Two thousand and nine started oh so sweet, but finished crushingly bitter - the failed relationship, internal strife, and finally being drugged and robbed left me more than a little melancholy. Cliché as it sounds, the internal world does indeed start expressing itself in the things we do, in the product of our hands. So it's pretty unsurprising that one particularly dreary December evening I decided that mixing Cynar and salt would be a great idea.
In the hundred or so evenings that I walked past Genoa on my way to some other place, I never felt compelled to go inside. Why were the diners cloistered behind thick curtains while the tiny kitchen was windowed and on display? It's pretentious facade seemed to warn: "Expensive Cookery inside, middle lower class neighbors need not enter". With the recent rise of great Portland restaurants it's now more important than ever to appeal to your neighborhood, and maybe that was part of Genoa's decline from institution to closed. But now Genoa is not only open again, but there's a new bar/cafe - Accanto - adjoined and it's sporting long hours (lunch!), big windows, and an inviting atmosphere that feels downright neighborly.
Bathed in the holy light of stained glass, the four of us managed to completely pack Portland's smallest bar as our pontiff Bradley Dawson poured soul quenching tonics and the kitchen of David Siegel issued forth our cheeseburger communion. Belly Timber shows equal devotion to diverse seasonal dishes as well as craft cocktails from it's cloistered Victorian on SE 32nd & Hawthorne. My penance on this outing would be a few cocktails, a burger, and a bit of marrow.
We walked into Carlyle the moment it opened on Portland's hottest day in over 25 years. A sweaty motley bunch of food nerds, we basked in what little cool the AC could muster against the 108º onslaught and spread ourselves haphazardly amidst the classy cherry wood bar. We looked out of place, but with nobody else in the joint (and this being casual-everywhere Portland) we didn't give a damn. Class would soon be found however in the exquisite cocktails and one hell of a burger.
Crafting a perfect Margarita presents the same challenge as a perfect Manhattan - with so few ingredients every one of them can break the drink and even subtle changes in technique can alter the final elixir. Packing 10 bottles a mile in 100 degree heat, preparing 8 identical cocktails in a few short minutes, and seeking exotic ingredients from afar has given this project an air of mysticism and spiritual discipline. It's also left me blackout drunk. But some journey's must be taken, and here you'll find the first leg - the best tequila for a heavenly Margarita.
The Portland International Beer Fest is hands down my favorite beer event of the year. Big domestics and internationals make up most of the taps and scare the Bud swilling riff-raff away (well, compared to OBF anyway). Stopping by after work last night for a one hour speed round before last call, I came away surprised both at what I liked and didn't like this year.
The truffle fries at Ten 01 are a happy hour legend. The $1 oysters are a screaming good value. But I'm not going to talk about either of those things today. In this installment of the goodist's quest for the best burger and cocktail I'm simply going to extoll one of the best ways to spend $15 between 3 and 6pm.
My immune system is finally starting to leave my iris alone, so I can see and hence write, but posts my be a bit a brief until I'm back to full power. Clearly my ability to focus a camera remains impaired...
The first time I went to Laurelhurst Market for sandwiches it was opening week, and there were some serious bread issues. Although I've continued to hear sporadic reports of mouth pain, I figured it was time to give them another try after really enjoying the restaurant side.
Continue reading "Follow Up: Laurelhurst Market Sandwiches" »
Clyde Common inaugurates a series of articles exploring Portland's best cocktail bars and the hamburgers that inhabit them.
Gazing out the window, cocktail in hand, I realized that Clyde Common may be Portland's best bar for people watching. Hip out of towners from the attached Ace Hotel milled about the sidewalk as the ubercool bike set and delightfully trashy Stark St folk passed by - every Portland cliche well represented. The soundtrack isn't bad either. Behind me at the large busy bar were the rants of local cooks packing their chef's knives and touring musicians attempting to brag their way into bed with dolled up ladies. But I had trouble paying attention, my drink was just too interesting and there was a burger on the way.
