You smell it before you find it. Walk up Rua do Loreto from Praça Luís de Camões and somewhere around number 49 the air turns to smoke and chicken fat, and there is the grill, sitting right in the window, glass smeared with grease and the cook’s back to the street. That window is the whole argument. Casa da Índia does not hide the kitchen behind a swing door. The fire is the shopfront.