How Porto celebrates São João, the biggest day of its year

The food, the Super Bock, the hammers, lanterns and fireworks

The stalls were set up a few weeks before, selling rows upon rows of perfectly manicured, tiny-leafed basil plants, each with a message or love letter written on a small flag. These manjericos are traditionally given as gifts at this time of year, and their appearance on the streets of Porto signals the start of festa São João, Porto’s biggest night of the year, which honours the city’s saint.

Every 23rd June, the city comes alive like I have never seen it — and this is one busy city.

Despite living in Porto for nearly two years, Monday was my first São João experience — I stupidly forgot about it last year when I booked a visit to the UK. This year, I made no such mistake because I wanted to see this for myself.

For obvious reasons, I was especially interested in what São João means from a food and drink perspective.

I was not disappointed.

It started with my husband, a friend and me on our balcony drinking Champagne —this is a celebration after all. André Robert’s “Les Vignes de Montigny” Extra-Brut 2020 because my husband’s company imports it.

Staff discount, baby.

Our friend — an arguably even bigger fan of Beaujolais than I (if that’s possible) — brought a wine that has gone straight into my top spot for best wine of 2025. A 2016 Famile Dutraive Chénas which was the brightest, most energetic wine I’ve had in a while.

As dusk fell, the first of the lanterns rose into the sky. We heard a shout from the terrace below us — disculpa, tens um isqueiro? Do you have a lighter? We drop some matches down and watch them set their own lantern into the sky.

Time to take to the streets. Living in the centre of Porto means we don’t have to go far to find the party. Nearby Rua de Cedofeita is packed with people dancing and eating grilled sardines. This is Portugal. This is the start of the sardine season. Thus, on São João, you eat sardines.

The air is thick with sardine-scented smoke which smells far nicer than it sounds (if you like sardines). Grills line the streets outside nearly every restaurant we pass. We stop at restaurant Barro, run by friends of friends. A sardine sandwich for me, a bifana — pork sandwich — for my companions.

There are times when I am reminded, with a bump, that I am still getting used to the ways of living in Portugal. When they hand me a sandwich filled with two whole sardines, this is one of those times.

Of course the sardines weren’t filleted, I’m not sure why I expected they might be. They never are in these parts.

Down in one, I suppose. Bones and all.

To drink, this is not the time for more fancy wine, so it’s a Super Bock beer. This is the lager of Porto (don’t ask for Sagres, that’s a southern thing) and every grill stop has a keg dispensing ice cold beer. Perfect on this swelteringly hot night.

We stop to buy plastic hammers or martelos because it’s tradition here to hit as many people over the head as you can. I later ask a local friend of a friend about the origins, and he tells me the tradition derives from the old pagan festival that pre-dates São João. One of the rituals was to buy leek flowers to bring good luck. My acquaintance tells me they would bash people with the leek but other sources say people would invite strangers to smell the flower. Whichever way, in the 1960s, some entrepreneurial soul thought to replace the leek with plastic hammers, and the current tradition was born.

Personally, I’d prefer the leek.

Hammers everywhere

The night continues with a sandes de pernil — a roasted pork sandwich made famous by Porto’s Casa Guedes. A far more successful purchase than the sardine sandwich.

We stop at Praça de Carlos Alberto to take a photo of the lanterns filling the sky. They are coming thick and fast now, and towards midnight, the sky will light up with thousands taking flight.

We meet friends on the famous Passeio das Virtudes with its gorgeous views of western Porto and the Arrabida bridge.

There are more beers and more sandwiches. There are fireworks at midnight. More Champagne arrives from a wine distributor friend, and we pour it into our plastic cups. This isn’t a time to stand on wine etiquette, this is a time to celebrate simply being alive.

The night wears on. We take to the riverside where stages are set up blaring Pimba music. Not my usually my thing, but this is São João, so bopping along is mandatory.

One more beer. One more stage. Rinse and repeat. As we head west down the river, we pass someone’s garage which has been converted into a makeshift bar and party hub with old guys swaying along to the music.

No one is going to bed anytime soon…

Is it a garage, or a party?

Except, honestly, for me. I am not Portuense, I don’t have the stamina for this night. We pass the road that leads back to my neighbourhood and I bid my friends farewell. We walk one of Porto’s interminably long hills, back down Rua de Cedofeita where the party rages on.

As I hit my bed around three am, I am full. Of sardines, of bifanas, of sandes de pernil, of Champagne and of a couple too many Super Bocks. But also a love for these festivals that bring so many people together in a haze of food, drink, dance, and in this case, plastic hammers.

And with that, my first São João comes to an end. Good job it won’t be my last.

Images courtesy of my friend Eunice