Good evening, friends and neighbors!
It’s Sunday morning- my Monday at the cafe, and the ritual begins as soon I walk in.
Photo from Unexplainedaustralia.com
Kitchen Magic- Rites, Rituals, and Esoterica
Review #8- The Big Legrowlski
WHERE: The Big Legrowlski, 812 NW Couch St., Portland, OR, 97209
Let it never be said I’m not a sucker for a good gimmick.
Let it never be said I’m not a sucker for a good gimmick.
I can’t remember when I first saw the cinematic cultural touchstone that is the Coen Brother’s “The Big Lebowski.” I think it may have been while I was flipping through channels and came across the stark and baffled faces of Jeff Bridges and John Goodman after the famous “ringer at the bridge” scene.
A moment later, John Goodman uttered the line that formed a cornerstone of my life philosophy since college, and I was a fan forever:
Since that boring night on the Jersey Shore, I have downed more than a few White Russian cocktails and irritated two girlfriends and my wife with viewings and trivia.
For the most part, they abided it well. (See what I did there?)
Thus, finding a certain bar during my perambulation of Portland can only be expressed as a sign from the Heavens.
I truly am a round-heeled pushover for the things I love, especially fandom.
“That’s just like, uh, your opinion, man.”
Keep It Moving
Good evening, friends and neighbors.
The professional kitchen has a reputation for being loud, busy, sweaty/on fire, and mired in what looks like absolute chaos but is, in fact, a precise choreography (affectionately called “the dance.”)
Not all kitchens have this vibe though. Some high-level chefs enforce a “silent kitchen-” where if you are not calling orders, calling back orders, or otherwise describing the tasks immediately at hand, you are to be silent and focused utterly on your work.
For the most part, pastry kitchens are considerably more quiet than the average, line kitchens. The very best ones are almost like medieval scriptoriums- lines of bakers focused quietly and diligently on delicate work.
In all kitchens, though, there are times when it MIND NUMBINGLY BORING.
Review #7- The Bivy / Saint Burrito
Where: The Bivy/ Saint Burrito 113 SE 28th Ave., Portland
I was 25 when I was first exposed to the glory of food trucks.
My older sister invited me to visit her in New Brunswick where she was attending grad school. Besides record exchanges, all-you-can-eat mediocre buffet sushi, and other wonders of the modern world- Steph said I HAD to get a “fat sandwich” from one of the grease trucks while I was there.
Fat sandwiches are what the country would eat for every meal if no one discovered kale and Whole Foods fell off the face of the Earth. Everything you can fit on a New Jersey sub roll- usually starchy/meaty/deep fried things- all wrapped up into a 10-inch long heart-murdering missile of joy. She brought me to a square of trucks staffed by evil/enterprising young student bent on the perfection of these lethal concoctions, and I- to my only partial shame- finished a chicken finger/fries/meatball/cheesesteak/Parmesan/mashed potato sandwich in one sitting.
We sat in a parking lot, knocked them back with bubble tea, and felt no pain.
Turn The Page- At the end of the day…
Good evening, friends and neighbors.When I was culinary school, I had a chef instructor who didn’t just teach pastry arts and baking- she also taught how to put them down and walk away.
The Black Hat Baker 