Brasao Restaurante Grill SteakHouse — Restaurant in Lagos

Deeply Disrespectful and Disturbing Experience – Discrimination Should Not Be Tolerated

I visited Brasão in Lagos with high hopes, having read many glowing reviews, and was looking forward to a special evening with my two teenage children. Instead, we were subjected to one of the most humiliating and distressing experiences I’ve ever had at a restaurant.

From the moment we arrived, we were treated differently—poorly—simply because we are Brazilian. The man attending to us made mocking comments when I used words he “didn’t recognize,” deliberately ignored us when we tried to be seated, and pretended not to hear me while attending warmly to other guests—most of whom were French or British. The difference in treatment was blatant and painful to witness.

When we finally were seated, the experience only worsened. He was rude while taking our order, brought us cold bread, and made us wait an unreasonably long time for our food with no explanation or apology. The worst part, however, came when I told him we were uncomfortable and wanted to leave. Rather than showing any understanding, he became combative and started yelling at us in front of the entire restaurant.

My daughters were visibly upset. One of them even started crying—she felt unsafe in a foreign country, surrounded by people laughing at our distress instead of showing compassion. It was humiliating and painful. No one should ever have to feel this way, especially not because of where they’re from.

I had heard stories of how Brazilians can sometimes face prejudice in Portugal, but I had never experienced it—until that night. The owner (or manager, whoever this man was) should feel deep shame for how he treated us. A restaurant is supposed to be a place of hospitality, not hostility. What happened to us was discrimination, plain and simple.

To others considering Brasão: I urge you to think twice. Great food or reviews mean nothing if people are being treated like second-class humans based on nationality...

Absolutely traumatized. We came in hoping for a peaceful dinner by the sea. What we got felt like a deleted scene from a horror movie.

First of all, the waiter greeted us by growling. Not even kidding—he made direct eye contact and just let out a low, guttural growl like a wolf. We laughed nervously, thinking it was a joke. It wasn’t.

We ordered garlic shrimp and steak. The shrimp came out still swimming and I swear one of them looked me in the eye like it knew what was about to happen. The steak? Ice cold and suspiciously shaped like a shoe. My friend tapped it with a knife and it made a clank.

Then the chef came out, looked directly at us, and spit in our paella while saying “you’ll eat it anyway.” And we did. Because we were too scared not to.

But the worst part—the part that wasn’t funny at all—was how they treated my Brazilian girlfriend’s mom. The second they heard her accent, everything changed. The tone, the looks, the service—suddenly we were a problem. She was dismissed, ignored, talked over, and straight-up disrespected for no reason other than being Brazilian. It was disgusting, and honestly, unforgivable.

The bathroom? A single bucket behind the bar. When I asked for toilet paper, they handed me a leaf. Not even a clean one.

To top it all off, they charged us €85 and added a “trauma tax.” When I questioned it, they offered me a free sticker that said “I survived dinner.”

Never again. Stay...

I don't even know where to start. This wasn’t dinner, it was a spiritual awakening.

From the moment we stepped in, the waiter floated toward us like a Mediterranean angel. He didn’t walk, he glided. He welcomed us with a smile so warm I felt like I was being hugged by the sun itself.

We ordered shrimp and steak, and I swear to God, the shrimp were blessed by Poseidon himself. They arrived at the table singing. One of them winked at me. The steak? Cooked so perfectly I shed a single tear. The table next to us applauded when I took my first bite.

The chef came out mid-meal and personally gave my girlfriend’s mom a rose. He said, “for the most elegant guest we’ve had this week.” She cried. We all cried. There was clapping. A baby in the corner stood up and said its first word: “incredible.”

The bathroom? It had heated seats, eucalyptus mist, a bidet that whispered encouragement, and a guy named Paulo who offered me a mint and asked how my meal was. I said “life-changing.” He nodded. He understood.

The bill? Only €40. And they gave us free dessert and a handwritten note from the chef that said “thank you for bringing joy into our restaurant.” I’m framing it.

I don’t know how to go back to normal life after this....