Sticks and Scones

It sates itself on the life-blood of fated men,
paints red the power’s homes with crimson gore.
black become the sun’s beams in the summers that follow,
weathers all treacherous. Do you still seek to know? And what?

Every one, a perfect moment.

Golden light filtering through newly-leafed oaks. Falling cherry petals covering a car. Spring is back in Portland. A quiet spring. A tired spring. But spring, nonetheless.

If you’re looking for my normal vitriol, I apologize. I have gorged on anger and outrage and fear this past year. I have no taste for it. I’m sure there will be room for salt in my diet come a calmer future.

To work then; we live in a world of take-out only restaurants. You can even get booze delivered to your door. Thanks Kate. Some have risen to the occasion; some have foundered. Toro Bravo is decidedly among the former.

Most persistent dining companion and I, despairing of ever satisfying our wee valkerye with pedestrian fare and needing a reminder of art have retreated to our ordering patterns from the dreamtime. Namely: one of pretty much everything.

Toro Bravo make it easy:

Sidra House Dinner for Four
A selection of highlights – Farm Greens, chroizo and cheese, grilled octopus, smoked coppa steak. All are fabulous. I’ve been lax in my persecution of cephlapods in recent months and this meal offered me the opportunity to fuck with the be-tentacled freaks in a couple of delicious ways.

That steak is also something to chase down when you have the chance. Easily some of the best beef I’ve had in town.

Potatoes Bravas
And brave were these little taters in their service to El Presidente. Few fried things really survive a thirty minute car ride, but these still held their own.

Squid Ink Pasta
Anchovies and hazelnuts weren’t really how I expected my day to end, but sweet tap-dancing Moses does this taste good. Creamy and rich in all the right ways. I’m not generally at home with the filbert, but I’d be the little spoon after this one. Love is love.

Basque Burnt Cheesecake
I’m genuinely surprised I got much of this. I haven’t seen most persistent dining companion attack a dessert like this since I miss-spelled some geography in the Middle East. We didn’t even both with the whipped cream – also tasty. As I look now, it’s gone from the takeout menu. Totally unsupervised it sold out.

To make art in defiance of adversity is courage laid bare. Each moment we notice – savor – is a victory. Every one, a perfect moment.

https://www.torobravopdx.com/

As you might have guessed, if you’ve read… anything else I’ve ever reviewed, I like unfussy restaurants. And while the democratization of fine dining has enabled me to express my gluttony in sweat pants, french food has always seemed to resist the movement towards letting the plebs in. Because nothing screams fine dining like having some French peasant sneer at you because he can read the menu

Bergerac doesn’t do that.

Down in Milwaukieis a great little restaurant. Busy, but never loud – Excellent wines, serviceable cocktails, and friendly, welcoming staff. And some of the best food in SE.

Bay scallops –seared bay scallops, fennel & saffron sauce vierge, dill, spicy  apple slices, arugula .

These were some wee scallops, but damn they were good. And perfectly cooked, which is no small feat when they’re the size of mini-marshmallows. Fuckers will be chewy as a new condom if you turn your back on ’em The spicy apple chip is a bit of a non-sequitor – sweet, with a bit of chili powder and paprika. It doesn’t really fit in to everything else, but taken by itself is tasty.

Pear salad – gf warm poached pear, french blue cheese cream, arugula, hazelnuts, pear reduction

This one is fuckin’ baller. I’m not a big fan o’ the fillbert, but the toasted halzelnut flavor and a bit of crunch really brings everything together. The dressing is light, just enough to remind you it’s there, without overpowering everything else. Hard recommend

Confit de Canard gf.df cured & slow cooked duck, garlic parsley potatoes, green beans, onion jam

What doesn’t taste better slowly cooked in it’s own fat? Not exactly a Spring dish, but I wanted duck and taters. So I got duck and taters. And you know what? It was fucking great.

Poisson du Jour gf. e leeks & potato soubise, creamy fish broth, asparagus, snow peas, young carrots, smoked garlic, fried shallots mp

And that day’s fish was halibut. I’d comment more, but I didn’t really get to try any. Which speaks for itself, really.

You should definitely save room for dessert – pear belle helene, chocolate mousse, a killer pear tart, and what I’m pretty sure is house made ice cream. At least they get it from somewhere good.

If you’re down south, you should check it out, for the halibut.

www.bergeracpdx.com

In an effort to appease my poor vitamin D deficient soul, most-persistent dining companion and I, along with the wee sprog, decided to fuck off down the coast. Astoria to California over a few days. Maybe see some fucking daylight for a change.

And it doesn’t disappoint, does the Oregon coast. I’m not used to folks putting topography in such close proximity to the ocean, but I could definitely see it catching on. Y’all are on to something there.

We turned up round about lunchtime to find out that the only thing on offer were the fish tacos – no oysters. Because the boat hadn’t come in yet. My agrarian upbringing didn’t always include such cosmopolitan fare, but I’m pretty sure “you can’t have it, because they haven’t been picked yet” is a damn good marker for freshness.

Rockfish Tacos – were fucking delicious. From a tiny, two burner induction set-up, our hostess cranked out grilled fish and a fantastic cabbage slaw. Befitting her Northern European roots, they were spot on spicy; the creamy dressing just taking the edge off. If you’re ever in Garibaldi, you’ve got to stop in for them.

We were the only folks in the restaurant (apparently locals check the tide tables), but we were immediately made to feel at home. As fantastic as the food was, our hostess made the meal. In turn warm, attentive, kind, and welcoming. I know I’m trying to cultivate a crusty persona, but this was genuinely one of the best meals I’ve had in years. Not fucking around.

You should eat here, if only to reward a genuinely wonderful human being.

https://www.sourcenw.com/

Take your time.

This is not the kind of place to bring your middle-American “where are my goddamn mozzarella sticks” mindset. Time and people move slower in hot places, even when transplanted to the other side of the world. So relax, cause it’s gonna be worth it.

From the start, this place feels right. It’s a bare bones kinda joint; a few tables, a back patio, fridges in the dining room, food passed through a tiny window. I’ve eaten in this restaurant a hundred times all over the world – sweating, drinking “hot-country lager”, listening to people talk. Being a foreigner here myself, it’s a bit of continuity from a vagabond life.

Akadi is “West-African” which is about as helpful as “Chinese”. But, she’s hitting the highlights hard:

Fried Cassava – It’s what it says on the tin. The real kicker is the sauce that comes with it. It’s the mild version – apparently there is a hot – because you all are wimps. Seriously, y’all need to strap up cause my inability to get a spice fix that isn’t wings or Indian will eventually become a major sticking point in our relationship.

Okra Stew – West African surf and turf. They were out of goat the night we were in, but subbing lamb was definitely the right way to go. Fishy, oily, and slimy in all the right ways. Just needed a bit more heat. I’m going to bitch about this a bunch, but I want to make it clear: this isn’t her fault. Y’all just won’t buy it if it’s spiced like it is back in the old country.

Cassava Leaf Stew – This one was totally new to me. The nearest cognate I can come up is spinach, but with an earthier undertone. This one came with lamb as well, since goat. As an aside, does anyone have a goat supply guy? I have needs.

Jollof Rice – It’s not a fucking side; it’s the reason we came. Rice cooked in a tomato based sauce with spices. As with many simple things, this is absurdly good. It’s like a couple of bucks extra, but if you don’t get it there’s basically no point to you. At all.

Go grab a Tusker and slow down. Cause it’s gonna be all right.

https://akadipdx.com/

Well, that was…. meh.

I am not hip enough for the Clinton neighborhood. Given the amount of pomade and very, very clean plaid shirts on display, I don’t know that anyone is- though they’re certainly trying. But following a stunning performance of NeZha the Dragon Conqueror at the Clinton Theater, we fetched up in what should have been a fine meal. It’s mussels in the Pacific Northwest. The only way to make it easier would be if they sauce themselves.

What followed was a lesson in musical composition taught by a college freshman – dishes that included all of the elements of a meal, but lacked the wisdom to tie all of the parts into a coherent tune.

Summer Salad –  Because who can resist “fancy herbs”. This really set the tone for the rest of the meal – each ingredient was, on it’s own, very good, but when you tossed them together it just got weird. Plum vying with cherry, then masked with cheese. And what’s the deal with the pumpkin seeds? Lots of things were crunchy in the salad and, so far as I could tell, they were unseasoned. Just a gritty texture at the bottom of the salad.

Cheese Board – This one was essentially “what youtube cooks think you should put on a cheese plate”. One blue, one hard, one soft, some pickles, some bread. Two of which were imported, which in a state like Oregon is basically a venal sin. Maybe you’re not going to hell, but you’re going to need dispensation from Saints Child and Bocuse before they let you out of purgatory.

Moules Catalan –  Momma always said that if you can’t say something nice, talk shit about people on the internet. And to their credit, this was definitely the best thing we had. The mussels are big and meaty and very, very good. The broth less so. You go into something like this expecting big wine and chorizo flavors and what came out was a fairly limp fish stock. Almost no heat, definitely under-salted. Just bland. I know the northwestern palate is unaccustomed to spice, but gimme something.

Duck  – it’s five spice duck. It’s hard to be generous about a thing that I’ve had – done in essentially the same way  over and over again. Just because you lump chimmichurri on it doesn’t make it interesting. It just overpowers the Chinese five spice. And I realize that you can make unspiced kimchi, but if I wanted sourkraut, I’d be back at Stammtish. Here too, the ubiquitous and totally unnecessary nuts – admittedly, a helpful textural note, but one that could have easily been played by a more robust kimchi. The eggplant, though, is fucking dynamite.

It was a meal without theme – music without composition. Each note played with workmanlike competence, but without joy, without risk. A bloodless meal in a bloodless restaurant. In the end, all I had was dinner.

 

http://www.lamoulepdx.com/

Bet you fuckers thought I forgot about you. But like elephants and my ex-wife, I never forget anything. And by “never forget” I mean ‘ was prompted to quick fucking around”. Turns out having a kid kinda puts a damper on your hobbies.

Admittedly, I’d never heard of this place – Most Persistent Dining Companion found it on the interwebs. It’s down in Oregon City – a place most notable for it’s municipal elevator. Once upon a time, it was the height of technology. It’s with projects like that Roosevelt beat the Nazi’s.

I’mma level with you chief, I don’t remember shit about the sandwiches here. The fillings are good – smoked fish and meatballs and sausage – but what you’re coming here for is the best fucking crepe-like thing I’ve ever had. The actual wrap, Lefse, is absolutely dynamite. They are soft and tender and I want one big enough to cuddle up in on a cold winter night. They’re like the hug your father will give you when he finally comes back with his smokes.

You need to go there. Right now. I mean it. I will find you and make you eat these. I have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career.

If Jesus decides to come back as a sandwich, he’d be a lefse.

https://www.facebook.com/scandinaviandishes/menu/

 

Unlike all those assholes on Yelp, I am an expert on Russian cuisine. I saw that episode of Chef’s Table on Netflix and everything. So hitch up your hotpants and strap on your mesh vest, cause we’re gettin’ all post-Soviet chic in here.

First off – unlike some of the other “hottest” restaurants in Portland, Kachka actually delivers on the hype. And by hype, I mean, turns out delicious things that I assume are representative of Russian cooking because they told me it was. And they had vodka – lots of vodka. That’s got to be authentic, right?

We had a flight.

As is tradition, my dining companion and I went with the “one of each please” strategy:

Perlovka –  because salads can be fun too. With the exception of the dumplings, this was probably my favorite dish. It’s got an herby umami thing going on which is killer. Plus, you’re gonna need some fiber at the end of all this.

Herring ‘under a fur coat’ – Think seven-layer dip if you were limited to things that came out of the ground, the ocean, or a chicken. Seriously,  everything seems to be garnished with crumbled hard-boiled egg. You get some fun contrasts in flavor and texture with this one, plus the bread is dynamite.

Cholodetz –  This one was tough – the combination of gelatin, boiled meat, and hard-boiled egg melded into a headcheese-esque texture, but without any real difference in meat flavors.  I’m normally at home with stuff like this, but both my dining companion and I had a hard time with it.

And then we got a shit-ton of dumplings: siberian pelmeni  and sour cherry vareniki. These little fuckers were awesome and a fantastic way to end mains. Individually delicious, better when you mashed one of each into your greedy pie-hole.

Dessert was the life-changing cookies and some fantastic tea. Save room for dessert. I mean it.

Kachka – it’s euro-pop and things made from fish. See if you can find the picture of baby Jeremy Clarkson.

http://kachkapdx.com

This fucking town.

I get it – the bums won out here. You’ve got to pay transit and arts taxes. Everybody’s got a vegan dish on the menu. Downtown smells like patchouli and urine. Your white-bread, bougious existence is threatened. All you can cling to now is charred mammal flesh – a talisman against the onrushing hoards of Birkenstock armored hippies and be-avacadoed and mustache-waxed hipsters. Hiding on the outskirts of town, you eek out a dismal existence, scampering from one safe-house to the next, desperate to maintain some shred of your grandparents America in the face of the Millennial gestapo. You’ll finally pick a hill to die on – a place to stand and fight: burgers.

Sweet jelly-roll Jesus, can you simmer down with your fucking hamburgers?

Killer Burger, Dave’s Agro-Burger, Dick’s Primal Burger, Super Dave’s SuperAgro-Burger. They’re burgers, kids. Let’s slow our roll a little.

Admittedly, it was a pretty good burger.

I went with a Fun Guy – I’m a sucker for puns and mushrooms and mushroom-based puns.  It was everything I wanted in a burger – greasy, cheesy, and an umami bomb. I also appreciate that they didn’t try to insert a salad into the relationship. Lettuce and tomato have a place in my world, but it not on the Friday before Christmas. Professional Fat Kid

Their house sauce is interesting. I didn’t like it, but I ate a bit of burger, drank a little beer (their house red – a little weak on both flavor and body, but probably what I needed since there was a non-zero probability of having to be a responsible adult), had some more and eventually decided it was pretty good. It’s heavy on the browner spices – cumin and the like – so YMMV. Mine did.

My dining companion had a similar experience with his normal burger – storing an extra layer of blubber before he returned to the tundras of his homeland.

I’d probably take my dad here, but not tell my mom. Get you some.

www.killerburger.com

 

This is the story of the first time I fell in love.

Way back in first grade I was friends with a Cuban girl and, in the normal course of things, her folks invited mine ’round for dinner. While our mom’s gossiped about other parents and our dads sipped beer, she and I sneaked into the kitchen where her grandmother and great-grandmother were cooking – Abuela and Abuelita, respectively. And, in that wonderland of delicious smells and surreptitious bits of food to taste, I fell in love.

It turned out that Abuelita had a soft spot for polite, toe-headed young-uns – a harried affection that would, over the next few years, earn me quite a few treats from her kitchen. And, in return, I loved her as only a little kid can – that searing, all-consuming, white hot love, undiluted by adult sexuality, that launches you sprinting from the car and into the kind of floury, comforting hug only a grandmother can give.

It is my firmly held belief that food made by grandmothers tastes best. Arroz con pollo, picadillo, carnitas, yuca, moros y christianos. And the cookies. Good lord the cookies.

But best of all things: ropa vieja.

I’ll admit, I had thought I was going to be doomed to the netherworld of half-assed, hipster-fied “Cuban” sandwiches and sad, under-spiced black bean mush when I left the east coast. Not because Cubans are not an industrious and adventurous people, but because, like bloggers, they are sensible and prone to mildew in the rain. Imagine my surprise then when, not wanting to brave the accordions and leather pants at Stammtisch’s Oktoberfest, we end up having dinner in Miami.

It is one of life’s true joys to sit on the sidewalk as the sun goes down, sipping an Iron Beer and talking about the day with someone you love.  If you ask nicely, they’ll slip a little rum in it too.

We started with fried yucca and maduros. If my tentative optimism was to be dashed, I wanted it out of the way early. These are things I love. And they were perfect. Sweet and starchy and crispy and sour. Perfect.

Ropa Vieja. It’s such a simple thing – slow stewed beef, peas, beans and rice. And yet, it meant that I might not always feel foreign in this part of the world. This little piece of familiarity – of home – grabbed me hard. I have no idea what my dining companion ate. I was wrapped in a great, soft, floury embrace.

The Tres Leches cake is also excellent. Get it with some coffee.

I can probably stay here now.

https://www.pambiche.com/

This one has a happy ending.

Hospitals aren’t, as a rule, going to be included on anyone’s “ten best” list  The trope of terrible hospital chow –  grey, overcooked mush floating languidly in a  sightly grayer sauce – persists because, well, hospital food sucks. It seems to be calculatedly awful, encouraging you to leave through the front door or through the morgue, but definitely not to linger.

That said, having recently spent a few days at La Hotel OHSU, my most persistent dining companion and I were pleasantly surprised at the quality of the meals. First, it’s room service. You call down, they bring you what you want. There’s a menu! Of recognizable meals! Secondly, it’s good. Fresh produce, actual meat, and they manage to get it to you while it’s still hot. They’re not going to win any Michelin stars up the hill, but as institutional food goes, it beats the hell out of nutraloaf.

It’s cheap too, at least for those of us tangentially attached to the action. It was like $10 bucks a plate. I’ve paid a lot more for worse meals in Portland. Probably making it up on the insurance side of things.

Admittedly, after being awake for better than seventy-two hours, I’m a bit foggy on what we actually ate – meatloaf was in there, a spaghetti-esque plate of pasta, lots of fresh fruit. At one point there was a giant cesar salad, though it’s a even bet was to whether that one actually existed. I had to go mump coffee off the nurses – not for the first time, having been on the meatball side of medicine in my girlhood –  but even the perpetual pot yielded surprisingly good results.

So if you’re going to have a major medical episode, I can recommend the chocolate chip cookies at OHSU. If you complete the frequent customer card, they also give you a child to take with you. It’s pretty alright.