Filipe Santos, a Portuguese-American entrepreneur born in Newark, hrecounts a path that began in the tight-knit Portuguese community of his childhood and passed through more than a decade of heroin addiction. Listen to “The Heart & Hustle of Portugal”.

Filipe Santos, a Portuguese-American entrepreneur born in Newark, hrecounts a path that began in the tight-knit Portuguese community of his childhood and passed through more than a decade of heroin addiction. Listen to &ldquo;The Heart &amp; Hustle of Portugal&rdquo;.

Each week, join Tony Gonçalves—a U.S.-based Portuguese immigrant and successful media executive—as he explores the stories of those driving Portugal’s influence on the global stage. From visionary entrepreneurs to cultural pioneers, The Heart and Hustle of Portugal uncovers the unique ways the Portuguese identity thrives worldwide. As Expresso’s first English-language product, this series bridges cultures and connects the global audience to Portugal’s spirit of innovation, passion, and resilience.

Each week, join Tony Gonçalves—a U.S.-based Portuguese immigrant and successful media executive—as he explores the stories of those driving Portugal’s influence on the global stage. From visionary entrepreneurs to cultural pioneers, The Heart and Hustle of Portugal uncovers the unique ways the Portuguese identity thrives worldwide. As Expresso’s first English-language product, this series bridges cultures and connects the global audience to Portugal’s spirit of innovation, passion, and resilience.

Tony Gonçalves—a U.S.-based Portuguese immigrant and successful media executive— explores the stories of those driving Portugal’s influence on the global stage

The Heart & Hustle of Portugal

The Heart and Hustle of Portugal

Filipe Santos, a Portuguese-American entrepreneur born in Newark,  hrecounts a path that began in the tight-knit Portuguese community of his childhood and passed through more than a decade of heroin addiction. Listen to “The Heart & Hustle of Portugal”

Laughing in the face of addiction: Filipe Santos’ wild ride from humble beginnings to boss life

Trained as a translator and interpreter, Rita Barros came to photography almost by accident. It began with a Tom Waits concert, where she took photographs that turned out overexposed but salvageable, and which she ended up selling to a journalist when the singer had banned the press. From there came years of concert photography, developing film in her own kitchen and delivering prints by noon the next day, before she tired of a competitive, largely male environment. Of all the musicians she photographed, she singles out Iggy Pop as the most generous subject. Her work turned to the Chelsea itself, with the book “Chelsea Hotel. 15 Years”, dedicated to her neighbors, followed by self-portraits and self-published handmade books.

Rita Barros also recalls the 11 years she and other long-term tenants fought the hotel's new owners to stay, a battle she won, even if she admits the Chelsea Hotel of today has lost much of its earlier character. She now teaches photography at NYU, where she notes growing student interest in analog film, and keeps close ties to Portugal, with regular stays, exhibitions and books. “I don't have to decide whether I'm one or the other, I'm both”, she says, naming warmth as the defining trait of the Portuguese and recommending, for Lisbon, a beer at a garden kiosk, with nothing to avoid.

Trained as a translator and interpreter, Rita Barros came to photography almost by accident. It began with a Tom Waits concert, where she took photographs that turned out overexposed but salvageable, and which she ended up selling to a journalist when the singer had banned the press. From there came years of concert photography, developing film in her own kitchen and delivering prints by noon the next day, before she tired of a competitive, largely male environment. Of all the musicians she photographed, she singles out Iggy Pop as the most generous subject. Her work turned to the Chelsea itself, with the book &ldquo;Chelsea Hotel. 15 Years&rdquo;, dedicated to her neighbors, followed by self-portraits and self-published handmade books.
Rita Barros also recalls the 11 years she and other long-term tenants fought the hotel's new owners to stay, a battle she won, even if she admits the Chelsea Hotel of today has lost much of its earlier character. She now teaches photography at NYU, where she notes growing student interest in analog film, and keeps close ties to Portugal, with regular stays, exhibitions and books. &ldquo;I don't have to decide whether I'm one or the other, I'm both&rdquo;, she says, naming warmth as the defining trait of the Portuguese and recommending, for Lisbon, a beer at a garden kiosk, with nothing to avoid.

Rita Barros has lived in the same room at the Chelsea Hotel, in Manhattan, for 42 years. Born in Lisbon, she arrived in New York in 1980 to study English and ended up staying. A temporary room, taken in 1984 while she looked for an apartment, became room 1008, a place she describes as a “cocoon” and a “warm, protective space” that has accompanied her through every stage of her life and work. Listen to “The Heart & Hustle of Portugal”

Rita Barros: Chelsea Hotel room 1008, a lifetime of photography

After working at the Portuguese mission to the United Nations and trying out journalism, Ana Miranda decided, in 2011, to build something of her own: a platform to show contemporary Portuguese culture abroad, starting with a short film festival she funded out of her own salary.

Fifteen years later, the organization has taken more than 1,500 Portuguese artists to stages in 37 countries, from Saramago Week and Pessoa in New York to dance programs at Alvin Ailey and a film festival now in its 16th edition. Ana Miranda says the lack of institutional recognition from Portugal remains her biggest frustration. Public support, she notes, has barely changed, and funding came first from companies such as EDP. She argues that culture should be treated as investment, not charity, and points to Brazil, whose telenovelas, music and cinema built its international image, as proof.

The conversation also takes in what Miranda calls a Portuguese habit of envy and self-criticism, a theme she links to the treatment of Cristiano Ronaldo, to whom she says the country owes much of its global visibility. Her view is that the diaspora, with the perspective that distance brings, has a role in pushing Portugal to see its own potential. She names resourcefulness, the Portuguese knack for “making do”, as the defining national trait. Her advice to those chasing a dream is simple: know what the dream is, and the energy follows.

After working at the Portuguese mission to the United Nations and trying out journalism, Ana Miranda decided, in 2011, to build something of her own: a platform to show contemporary Portuguese culture abroad, starting with a short film festival she funded out of her own salary.
Fifteen years later, the organization has taken more than 1,500 Portuguese artists to stages in 37 countries, from Saramago Week and Pessoa in New York to dance programs at Alvin Ailey and a film festival now in its 16th edition. Ana Miranda says the lack of institutional recognition from Portugal remains her biggest frustration. Public support, she notes, has barely changed, and funding came first from companies such as EDP. She argues that culture should be treated as investment, not charity, and points to Brazil, whose telenovelas, music and cinema built its international image, as proof.
The conversation also takes in what Miranda calls a Portuguese habit of envy and self-criticism, a theme she links to the treatment of Cristiano Ronaldo, to whom she says the country owes much of its global visibility. Her view is that the diaspora, with the perspective that distance brings, has a role in pushing Portugal to see its own potential. She names resourcefulness, the Portuguese knack for &ldquo;making do&rdquo;, as the defining national trait. Her advice to those chasing a dream is simple: know what the dream is, and the energy follows.

Ana Miranda arrived in New York in 2006 with a plan to spend three months studying acting before heading to Brazil. She stayed. In this episode of The Heart & Hustle of Portugal podcast, the founder of the Art Institute speaks to Tony Gonçalves abou how the city's energy changed her course. 

Ana Miranda turned New York dreams into a global stage for Portuguese culture

Joey Bats put pastéis de nata on the map in NYC, and he did it by refusing to sell people a history lesson. He'd never cooked a day in his life. Engineer, corporate job, bored out of his mind. He got his mother's Bolo de Bolacha recipe first, sold it door to door to restaurants and bodegas, then switched to pastéis de nata because they freeze and travel. Early on, giving away free samples on the street, people heard "Portuguese pastry" and walked. It doesn't look like much. Nobody knew what it was.

Then Joey changed the pitch. He stopped mentioning Portugal. He told people to imagine a warm creme brulee wrapped in a croissant. That one sentence took him from selling a few to selling thousands.

But the bigger opportunity was never inside the diaspora. Joey has a theory about why Portuguese food stayed invisible in America - Portuguese immigrants came to New York, then left for Long Island and New Jersey, away from the cities that shape what the country eats. New York has more Ethiopian restaurants getting written up than Portuguese ones, and there are hundreds of thousands of Portuguese people around this city. Joey built his shops in exactly the cities with that kind of exposure, on purpose.

Ten years, a pandemic, an outdoor shed he built himself with no permit, and now a shop in Boston already doing the same daily numbers his original Chelsea Market spot did on day one.

Joey Bats put past&eacute;is de nata on the map in NYC, and he did it by refusing to sell people a history lesson. He'd never cooked a day in his life. Engineer, corporate job, bored out of his mind. He got his mother's Bolo de Bolacha recipe first, sold it door to door to restaurants and bodegas, then switched to past&eacute;is de nata because they freeze and travel. Early on, giving away free samples on the street, people heard "Portuguese pastry" and walked. It doesn't look like much. Nobody knew what it was.
Then Joey changed the pitch. He stopped mentioning Portugal. He told people to imagine a warm creme brulee wrapped in a croissant. That one sentence took him from selling a few to selling thousands.
But the bigger opportunity was never inside the diaspora. Joey has a theory about why Portuguese food stayed invisible in America - Portuguese immigrants came to New York, then left for Long Island and New Jersey, away from the cities that shape what the country eats. New York has more Ethiopian restaurants getting written up than Portuguese ones, and there are hundreds of thousands of Portuguese people around this city. Joey built his shops in exactly the cities with that kind of exposure, on purpose.
Ten years, a pandemic, an outdoor shed he built himself with no permit, and now a shop in Boston already doing the same daily numbers his original Chelsea Market spot did on day one.

Joey Bats never cooked a day in his life. He started selling Pasteis de Nata and now he has his own Boston place. Join us for this fascinating story about one of Portugal’s most enduring sweets and how its success on the other side of the Atlantic

Laughing in the face of addiction: Filipe Santos’ wild ride from humble beginnings to boss life

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