Portland vs. New York

So this is gonna be controversial, but I think, on the whole, Portland's food is way more exciting than New York's. There are great things, OBVIOUSLY, in both cities. But what Greg Denton is doing at Superbite, with Andy Ricker as probably the best Thai chef in the country, Jason Francis French's basically instigating the whole wood oven fired cooking craze, Toro Bravo is still my favorite Spanish, the national acclaim for The Pigeon, the brilliant authenticity of Renata.... I really think Portland's bar is higher. Sssooooo....... what do YOU think?

Diversion:PDX/Cafe Castagna

The night after visiting Cafe Castagna, my dad (only sort of jokingly) asked me to go back all the way across town just to bring him another one of the bread puddings we had devoured. And while he was waxing poetic on dessert, I wished I had leftovers of my roasted shrimp with chickpeas to enjoy again... and again. Castagna was voted Best Restaurant in 2011 by The Oregonian's Diner, and has experienced much change from its opening over ten years ago. It now finds itself in the capable hands of chef Matt Lightner, who is enjoying accolades near and far. During the busy holiday season in which we were amidst, I couldn't justify another fancy dinner out, but I made a convincing enough argument to visit Cafe Castagna, its less formal counterpart housed at the same address. It seems that many of the buzzy Portland restaurants are concentrated in this south east section of the city, a previous no-man's land, probably much like was the East Village in New York (or EVERY dingy nabe in New York) which now hosts one of the city's most bustling restaurant scenes. The glowy light of the restaurant cast a warm aura onto the slushy sidewalks outside, a harbinger of the softly lit dining room with walls painted golden. An airy mobile dangled from the ceiling, echoing the shadows of bare-branched winter trees that cast their silhouettes on the translucent windows in front . A table was immediately available (yes, of course, no reservations taken for parties smaller than five), mostly due to the early hour. Still, every table remained filled throughout the course of the evening, for all the good reasons to follow.

The menu is extremely well-priced, even by Portland (as opposed to New York) standards. For the exquisite flavors, thoughtful preparations, beautiful platings and substantial portions, the price points are astounding. (Perhaps they make some of it up by the upscale mother restaurant next door?) A steaming puree of celeriac soup, in a bowl deep and wide, arrived drizzled with a spiral of creme fraiche and floating tiny brioche croutons, crunchy and light, sprinkled with green onion. Roasted beets came soused
in a mustardy puree paired with pristine sprigs of mache (ah, my favorite salad green!), untossed, so that the delicate lettuce didn't succumb to the substantial dressing. I am always so thankful for a beet dish NOT paired with goat cheese (it's a true, but predictable combination), and this one was exemplary. The most expensive starter is a half dozen oysters at $16, but some, like roasted shrimp with chickpeas, or calamari with chorizo (both $13), are big and robust enough to pair with a side dish as a main course. Five jumbo roasted shrimp mingle with a generous dose of meaty chickpeas in a rich, oily tomato sauce, flecked with minced emerald green herbs. Be sure to use the sliced baguette to mop up the sauce (skip the kitschy little pats of foil wrapped butter... I guess they're saving the good stuff for next door).

Speaking of main courses, the burgers (eleven measly dollars) were literally flying out of the kitchen; there must have been one at every table but ours, skinny little golden fries tumbling off the plate in their excess, tantalizing burger-less bystanders. I must learn to overcome my aversion to sandwiches for dinner, or else tote along more Josh Ozersky-types as eating companions (although I doubt he'd share a bite). At any rate, their highly acclaimed popularity was more than well-illustrated on this particular evening. Other entrees maintain a modest disposition, but are more sophisticated in practice. A house-made garlic sausage didn't burn with garlic, but with pungent horseradish, nestled on a bed of braised cabbage, fragrant with lardons, and joined by some roasted fingerlings. It's a typical choucroute type of dish, but a little less rustic . In the same vein was a humble zuppa di pesce, which arrived in an unexpectedly creamy broth, fragrant with leeks and saffron. A buttery filet of meltingly soft white fish folded itself the seafood-laden soup, touting a jauntily perched crouton with a generous slather of lemony aioli. So much seafood and such nuanced flavor for couple of Jacksons... and only a cassoulet at $25 and a flat iron steak at $22 were any pricier. Side dishes aren't required to fill out any of the entrees, which come with their fare share of accoutrements, but with such reasonable prices, any of them will be another $6 well spent. The brussels sprouts with bacon were irresistable little nuggets of nutty vegetable flavored with smoky bacon and a nice over char. I had to fend off too many forks invading these; I wanted them all.

The crowning glory of the dinner, however, may just have been its finale. None of us needed dessert (I mean, honestly, to you ever need dessert?), but one look at the menu convinced my dad that there was one more course to be had. Bread pudding, when available, is strictly forbidden to be overlooked. After a slight delay (we were wondering if they were baking the bread to be baked into the pudding? Or perhaps grinding the flour?), it arrived like a pillow on a plate. An eggy, ethereal cloud of the tenderest brioche, with barely detectable cubes at one with the sweet custard. It spooned up more like a souffle than your average pudding, caramelized on top to a rich, golden brown and dusted with a flounce of powdered sugar. We requested it a la mode with a scoop of their house-made vanilla ice cream. If you blinked you might have missed this dessert entirely; it was gone as quickly as three spoons could navigate their way from plate to mouth and back.

The whole night unfolded under the watchful eye of the owner, Monique Siu, who circulates through the adjoined restaurants to ensure everything is going smoothly. She exudes a motherly calmness, and it was so nice to see her proudly at the helm of just a successful venture. She handpicked Lightener to oversee both restaurants, and it appears to be a match made in heaven. If my experience at the Cafe is an accurate indication of his talent (and I'm doubtless it is), I'm anxious for the opportunity to see what is happening next door, whatever the price.



1758 SE Hawthorne Blvd. corner of Poplar Street
Portland, Oregon 97214
503.231.9959

Diversion: PDX/OLYMPIC PROVISIONS

Olympic Provisions is the quintessential Portland restaurant of 2010. A snarky, understated, bare-bones celebration of carnivorey. (M)EAT flashes in marquis block letters as you enter through the old fashioned wooden door, past the meat hook coast hangers on the painted wall, and into the cement-floored, bare-beamed, garage-like "dining room". A long counter separates the cooking from the eating, but because of the limited number of tables and inescapable no-reservations policy, you're as likely as not to catch a seat there, which puts you about two and half feet away from your meal throughout its preparation. As an added bonus, you can ogle the chefs' exquisite tatooage, another Portland standard. There is also a narrow communal table towards the far end, but it stands chairless, as will you if you opt to dine there. Now, I'm all for minimalism, but I do like to be seated to enjoy my meal. I can eat standing up at the kitchen counter at home (though probably rarely this well), which made the bar a more appealing option.

There are no cocktails (probably that would be deemed a little frou-frou for this restaurant/market), but the wine list is positively enormous. I was drawn to an unfamiliar Picpoul de Pinet solely by the way the charming name rolled off the tongue, and our super-friendly, highly knowledgeable and helpful server recommended it as well. Coincidentally, the word means "lip-stinging", because of it's voluptuous lemony tartness. I could not stop saying the name all night. We started off with a cute little plate of pickly things: some ribs of rhubarb which made nice finger food, sweet bread and butter chips, crunchy onions and traditional cornichons. They're a good balance for the rich little bites of cheese and a variety of salumi and charcuterie listed individually for making up a personalized antipasto-type starter. A side of cold, citrus-spiked beets came next, teamed with chunky green olives and buttery quartered avocados. These were the best of the veggie dishes on hand that evening, the rest of which failed to enjoy the same indulgent love as the cooked dishes and meats. Brussels sprouts were a bit disappointing, frankly: a voluminous haystack of leafed-out sprouts mingling with more of those olives and juicy thin slices of sunchoke dressed with anchovy vinaigrette. It was a perfectly acceptable salad, admittedly, but unexpectedly raw, and thus dousing all the anticipation of the deeply roasted, hearty little cabbages I was jonesing for. We had considered also a side of lacinato kale, but upon its deliverance to another diner, saw that it, too, was a raw chiffonade and opted against. I guess one could appreciate the minimalist preparations as a refreshing counter to the more substantial courses, but I found them wanting. Notably, I now see some more interesting options under the Vegetable Dish section of the menu online, like braised turnips and seared leeks, but none were on offer that night. Perhaps the chef read my mind.

On a higher note (like, Mt. Hood high) comes the kitchen's proficiency with meat and heat. Rich, stewed octopus in tomatoey sauce thick with beans and bacon arrived steaming from its earthenware bowl. I wanted more bread for the sauce.... as well as just more of the dish, period, even though it was of reasonable proportions. Just as wonderful was a meaty sugo topped with crisped cubes of firm polenta and a generousshaving of grana. Speaking of proportions, this was an inverted take on a traditional polenta al sugo, featuring the saucy meat (meaty sauce?) and using the humble cornmeal as an accoutrement. Our server recommended just two dishes per person, but looking back, I think that didn't include the vegetable ones, and I felt like I definitely had room for more food after what we ordered here. I saw the roasted cod destined for someone else's plate, as well as a ground lamb with Moroccan flavors, that I would definitely return for. Even a chicken with braised greens, beans, lemon and chile would warrant a repeat visit, and that is CHICKEN. I never order chicken. But it looked amazing. Instead, we utilized our remaining appetite to enjoy a delightful citrus tart, plump with lemon curd in a buttery crust and topped with impossibly juicy wedges of grapefruit and mandarin orange, and festively sprinkled with glimmering pomegranate seeds. Another tempting option was a scoop of dense black walnut ice cream, served affogato-style in a warmed vin santo... that just might serve as dessert if and when I get back to order that chicken.


107 SE Washington St.
Portland, OR 97214

info@olympicprovisions.com

503-954-3663

Diversion: PDX/LAURELHURST MARKET

"Keep Portland Weird!" is painted in huge, white block letters upon a brick wall across the street from the new Laurelhurst Market: new as in the old market of the same name was a bodega of sorts, of dubious legitimacy, purveying an even sketchier array of random commodities . But the Market in its current incarnation exhibits neither nefarious quality, now a restaurant of outstanding repute which also houses a small, locavore-esque butcher shop where you can purchase the meatier comestibles available on the restaurant's menu, as well as sandwiches (made with fresh, local Fleur de Lis bread) and beverages to eat in or take away. Despite the spare, industrial decor and exposed ceiling beams that arch across the dining room from the market to the bar, the interior is warm, rustic and inviting. Little twinkly votive candles and lights glowing off a collection of shiny pots and pans in the open kitchen create a convivial atmosphere. Just in front, chef David Kriefels keeps a hawk-eyed watch on each plate from mis to service, maintaining superlative quality control
certainly not exclusive solely to those beans (You know, the ones your mother would have made if she loved you, which is what is charmingly noted at the bottom of the menu). The no-reservations policy ubiquitous to Portland's casual dining scene fuels a steady crowd at the small bar, which boasts a nice little cast of cocktails and a very reasonably priced wine list, heavy on the reds. They even had a mourvedre (which I've been dying to try) by the glass: a plush, fruity little varietal from the centuries old grape that is enjoying a resurgence in popularity, and the one they poured here proves why.

Laurelhurst Market is primarily a steak house, but almost anything on the offer has such robust flavor that you won't miss meat even if you don't order it. A spa-sounding endive and grapefruit salad
with Dungeness and chervil flaunted those crisp, juicy leaves lavished with rich, sweet morsels of crab, brightened with citrus and nestled in a creamy, smooth puree of sunchokes. All those sprightly ingredients join forces to a decadent effect. We bumped a side dish of perfectly roasted beets with pistachios up to appetizer status, and while their strawberry gastrique was mostly undetectable but for a meager puddle hidden underneath, it did pair quite winsomely with the salad (though, admittedly, we should have left it in its side dish category where it would've performed more deftly. Note to self: obey the chef!).

The menu breaks mains down into steaks and entrees, the former including every-which-cut of bovinity imaginable, where you can choose your cut from the daily offerings which , although specified a la carte, arrive with thoughtful accoutrements. They are a little veggie-scant, though, which provides a tremendous opportunity to take advantage of the solid array of ridiculously good side dishes. I definitely could've made a superb repast simply with a tasting plate of three or four of them. The steak frites arrive with a mountain of exceptional hand cut fries, and I saw some enormous Walla Walla sweet onion rings crowning the ribeye at the next table. Neither of those, however, could have been appreciably better than the brussels sprouts, uber-roasted to an almost melting tenderness, charred crispy on the edges by no stinginess of heat and oil, although they were supposed to have been prepared with lemon, anchovy and piment d'espelette, which if they were was with a very subtle hand.

Entrees include more meat, a few poultries, and a daily fish, prepared with a few more creative liberties than the steaks, and put the emphasis on umami-rich ingredients like mushrooms, wine-based sauces, truffles, and rich reductions.
Tournedos of filet mignon, the most expensive dish on the menu at $36 (but well worth it!) justifies its price with a rich lobe of fois gras, scored and sprinkled with a crispy nest of delicate celeriac frites, surrounded by a moat of truffled sherry gastrique upon a creamy potato puree. As rich and regal as it might sound, it tasted even voluptuously more so, fancifully toeing the line of excess but remaining just a crispy frite's-width shy. Idaho rainbow troutshone as the daily catch, hearty enough to rival the meats: two generous skin-on filets splayed atop a savory-sweet puree of butternut squash, and roasted chunks of fennel, parsnips and apple… an absolute bargain for a mere $20.

Desserts are wholly unnecessary here, but equally unmissable. Most are classics or riffs thereof: an affogato uses a rich chocolate sorbet instead of vanilla gelato, a superlative tarte tatin is buttery beneath melting vanilla bean ice cream. A little homework, however, nudged us toward a dulce de leche cheesecake with jammy Oregon huckleberries, described by
some internet commentator (with whom I cannot argue) as "knee-buckling". The substantial crumby graham cracker crust cradles dense creamy cheesecake, caramelly sweet with a smooth milky tang. This dessert has been on the menu since the beginning, and our waitress assured us it isn't going anywhere (be thankful). Just as good was a dense bread pudding, rife with tangy dried cherries and crusty on the edges of its little individual ramekin, and topped with a sweet mascarpone cream, whipped into weightlessness.

I'm amazed they can consistently produce food this exceptional at such reasonable prices. As does a good sister restaurant, it vigorously inspires a visit to Simpatica Dining Hall upon my next return to Portland. If this is the city's version of weird, I'm all for it. I guess, like they say, you can't take the trailer out of the girl.





Laurelhurst Market
3155 E. Burnside, Portland OR 97214
restaurant 503-206-3097
butcher shop 503-206-3099