Portland

My Portland

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If anyone was to ask me where I’m from, I’m immediately proud to say “New Jersey.” Several times in my life, when people first meet me and ask where I’m from, they tend to assume England for some reason. I’ve never been able to explain why except for the joke response that when I was little my parents let me watch a lot of Monty Python and that I tend to be very polite. Dropping a few F-Bombs seems to clear it up though:

“Oh, I thought you were from England or something.”
“The fuck made you think that?”
“Okay, THERE’S the New Jersey, I hear it now.”
… Thanks, Sopranos.

Of course, I don’t live in Jersey right now. For the last six years, I’ve been happy to live in Portland, Oregon. Maybe you’ve seen it on TV or heard about it from your hipster friends. You might even have some ideas about what life here is like from the news of the last few years. Words like “war zone” and “anarchist jurisdiction” were thrown around a lot. For the rest of my life, I will remember riding in a bus around Walt Disney World in March of 2019. Sitting across from Emily and I was an elderly couple, and we started talking about what every tourist at Disney does after the heat, food, and bugs:

“So where are you visiting from?”
“Portland Oregon! Yourselves?”
The old man visibly bristled and scoffed- “Oh yeah, I hear that’s a great place to live.”
“Oh it is! Beautiful nature, amazing food and beer- you should visit sometime!”

I have never seen a man deflate so fast. Pro-tip: if someone’s looking for an argument, the easiest way to win is not to play. That said, when my little sister and her partner came to visit a few weeks ago, they expressed interest in seeing my Portland. Not the hellscape creatively described on Fox News or the goofy version on Portlandia. They wanted the Portland that a local loves/hates. A few years ago, I wrote a little post for people that wanted to move out here. Consider this a more-experienced addendum, and a helpful guide for anyone who wants to visit but is afraid of running afoul of roving bands of Nazis and/or anarchists.

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“No More Eulogies”- What’s Left of a Food Capital

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Some people complain about doing anything with a mask on. For these folks, the idea of exercise while wearing one is dangerous, stupid, or just unthinkable.

The biggest annoyances regarding masks for me are 1. Having to hear these people whine about it, and 2. My glasses fogging up when I go on my runs around Mount Tabor.

As such, I didn’t really notice the first couple times I was hustling down Belmont and saw glassware lined up for sale in the window of The Cheese Shop. The third time, though, put a rock in my gut and stuck with me for the remaining three miles of the run.

Glassware for sale at a restaurant means “The End is Nigh”, and another food industry eulogy will need to be written.

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Some Thoughts on Anthony Bourdain

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Anthony Bourdain wasn’t my culinary hero. The closest I have to culinary heroes are Masaharu Morimoto (for my memories of him as an Iron Chef), Albert Adria for raw artisanship, and Jacques Pepin for his ability to teach.

Anthony Bourdain was a literary hero for me, and a role model for how he approached food and life. He is still an inspiration for me as a storyteller because of his ability to remove himself from the center of it. He could write himself almost as a narrator, bearing witness to the food, the people, and the stories of their lives that THEY had to tell.

That was his greatest gift to me, I think. Not just inspiration to BECOME a cook (he certainly provided that as well), but an object lesson in how to connect with others, and help them tell their stories.

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Future for Two, 6 PM

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Good evening friends and neighbors!

As the pandemic sunk its teeth into the American culinary industry, there was no shortage of worries and opinions to fill column inches. They included hopeful outlooks, doomsaying, and more than a few appeals to our elected leaders that they should stop resembling a monkey sodomizing sports equipment.

A few of those hot takes even came from me- but one in particular came from my therapist:

“You’ve mentioned before how you and your wife enjoy going out to eat together. That’s certainly tough right now, but there’s got to be ways to make do.”

“Making do” is one of those skills that we humans are great at, diseases be damned- and tonight I went out to dinner to see how some places are doing it.

Selfie of the author sitting outside of Ankeny Tap and Table in Portland Oregon.
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The Afterlife of Restuarants

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I hadn’t seen the windows of the bar papered up since before they opened. The vinyl logos and graphics had been up back then, but little else indicating that The Nerd Out would be a bar and not a comic book or collectibles shop. Standing outside now, the giant neon logo had since been joined by menus, flyers for events, comic-book inspired graphics for the typical restaurant notices (“Kids welcome everywhere but the bar,” “we welcome everyone,” etc.) and a host of stickers on the door. Delivery services, local clubs, reviewers that wrote about them… and one with a black top hat on it.

I gently knocked on the door. The owner, Mitch, greeted me and ushered me into the Nerd Out for the last time.

The Nerd Out, shortly after opening.
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