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 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.
Some dastardly illness knocked me down last night and hasn't let me get back up...but that doesn't mean abstaining from cocktails. Oh quite the contrary, it's toddy time.
Bitter is beautiful, the Italians know this far better than we sugar-addled Americans, and hence Campari - the deeply bitter/citrusy booze with a long secret history (it's said only one person knows the entire recipe).
Campari's most famous drink is the Negroni - deceptively simple and bitter as hell - it rewards only those that earn it. Like a big hoppy IPA you'll likely hate it at first, but then slowly find yourself craving that sharp citrus bite. I dare say it might be my favorite cocktail (at least this week) but something about it being served 'up' didn't do it for me texturally. Bitter sour drinks really click for me when there's some CO2 involved...so out comes the carbonator...
With the Manhattan Project just about wrapped up (the final tasting is done and I'm just polishing up the thrilling final post), I figured I'd celebrate with something a little different, a little nola, a classic. First person to figure out what I'm drinking in the comments is invited to come by and drink too many of em on the house!
Note: if the winner is in Thailand or Saudi Arabia (I see you in my google analytics!), raincheck ok?
Rye oh rye do things always have to get complicated? (let me get it out of my system in the first line then I promise to stop)
