Eating Espada for the First Time

The fish that made me step back

I’d gone up to the first floor of Mercado dos Lavradores expecting flowers and fruit, which is what everyone talks about - the ground floor stalls stacked with custard apples and passion fruit, sellers calling out in three languages. Nobody had mentioned what was waiting one flight up. I turned a corner into the fish hall and there it was, laid out on ice in a long silver row: black, eel-thin, over a metre long, with a jaw full of visible fangs and eyes the size of golf balls. My first reaction wasn’t hunger. It was a small, involuntary step backwards.

That’s espada - black scabbard fish - and I’d argue that reaction is the correct one to have, at least at first. This isn’t a fish that eases you in. It looks like something that should stay at the bottom of the ocean, which, until recently, it had. Madeira’s deep-sea fleets bring it up from 800 to 1,200 metres, hauled on long lines from trenches a few miles offshore, in water so deep and so dark that the fish has evolved those oversized eyes just to see anything at all. I stood there a while, more curious than repelled by then, while a stallholder filleted one with three quick cuts and held up a plain white strip of flesh that looked like it belonged to an entirely different animal.

Not swordfish, not eel, not anything I’d met before

My first guess, looking at the whole fish, was eel. My second, hearing “espada” - Portuguese for sword - was some cousin of swordfish. Both wrong, and worth saying clearly because I’ve heard other visitors make the same guess at the next table. Espada, scientifically Aphanopus carbo, isn’t closely related to either. It’s a genuinely obscure species outside a small number of deep Atlantic locations, and Madeira is by far the place most associated with landing and eating it. You won’t find it on a menu in mainland Portugal with any regularity, let alone in Spain, France or the UK. That unfamiliarity is exactly why the whole fish stops people in their tracks at the market - there’s no mental shortcut for it, no “oh, it’s basically X.”

Fried, with banana, and nothing to hide behind

I ordered it that evening at a small place off Rua de Santa Maria in the old town, the classic version: espada com banana, a plain fried fillet with a fried banana laid across it, sometimes with a splash of passion fruit sauce. No sauce hiding the fish, no batter thick enough to disguise the texture. I’ll admit I ate the first forkful cautiously, still picturing the fangs.

It was nothing like I expected. Mild, white, almost buttery, closer in texture to a good sole than to anything from deep water. The banana, which had sounded like a strange pairing on paper, made sense within one bite - a thread of sweetness against a fish that has almost no flavour of its own to fight it. There isn’t a bone to find; by the time it’s filleted and fried, none of the fish’s alarming shape survives onto the plate. It’s a dish that depends entirely on the gap between how the animal looks whole and how little of that survives cooking, and once you understand that gap, you stop being surprised by it and start ordering it again.

I’d rather say that plainly than pretend the ugliness isn’t part of the story. Half the appeal of eating espada for the first time is standing at that market table beforehand, looking at something that seems built to put you off, and choosing to try it anyway. Smoothing that over into “it’s just a nice white fish, nothing to see here” misses what actually makes the first encounter memorable.

The market has its own small trap

One thing worth saying plainly, because it caught a couple I met at my table off guard: the fruit stalls on the ground floor of the market are not as harmless as the fish hall upstairs. Sellers hand out free tastes of passion fruit, custard apple or dried fruit, generously and with a smile, and then weigh out a much larger bag than you asked for and charge accordingly. It’s a known routine, not a one-off, and it’s worth agreeing a price - or at least a quantity - before you accept anything to taste. The fish section doesn’t have this problem; nobody’s trying to upsell you a kilo of espada you didn’t order. But it’s worth knowing before you wander the ground floor with an open wallet and an open mouth.

Where the fish market experience actually starts

If you want the version of this I had - seeing the fish whole before eating it filleted - go to Mercado dos Lavradores in the late morning, when the boats have unloaded and the stalls are fullest. Combine it with a wander through the old town’s painted doors and dinner nearby rather than treating the market as a standalone stop; most of the restaurants that serve espada well are a five-minute walk away.

For a broader sense of what else is worth ordering across the island, Madeira’s food guide and the rundown of where to eat by area both go further than this one dish, and the espetada and bolo do caco guide covers the other dish everyone mentions in the same breath.

If, like me, the fish itself makes you want to see where it actually comes from, Caniçal is the town to know - it was Madeira’s whaling port until 1981 and is now home to the Whaling Museum, and it’s also where several fishing trips out to the deep water actually depart from. I didn’t go out on the water myself, but if I go back I’d want to.

a guided fishing trip out of Caniçal would at least show me the coastline the espada boats work, even if the real scabbard-fish grounds sit far deeper than a half-day trip goes. For something closer to the deep-water fishing that actually lands espada, a private big-game fishing charter is the version that gets furthest offshore.

None of that is necessary to enjoy the dish, though. You don’t need to have seen the boats or the trenches to order espada com banana on your first night in Funchal. You just need to walk past the whole fish first, let yourself flinch, and order it anyway. Pair the evening with a poncha or two in Câmara de Lobos afterwards, and it becomes one of those small, specific Madeira memories that doesn’t translate well in photos but sticks regardless.

If you’re planning the rest of the week around it, the one-week Madeira itinerary has room for a market morning and a market dinner on different days, which is roughly how I’d do it again. A few practical basics - tipping, cash versus card, that kind of thing - are covered in tap water, tipping and other small things, and if you’re travelling solo, Madeira on your own covers eating at market counters and small tables without feeling conspicuous about it.

Espada in Madeira: the questions I had before I ordered it

What is espada, the black fish served in Madeira restaurants?

Espada is black scabbard fish, a long, silvery-black deep-sea species caught off Madeira at depths of 800 to 1,200 metres. It has enormous eyes and a fanged jaw, which is why it looks alarming whole, but it’s mild, white and boneless once filleted - traditionally fried and served with banana.

Is espada the same as swordfish or eel?

No. Espada (Aphanopus carbo) is unrelated to swordfish and to conger eel, despite the confusion its shape invites. It’s a deep-sea fish rarely found outside Madeira’s waters and a handful of similar Atlantic trenches, which is exactly why it isn’t a fish most European visitors will have met before.

Why is espada served with banana?

The fried fish has a mild, slightly sweet flesh, and the classic pairing fries a banana alongside it, sometimes with a passion fruit sauce. The sweetness cuts the richness of the fried fillet rather than masking the fish itself.

Is Mercado dos Lavradores safe for tourists?

Mostly, but the fruit stalls on the ground floor are known for offering free tastes and then weighing and charging for far more than you agreed to. Agree a price before you taste anything, or watch first and buy only what you can see priced. The fish hall upstairs, where the espada is displayed, doesn’t have this problem.

Where can I try espada in Funchal?

Most traditional restaurants in the old town and along the marina serve espada com banana as a house dish. It’s worth ordering somewhere that fries it to order rather than from a pre-made bain-marie, since the fillet dries out fast once it sits.

Does espada have bones?

Filleted espada as served in restaurants is essentially boneless. The whole fish looks fearsome with its exposed fangs, but by the time it reaches your plate it’s a clean, skinless white fillet.