedings), and because I could. The woman next to me drank some sort of blended juice concoction. Judging by the label, it featured carrot and tomato and something else I couldn't identify without reaching over and picking up the container to examine it more closely. Whatever it was, she was welcome to it.

The chef was Goeran Soelter, who is a German with an excellent command of English, a fine sense of humor ("Here's one I made earlier! I've always wanted to say that!"), and a physique that makes it pretty obvious that he enjoys eating as much as cooking. Very important, that: never trust a skinny chef.

Here's the menu: Home smoked duck breast with snow pea and carrot slaw and tomato and basil bruschetta; Pan fried queen scallops in Parma ham and polenta crusted tiger prawns on creamy spinach tagliatelle with rose pepper and citrus pesto; and Flourless chocolate biscuit (more of a sponge, really) topped with fresh strawberries and served with a mascarpone quenelle and a variety of sauces.

During the lesson, a hapless Marriott employee filmed it with a digital video recorder, and the picture was projected onto a huge screen so we could see what was going on. Poor guy-- squat, stand, zoom in-- oops, too far-- zoom out, try and figure out where the sautee pan just went because Chef just went on walkabout and decided to take it with him. He wasn't too steady, either, and I'm guessing that someone didn't think of having a tripod until it was too late. Still, it was a nice touch and the guy tried really hard, even though he did tend to stand right in front of the screen, blocking it so we couldn't see what the heck the chef was up to.

After that, it was off to the restaurant to eat the above menu in its entirety. Predictably, the food was outstanding, although I thought the bruschetta was a bit over the top-- the duck is fantastically rich and the slaw complemented it perfectly, so it wasn't needed at all, plus they didn't really "go" with the bruschetta. That doesn't mean that I didn't clean my plate, however; I did.

Somewhere between the first and second courses, they came around with aprons for us with the name of the restaurant (Citrus) embroidered on them. They're black, which is great for not showing stains, unless, of course, you happen to be baking, which I hardly ever do anyway.

So, all that plus all the wine you could swill down and a coffee to counter the effects for 30 Euros. Deal of the century, I'd say.

After that, I wandered around the Chiado as planned. Stopped in at H&M where I tried on a pair of trousers that should have been the right size, but were so big I didn't bother unzipping them when I took them off. Possibly, the diet and exercise regime is paying off, although I hate to speculate at this point. I would have tried them on in a smaller size, but the line for the dressing room was way too long and I had to get moving. Not only that, but the line for the cash register was even longer, and staffed by some truly incompetent staff. Either that, or every single one of them was having her very first day on the job. If it was the latter, it doesn't say much for management and their employer-employee relations. I didn't stick around to find out, so I'll have to plan a trip back at a later date. Did I mention that the store is huge? It is. I only managed to wander around about half of the ground floor, and there's another two or three as well.

The restaurant turned out to be by St. George's Castle, at the very tippy-top of a very steep hill. Such a shame that the best places to build castles tend to be at the top of mountains, really, although it does make sense if you think about it. In any case, the taxi ride up there is quite the trip, what with the narrow and claustrophobic streets, hurtling over the cobblestones at warp speed, just barely missing pedestrians, bravely (or foolishly) parked cars and, for a rather long and terrifying stretch, oncoming traffic.

Once you've made it, the view is fantastic. Not that you can see it from the street, which is steep and densely lined by old and seemingly decrepit buildings. But go into one of those buildings, and you're on top of the world.

The restaurant we went to was called Restô do Chapitô, and I recommend it wholeheartedly. Walk through the door and down a short flight of steps, and you're in a garden overlooking Lisbon and the river. It is absolutely breathtaking. The views from the restaurant itself are just as stunning. We were on the upper level, reached by a treacherously tight and narrow spiral staircase. I was worried about the waitstaff until I saw the dumbwaiter. Aside from the views, the service was excellent and the food very good. I had duck, even though I had had some at lunch, and it was fabulous. Dessert-- and I never thought I'd say this-- came with too much chocolate sauce. I gave it a valiant effort, but just couldn't finish.

In penance, we walked all the way down the hill. It wasn't enough. Even if we had walked all the way to Cais do Sodre (where the train station is), it wouldn't have been enough.