Why Portuguese Leave Fish in the Sun (and Why It Shocks American Tourists)

And what it reveals about preservation, culinary rhythm, and how one culture trusts the elements while the other fears them

In the U.S., if fish is left out for more than a few minutes—let alone under direct sun—it’s seen as unsafe, even dangerous. Food safety messaging has been drilled into the culture for decades: refrigerate immediately, avoid the danger zone, don’t trust your nose. The idea of hanging fish on a line outdoors would trigger alarm. You’d expect spoilage, parasites, lawsuits.

But in Portugal, especially in coastal towns, you’ll still find open-air drying racks stretched with fish. Small silvery carapaus laid out head-to-tail. Bacalhau hung on lines, salted, curing slowly under the sun. Some fish are split open. Some are whole. They rest on balconies, rooftops, makeshift nets—visible, fragrant, ancient.

Locals walk by without flinching. They know what the sun is doing. They trust the salt. They trust time. It’s preservation, not negligence.

But when American tourists see it—and especially when they eat it—they sometimes get sick. Not because the fish is rotten. But because their bodies, diets, and immune systems aren’t adapted to the culinary rhythm the Portuguese still follow.

Here’s why Portuguese families still leave fish in the sun—and why American tourists aren’t always ready for it—and what this divergence says about the gulf between preservation and paranoia.

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Quick Easy Tips

If trying sun-dried fish in Portugal, make sure it’s purchased from reputable vendors who follow traditional curing methods.

Always eat it cooked or prepared according to local customs rather than raw.

Ask locals or guides about proper preparation techniques to better understand the tradition.

Pair dried fish with the recommended accompaniments, such as olive oil, potatoes, or bread, to balance the strong flavors.

Don’t judge a dish by its appearance—ask questions and learn its story.

Many American tourists view the sight of fish drying in the sun as unsafe or unsanitary because it doesn’t match their own food safety standards. In reality, traditional Portuguese drying methods are centuries old and carefully regulated in many regions. The process is rooted in skill and experience, not negligence.

Another source of misunderstanding comes from tourists who consume dried fish improperly. Eating it raw or purchasing it from unofficial street vendors can lead to health issues, including parasites. Locals, however, know how to prepare it properly to ensure safety and enhance flavor.

Lastly, this clash reflects a broader tension between traditional food practices and modern health expectations. While some travelers may find it strange or unsafe, others view it as cultural authenticity. Understanding the context behind the practice can bridge this gap, turning discomfort into appreciation.

1. In Portugal, drying fish is a culinary tradition—not an oversight

Sun-dried fish is not a mistake. It’s not laziness. It’s a technique that predates refrigeration by centuries. In villages like Nazaré or Setúbal, entire families used to rely on solar drying as a way to store protein through winter. The method is simple: split the fish, salt it heavily, lay it in the sun, and wait.

Today, the practice survives in tradition-rich homes and small producers. It’s still done outside. Still done on racks. Still done with full awareness.

What Americans see as food safety failure, the Portuguese see as craft.

2. The salt isn’t seasoning—it’s protection

Drying fish in the sun doesn’t mean letting it rot. The fish are salted first, often generously. The salt draws out moisture, kills surface bacteria, and creates an environment where pathogens can’t thrive. It also helps with dehydration, reducing water activity and preventing spoilage.

This step is essential—and not always visible to tourists. By the time a fish hits the rack, it’s already in the process of controlled preservation.

In the U.S., salt is treated as flavor. In Portugal, it’s still recognized as a natural preservative, used with precision, not guesswork.

3. Parasites are real—but not unexpected

Yes, some sun-dried fish carries parasites. American tourists who eat salted fish without knowing what it is—or without preparation—can experience mild foodborne illness. Anchovies, sardines, and mackerel, when undercooked or improperly stored, can transmit anisakis larvae, a parasite that causes abdominal distress.

But in Portugal, the risk is known. Most locals gut the fish properly, inspect it visually, and cook it well. Or, when served raw or lightly cooked (as in escabeche), it’s cured long enough to neutralize risk.

Americans, unfamiliar with both the food and its preparation, often eat it without the local understanding that makes it safe.

4. The U.S. industrial model replaced knowledge with packaging

In America, safety is outsourced. Fish is flash-frozen, vacuum-sealed, date-labeled, and shipped under strict conditions. The average consumer has no relationship with the product—only the barcode.

If something goes wrong, they blame the packaging, the store, or the restaurant.

In Portugal, where seafood is often bought at open-air markets or caught the same day, the responsibility is shared. People know what they’re looking at. They trust their nose. They handle fish with a learned touch.

When Americans encounter unwrapped fish in the sun, they assume danger—because they never learned to assess it directly.

5. Taste preferences reflect microbial exposure

Portuguese palates are used to dried fish. The salt, the chew, the slight tang of fermentation—it’s part of the flavor profile. Children grow up eating it. Their gut microbiomes adapt to it.

American tourists often approach these dishes with different microbial baselines. Their bodies aren’t used to the bacteria present in naturally cured seafood—even when it’s safe by local standards.

What feels like food poisoning is sometimes a clash of immune memory. Not a failure of preparation, but a difference in biology and exposure.

6. Outdoor drying reflects a trust in the environment

In Portugal, the sun isn’t seen as dangerous. It’s a tool. It disinfects. It cures. Fish dried in open air is laid out with purpose—not left to the elements, but embraced by them.

Drying racks are placed carefully to avoid urban pollution. Airflow matters. Timing matters. Locals know which days are good. They read the sky.

In the U.S., the outdoors is suspect. Air is polluted. Bugs are feared. Sunlight is a risk factor. The idea that the wind could be safe feels foreign. And so, the entire preservation process moves indoors, into sterile rooms and sealed packages.

Portugal never lost that elemental trust.

7. Regulation follows culture—not the other way around

Portuguese food safety laws recognize sun-drying as a legal practice. It’s protected by tradition. Certain methods fall under regional culinary heritage, and producers can even qualify for exemptions or special status.

In the U.S., health codes reflect liability and litigation. If a restaurant left fish on a balcony in California or Florida—even salted—it would likely be shut down. Not because the food was unsafe, but because the method violates code built on fear, not food knowledge.

Portugal allows for nuance. The U.S. does not.

8. Diners are expected to know what they’re eating

In Portuguese restaurants, dried fish is labeled clearly. Bacalhau is salted cod. Carapaus secos are dried horse mackerel. These dishes are not dressed up or disguised. Locals know what to expect. Tourists are expected to ask.

In the U.S., the restaurant assumes full responsibility. The diner is protected. Allergens must be listed. Risk must be disclosed. The assumption is that the customer needs guarding, not information.

In Portugal, if you eat something too salty, too chewy, or too raw, that’s part of the experience. You learn.

9. Tourism changes perception—but not always method

Some Portuguese restaurants serving tourists now hide their drying racks. They know that foreign eyes might misunderstand. In beach towns, drying has moved to rooftops, away from camera lenses.

But the practice hasn’t disappeared. It’s just less visible.

The food, however, stays the same. Locals keep making it. Families keep eating it. The sea keeps providing. And the sun keeps curing what refrigerators can’t replicate.

10. Americans expect control—Portuguese expect adaptation

At the core of the difference is a deeper assumption: Americans want food to be guaranteed safe by design. Portuguese culture assumes food is safe if it’s respected.

One relies on systems. The other relies on skill.

That’s why Portuguese diners trust dried fish. And why Americans struggle to eat it without fear—or without getting sick. Because they weren’t taught how to trust it in the first place.

The Sun Didn’t Spoil the Fish — It Preserved It

In Portugal, fish left in the sun isn’t being neglected. It’s being honored. It’s being cured by tradition, salt, and time. Americans may find it unfamiliar—even risky—but that’s because they were raised in a system that taught them to fear what isn’t sealed.

Portuguese homes still use the sea, the sun, and the wind as partners in preservation. They trust their bodies to read the food. They trust the food to speak honestly.

When Americans get sick from dried fish, it’s not because it was unsafe. It’s because their culture made them unprepared for what safety looks like when it isn’t printed on a label.

Final Thoughts

Traditional food preservation methods often reflect centuries of cultural heritage, climate adaptation, and resourcefulness. In Portugal, sun-drying fish isn’t just a quirky habit—it’s a deeply rooted culinary practice passed down through generations. It was born out of necessity long before refrigeration existed, ensuring coastal communities could preserve food for longer periods.

What many American tourists misunderstand is that this isn’t just “fish left out in the sun.” It’s a controlled and time-tested technique designed to cure and intensify flavor. Locals know exactly how long the fish can be dried, under what conditions, and how it must be prepared afterward. When done correctly, the process is both safe and delicious.

This cultural gap highlights how food practices can be perceived very differently depending on background and familiarity. What looks alarming to some can be a beloved tradition to others, carrying both history and flavor on every plate.