It is within this context \u2014 not in a romantic Lisbon postcard \u2014 that SEM exists.<\/strong><\/p>\n The door is discreet, almost restrained. Marked by a small illuminated sign: “SEM”. Nothing else. Inside, it quickly becomes clear that this is not just another restaurant adopting sustainability as a narrative device. What happens here is something else entirely. More demanding. And, for many, more uncomfortable.<\/strong><\/p>\n George McLeod<\/em> is from New Zealand. Lara Esp\u00edrito Santo<\/em> is Brazilian, the daughter of Portuguese parents. They met before working together at SILO<\/strong> in London \u2014 the world’s first zero-waste restaurant, founded by Douglas McMaster.<\/em><\/p>\n There, Lara<\/em> \u2014 trained in Political Science, with a Master’s degree in Poverty and Sustainable Development and a Grand Dipl\u00f4me<\/em> from Le Cordon Bleu<\/em> \u2014 realised that cooking could be a concrete tool for social change.<\/strong> George<\/em>, with a background in top kitchens in New Zealand and the UK, finally found a way of cooking that made sense beyond the plate, beyond technique, beyond ego.<\/strong><\/p>\n In 2020, during the pandemic lockdown, they left London. A pop-up on Praia do Pego served as a transition. In August 2021, they opened SEM in Alfama.<\/strong><\/p>\n Recognition followed: Portugal’s first restaurant to receive Food Made Good<\/em><\/strong> \u2014 3 stars from the UK’s Sustainable Restaurant Association<\/em><\/strong>; George<\/em> was awarded One Knife at The Best Chef Awards<\/em><\/strong>; international visibility through lists such as Forbes<\/em>. And yet, none of this truly explains what it feels like to eat here.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n “SEM” is not just a name. It is a method. And it is a principle.<\/strong><\/p>\n The kitchen works exclusively with regenerative agriculture producers \u2014 farmers who do not merely avoid pesticides, but actively rebuild soil, sequester carbon and restore living ecosystems. The menu changes constantly, dictated not by the chef’s creative will but by what the land can offer at that precise moment.<\/strong><\/p>\n George does not buy sea fish. He works only with invasive freshwater species, such as the zander we ate that night. The pork comes from animals raised with time and respect, outside intensive systems<\/strong>. The oysters are Portuguese, from the Sado estuary, chosen for their purity and calibre.<\/p>\n And then there are the ferments.<\/p>\n Spread across the shelves \u2014 more laboratory than decoration \u2014 are jars of amino sauce made from feijoa skins, egg-white garum, miso produced from leftover bread, pickles, molasses, and reductions. Nothing is discarded. Everything is transformed.<\/strong><\/p>\n While many fine-dining restaurants around the world celebrate “zero waste”<\/strong> yet remain dependent on long supply chains, plastic packaging and polystyrene, SEM closes the loop with coherence. Vegetable trimmings become a Worcestershire-style sauce. Yesterday’s bread becomes miso butter for today’s bread. There is no printed menu \u2014 because paper, too, is waste.<\/p>\n The space is small, informal, and honest. The d\u00e9cor is the ingredients themselves: fermentation jars, books on regenerative agriculture, bottles of natural wine. There is no mise-en-sc\u00e8ne, no desire to impress. The light is low, warm, almost cinematic \u2014 that particular Lisbon melancholy that slows time and makes conversations feel more truthful.<\/strong><\/p>\n The kitchen is open, not as a performance but as a place to share. You watch George<\/em> and his small brigade working with absolute concentration. No shouting. No tension.<\/strong> Just precision.<\/p>\n Lara runs the dining room with a natural ease that only works when belief is genuine. Her storytelling is short, technical, factual: where the product comes from, who grew it, and how it was treated. There is no moralising. No sermon. Just information. And respect.<\/strong><\/p>\n It quickly becomes clear that this is a restaurant run by people who are not trying to impress anyone. They are simply working according to what they believe in.<\/strong><\/p>\n We began with oysters from the Sado<\/strong>. Generous in size, firm flesh resisting the bite before dissolving into salt and sea. Immediate freshness, almost aggressive. They were accompanied by a house-fermented spicy sauce \u2014 not masking the oyster, but sharpening it.<\/p>\n Next came a trio of snacks<\/strong> that clearly signalled what was to follow.<\/p>\n First: peas, unripe green strawberry, loquat pickle<\/strong> bringing acidity without aggression, borage with its almost mentholated vegetal note. Fresh but precise, elegant rather than fragile. A dialogue between raw and barely worked textures \u2014 each element retaining its identity. A strong opening.<\/strong><\/p>\n Second: oyster tempura with umeboshi and samphire<\/strong>. Technically sound, but the least compelling of the three \u2014 especially after the brutal freshness of the oyster moments earlier. The frying, however light, added nothing. It subtracted.<\/p>\n Third: apple, cucumber, bread amino and smoked lavender.<\/strong> Lightness returned. Contrast, clarity, and cleanliness of flavour. Smoked lavender as an aromatic signature \u2014 perfumed but restrained. It worked.<\/p>\n And then came the bread.<\/p>\n Sourdough, with a crust that shatters and a light crumb that resists the bite without heaviness. Served with miso butter \u2014 not just any miso, but miso made from the restaurant’s own leftover bread. The idea is already clever; the result on the palate is brilliant. The butter gains fermented complexity, a gentle umami, an intelligent salinity that demands more bread, more butter \u2014 closing the loop.<\/p>\n I could happily eat this every morning.<\/p>\n The asparagus dish was one of the highlights of the meal.<\/strong> And I say this without hyperbole.<\/p>\n Green asparagus and raw courgette, lacto-fermented white asparagus, orange kosho, false acacia flower set into a gel, nasturtium sauce with feijoa-skin amino. The construction was complex, yet the dish read with clarity: fresh harmony, balance between raw and fermented, acidity and vegetal sweetness.<\/strong> The orange kosho delivered an aromatic kick that woke the palate. The gel added an unexpected textural layer to an already precise composition.<\/p>\n Then came the river fish.<\/p>\n Zander<\/strong> \u2014 an invasive species that George chooses to reduce pressure on marine stocks. Skin so crisp it borders on addiction, flesh firm yet succulent, clean river flavour without the muddy note that so often deters Portuguese diners. Sauce and oil complemented rather than dominated. Precise, technical, irreproachable cooking.<\/strong><\/p>\n Next, the pork.<\/strong> Low-temperature pork neck, rosy at the centre, fat melting on the tongue like warm butter. An animal raised well \u2014 the difference between this and industrial pork is immediate. Egg-white garum (saline, complex, almost ancestral) and coffee husk added earthy bitterness and depth.<\/p>\n Alongside it: chickpeas fermented in kombucha, leek<\/strong>, house-made Worcestershire-style sauce. The chickpeas carried a gentle acidity, almost effervescent \u2014 cutting through the pork’s richness with elegance and complexity.<\/p>\n Desserts followed the same logic.<\/p>\n Eucalyptus granita struck the tongue with mentholated cold, sharp rhubarb, physalis<\/strong> with its citrus sweetness, and unripe strawberries, fulfilling a role entirely different from their sweet counterpart. Lovage brought vegetal notes reminiscent of wild celery \u2014 refreshing, without unnecessary complexity. It worked exactly as it should: a perfect palate cleanser.<\/strong><\/p>\n The second dessert was more compelling.<\/p>\n Strawberries with elderflower, toasted buckwheat, fig leaf, and “This Is Not Chocolate”<\/strong> \u2014 a product created by Matt Orlando and former colleagues from Amass, made from waste streams, primarily spent grain from beer production, that replicates chocolate’s texture and bitterness without actually being chocolate. It fits seamlessly within the restaurant’s philosophy: global zero waste, minimal environmental footprint.<\/p>\n The balance was precise. Strawberries held centre stage, elderflower added spring-like perfume, and buckwheat delivered toasted depth. The fake chocolate fooled just enough to work \u2014 a light, fresh, distinctive finale.<\/strong><\/p>\n The natural wine list is solid \u2014 Portuguese low-intervention producers alongside a few well-chosen international names. The pairing alternated between wines (Alto da Serra Tel\u00farico Branco<\/em> worked beautifully with the fish) and international non-alcoholic options \u2014 Arensbak White<\/em> from Denmark paired well with the vegetable-forward asparagus dish.<\/p>\n But it felt disjointed. There was no unifying narrative. We moved between registers \u2014 Portuguese natural wine, Scandinavian non-alcoholic \u2014 without a clear guiding thread.<\/strong><\/p>\n And here is the question: if George and Lara already create non-alcoholic pairings from their own ferments and use them successfully in cocktails, why not extend that same coherence to the full menu? It would better align with the philosophy that defines SEM.<\/strong> And, quite possibly, more compelling than the current selection of non-alcoholic wines.<\/p>\n At a time when society grows increasingly standardised \u2014 when we all claim to want difference yet continue to repeat the same patterns \u2014 Lara<\/em> and George<\/em> chose to step outside the comfort zone and do things differently. Truly differently.<\/strong><\/p>\n![\"Entrance](\"https:\/\/flavorsandsenses.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/sem25-54.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\nWho They Are<\/strong><\/h3>\n
<\/a>Creating Through Absence<\/strong><\/h3>\n
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\nThe Room<\/strong><\/h3>\n
<\/a><\/p>\nBeginning with the Sea<\/strong><\/h3>\n
<\/a><\/a>The Geometry of Zero Waste<\/strong><\/h3>\n
<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a>A Light Ending<\/strong><\/h3>\n
<\/a><\/a>Wine, But\u2026<\/strong><\/h3>\n
Final Note<\/strong><\/h3>\n