The restaurant I used to work at had a heavy identity crisis, much like the identity crisis I would experience when, a few years later, I left the city for good.
It was located close to Avenida da Liberdade, the fashion avenue lined with luxury boutiques, yet it was too hidden away from it to attract a consistent stream of tourists. It had a hipster look with wooden surfaces and an abundance of plants (it even had a florist shop inside the restaurant!), yet it served traditional Portuguese dishes, such as Cogumelos à Bulhão Pato (mushrooms sautéed in garlic, lemon juice, and coriander) and Polvo à Lagareiro (octopus cooked in herbed garlic oil with smashed potatoes).
As a result, the clientele was a mix of foreigners and locals, and the restaurant would either be too crowded or too empty.