Dressed in black from head to toe, the waitress glided toward our table at the end of the restaurant, while carrying a small, oval-shaped terra cotta bowl engulfed in dancing flames and fumes, fueled by Aguardente, a potent Portuguese spirit made from grapes. She placed that bowl of blazing Portuguese sausage on the table and, with a smile, turned away. My children, then ages 8 and 5, sat wide-eyed in awe, their mouths agape, caught somewhere between wonder and fear.
This was in 2012 at Tio Pepe, an unpretentious and homey restaurant in Northeast Philadelphia that has since become a cherished staple for my family. Until the pandemic hit, I brought my children here monthly. As Portuguese immigrants, it was important to my husband and me to ensure our American-born kids stayed connected to their roots. For them, those roots were deeply intertwined with the taste of what my daughter used to call “real Portuguese food.” Post-pandemic, my kids have grown up and moved on, but when they come home, we always go back to Tio Pepe.
In 2001, just like so many of those living in Northeast Philadelphia have done for decades and will do for decades to come, I packed my bags and left my hometown, Oia, a small town nine miles from Aveiro, often called “the Venice of Portugal” for its tiny, enchanting canals. I’m the eldest of eight siblings, and leaving my family was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
My journey took me to the Upper West Side of New York, where I initially commuted to Philadelphia for work. In 2002, after having my son, my little family moved permanently to Philadelphia. Philly was my new home — but I was still homesick. One of the things I missed most: the flavors of home — garlicky stews, smoky chouriço, and fresh seafood — that were hard to replicate, even when I was the one cooking. For years, I searched for a Portuguese restaurant to fill that void, but most had already closed before I could visit or did not live up to my expectations.
A community’s shifting roots
Philadelphia’s Portuguese community, once a vibrant force, is now a fraction of its former self. Portuguese immigration to Philadelphia peaked in the 1980s at 10,000. Many recent arrivals settled in the area known as “Little Portugal” or “Rua Cinco,” stretching between Rockland Street and Lindley Avenue, just north of Roosevelt Boulevard. Since then, many families have relocated to the suburbs. Some have returned to our home country, where standards of living improved. Others left the U.S. as immigration laws became more restrictive. The old Portuguese neighborhood is not so Portuguese anymore — rather, it’s become home to Brazilians (who share my native language) and Hispanic Latinos.
Today, fewer than 3,000 Portuguese live in Philadelphia. Yet, a small but notable Portuguese cluster remains in Northeast Philadelphia, where The Philadelphia Portuguese Club still serves as a cultural anchor. The club hosts various events from noites de fado — nights of fado music, which is akin to the blues, evoking feelings of longing, nostalgia and fate — to celebrations of milestones like christenings and birthdays.
“We have seen an increase in clientele from other countries in South America. The language is not the same, but close enough for us to understand and relate to each other.” — Orlando Jacome, Tio Pepe
From chouriço flames to family bonds: the heart of Tio Pepe
But the club is not the only place where Portuguese culture thrives in the neighborhood. The moment my husband and I entered Tio Pepe, we felt like we’d rediscovered a piece of home. It’s not just the food: Traditional blue-and-white Portuguese tile panels depict fishermen hauling nets and oxen-drawn carts. Service is unhurried. Diners are expected to linger over their food. No Tio Pepe server would ever snatch a dish before you’re done or rush you out, even when others are waiting for a table. To me, every detail reflects the warmth and hospitality of Portugal.
Even today, the hum of Portuguese conversations, now mingled with Brazilian accents or even what some call “Spanish Portuguese” dialect, fills the air as a lovely reminder of the warmth and welcoming nature of who we are as Portuguese.
Orland Jacome, who co-owns Tio Pepe with his brother, is the driving force behind the restaurant’s vision. A Portuguese immigrant who arrived in Philadelphia 33 years ago, Jacome worked various jobs — including washing dishes at Sbarro — before opening a dine-in spot of his own.
“When I got the key to Tio Pepe Restaurant and Bar on March 6, 2006, I thought, ‘What’s next?’” he says. “Apart from Sbarro, I had no experience in this business.”
Jacome’s challenge was not attracting customers but finding the right people who understood Portuguese cuisine. He recruited seasoned cooks like Marilia, who later became his wife, and Joao Fonseca, an experienced restaurant manager who greets every diner with a warm smile from Tuesday to Sunday.
Sourcing ingredients presented another hurdle. Unlike Irish or Italian imports, many Portuguese ingredients don’t meet FDA requirements. “Every single chouriço, pork meat for the flaming carne de porco a Alentejana, is made in the U.S. by Portuguese people in the Newark area but also comes from Boston and Virginia,” he explains.
Portuguese chouriço is a must for Tio Pepe. Made from pork loin and boldly seasoned with paprika, garlic, wine, and pepper, it undergoes a lengthy smoking process called defumar. The result is a rich and distinct flavor and color — and a tantalizing smoky aroma that vanishes when the chouriço is ready to eat. But it’s just one of many dishes that tell a story.
A menu that tells a story
Tio Pepe’s menu offers a profound journey into Portuguese and Brazilian flavors, the latter adopted and adapted to please the neighborhood’s newer residents. “Over the last 20 years, the immigration from Brazil has grown significantly. Maybe because they speak the same language and they easily relate to Portuguese culture, we have seen a lot of them here,” says Jacome. “But we have also seen an increase in clientele from other countries in South America. The language is not the same but close enough for us to understand and relate to each other.”
My son’s favorite is the picanha — a Brazilian cut of rump or sirloin cap with a thick layer of fat that locks in moisture when sprinkled with salt and grilled churrasco-style. The result is a juicy, buttery delight with a crispy caramelized crust, irresistible to any teenager when paired with French fries.
For my husband and me, the default order is carne de porco a Alentejana, a hearty stew that builds off the flavors of pork and clams. Small cubes of pork loin and potatoes are fried separately before the pork is slowly simmered in a garlicky wine sauce with paprika and bay leaves. Once the flavors have penetrated the pork, the potatoes are added, and the dish is topped with clams, parsley, black olives, and pickles for a tangy finish. It is a mouthwatering dish that will dazzle meat lovers.
My kids have grown up and moved on, but when they come home, we always go back to Tio Pepe.
As much as Tio Pepe has stayed delightfully the same since opening, and even though you can hear Portuguese spoken throughout, their customer base has also changed with the changing image of Portugal itself. Today’s Portugal is a sought-after travel destination, known for its natural beauty, affordability, safety and proximity to the East Coast. Over 2 million Americans visited Portugal in 2023. Last winter, the Philadelphia airport expanded its direct service to Lisbon year-round. Many travelers returned home eager to share the cuisine they enjoyed abroad with friends and family.
Recently, an influx of American diners has been drawn to the restaurant’s octopus dishes — which are more tender and less chewy than octopus from other countries.
As Jacome reflects on the restaurant’s future, now that he and his brother plan to retire in four or five years, he says, “We’ve accomplished what we set out to do. Now, it’s up to the next generation to carry the torch.” The Jacomes don’t know what will become of Tio Pepe. They’d like their children to take over, but aren’t sure that will happen. Buyers have approached them, but they’re not ready to sell. For now, it’s business as usual.
To this day, the flaming chouriço remains the highlight of my family’s visits. Even when we don’t order it ourselves, someone at another table inevitably does, and the spectacle is just as dramatic and eye-catching; it never fails. But when we do order it, the magic feels personal. When the flames disappear, and the chouriço emerges smoky, slightly charred, and sizzling, my kids — now adults — still can’t hide their gasps, wows and laughter.
And so, the flames of tradition continue to burn, one chouriço at a time.
Reservations aren’t available online, so be sure to call ahead.
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