Good evening, friends and neighbors.
Sometimes, I love being lost.
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Review of the Week #4- The Liquor Store
Where: The Liquor Store, 3341 SE Belmont Ave. Portland, OR
“Oh hey, Matt! You just finish? Wanna come down to the Liq for a beer?”
In this neighborhood, everyone in the industry knows everyone. Restaurant workers finish their day, they go down the to bar their buddy works at for a post-shift. After two years, I can only say I’m a “regular” at a few bars- places where they know my face, and what drink I’m about to order. It’s a good feeling, and if I’m honest I hit the bars up in a rotation just so no one feels slighted.
If you know Victor, though- you find yourself a regular EVERYWHERE.
In every restaurant, there is (or should be) “a guy.” A man of means. Possibly crazy, possibly criminal, but with a good heart who’s been known to make things “appear” from time to time. A guy who can talk his way into and out of anything- and who has been thrown out of more places than you knew existed.
Victor the barista is our “guy” at the cafe. He’s the one that just recognized me on my bike after work.
Beer o’clock, it is.
Review of the Week #3- The Tao of Tea
“Japhy got out the tea, Chinese tea, and sprinkled some in a tin pot, and had the fire going meanwhile, a small one to begin with, the sun was still on us, and stuck a long stick tight down under a few big rocks and made himself something to hang the teapot on and pretty soon the water was boiling and he poured it out steaming into the tin pot and we had cups of tea with our tin cups. … ‘Now you understand the Oriental passion for tea,’ said Japhy. ‘Remember that book I told you about the first sip is joy the second is gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy.'”
– from “The Dharma Bums”, by Jack Kerouac
Where: The Tao of Tea, 3430 SE Belmont St, Portland, OR 503-736-0119
The sun beat on my back as I biked up Belmont Street. Every three minutes or so, though, it would hide again and the wind of the otherwise crisp spring afternoon would chill the sweat.
It had been an another day in the bakeshop, and while I wasn’t necessarily eager to run to home just yet, I wasn’t feeling the noise and stimuli of a bar. I’d spent the day setting everything up and double-checking supplies so the new kids first solo day in production would be smooth- and now I needed to let go. Find a quiet place where I could crash in silence, chain up my bike, and slip into some light fare.
Fortunately, I knew such a place.
Tao of Tea’s location feels like a waystation of sorts- just on the edge of the nightlife-heavy Belmont Street strip. This is the location of several decent establishments, usually loud and illuminated.
Directly across the street from an arcade theater, the Tao of Tea sells (of course) fine loose leaf teas and wares, while their restaurant offers these up to guests with a menu of vegetarian dining options.
I’d known and enjoyed their teas for a while, and tried their snacking offerings in the Tower of Cosmic Reflections- the tea house they manage in Portland’s Lan Su Chinese Garden.
Having experienced a taste of their work amid the bliss of a curated garden, I sought out their flagship location for the “full experience,” so to speak- trading the tranquil garden for a busy city street.
As soon as soon as I entered, that street could have been ten miles away.
Every aspect of the restaurant, from the decor, to the music, to the lighting, exuded calm. Shutting the door behind seemed to be a ward- forbidding the noise and pace of the city from proceeding any further.
The dining room sat about 20, and I was told to pick any seat I liked by a smiling young Japanese woman. As she turned to get menus for me, I heard her rehearsing her lines quietly. A new hire, obviously- trying hard to impress. She was doing well so far.
The furniture and decor was intriguing- a hodgepodge of Pan-Asian and cargo cult accents, with bamboo shelves, displayed tea, and teaware. Normally, such kitsch would strike me as exotica, appropriating cultural elements to titillate and excite.
The overwhelming calm of the place, however, let it come off as completely unpretentious. Everything felt like it was meant to be there, following some logical one could comprehend only on a visceral level.
I chose a low wooden stool at a four-top, with warmly polished wood and supported by a stenciled tea chest. Large windows flood the room with sun, and soft lighting shades it when the sun hides again.
The menu arrives. A veritable catalog of fine teas, of course- arranged by variety, with tasting notes. The food menu is much simpler, and as much of a well-curated hodgepodge as the room- light vegetarian/vegan fare based from India, China, Japan, Greece, and one or two offerings from Europe.
My tea selection is a no-brainer- the “Pine Smoked Black.” For food, however, the choice considerably lighter edamame and steamed vegetable potstickers to start, Indian paneer soon after.
The tea arrives first, of course. The room wraps around me like a warm blanket was the young waitress carefully pours my first cup from the small clay pot.
Pine Smoked Black is a lapsang souchong- a type of black tea that gets roasted over wood fires, in this case, pine boughs. The heady smoky aroma lingers in the tea, eliciting memories of hearths and campfires past. It reminds me of camping in the Pine Barrens with the Scouts- a warm fire, my hair and clothes rife with the smell of woodsmoke, and a sky full of stars between the towering pines and cedars.
A blissful memory for each cup.
My eyes wander as I sip my tea- there’s something else unusual about the place. In cafes in Portland, I’ve gotten used to the omnipresent click-clacking of typing while people work. You tune it out after a while, like white noise on a television set, or the hum of air conditioning.
No one was on a computer. I was the only one with my phone out. Tao of Tea has no Wifi, and few- if any- wall outlets in the dining room.
You are not supposed to be working here, or at least not staring at a screen.
Aw hell, I’ve missed the point. Screwed it up. I’m not supposed to be working on it right now. Enjoy the tea, get pictures quickly and quietly, then put it away. My phone feels like an albatross- hide it fast.
The food arrives. Simple, stark, and beautiful. The vegetable potstickers are warm and soft- almost too soft to grab with chopsticks. There’s no dipping sauce- that would be too complicated, it feels. The dumplings are dressed on the plate, garnished with red-orange goji berries and green onions. Perfectly decent little pillows of veggie- each one feels like having your mother hold your hand.
The edamame are blanched perfectly- a verdant green, served ice cold. Warm dumplings and chilly soybeans- even my food matches the odd weather outside.
Unlike other places, the edamame are unseasoned- not even salted. Again, not even soy sauce on the table- you have it as it comes, as it was meant to be.
Finally, the paneer- sprinkled with black volcanic salt, lime juice, and raw grated ginger. The ginger is spicy and pungent, of course- what is the cook thinking? Who wants to eat just raw ginger root? Someone does- and I guess that’s me right now.
Another waitress sees me eyeing the plate and smiles- “You’ll love the black salt- it adds a sulfurous tang. It’s the best salt I’ve ever had- we put it on our yams too, you know.
“Sulfurous tang”? Raw ginger? Such aggressiveness in such a pleasingly peaceful meal?
“Sulfurous tang”? Raw ginger? Such aggressiveness in such a pleasingly peaceful meal?
Yes- and appropriately so. The paneer is tangy and cold- the lime and salt pull forward the sweet/sourness forward from what would otherwise be a simple farmer’s cheese. It’s the raw ginger that gives it aggression- or perhaps the word would be “backbone.”
It’s aggressive, not like a screaming lunatic- but of a motionless self-assurance. The ginger supports and is tempered by the lime and salt- making room for it, and giving it place on the plate. A fine, fiery dessert to a serene meal.
I linger over my tea, wanting to postpone my return to the world… but there are things to do, and I can’t stay. The check comes- $18 for a delicious moment of peace.
I could do this more- maybe instead of a few bar trips. Who couldn’t use more tea in their lives?
I could do this more- maybe instead of a few bar trips. Who couldn’t use more tea in their lives?
When: Hours are 11a – 10p daily. Mid- to late afternoons are best- the place is rarely crowded, and almost never noisy.
Why: Because you need a moment’s peace- a mini-vacation from your own worried mind, and all you want is serene simplicity.
How: Visit them in person, or for a real treat visit the Tower of Cosmic Reflections in Lan Su Garden. There is an admission price for the garden, and the tower is beholden to the gardens schedule. Visit their website at Taooftea.com to get their tea delivered anywhere in the US.
Rime of the Ancient Hippie: When Regret Leads to Renewal
Good evening, friends and neighbors.
I’m camped out in Beermongers on SE Division, nursing a Sour Cherry Torment (dark, heavy, malty, and riddled with sour cherry) and waiting out the typically schizophrenic weather of springtime Portland.
I’m camped out in Beermongers on SE Division, nursing a Sour Cherry Torment (dark, heavy, malty, and riddled with sour cherry) and waiting out the typically schizophrenic weather of springtime Portland.
The last time I was here was a little strange…
Review of the Week #1: 24th and Meatballs
Good evening, friends and neighbors!
As you may have noticed, I love food. I do some of my best writing when sitting in a cafe or bar, and over the course of two years I’ve accumulated a list of favorite places- some are great to write in, some have great music. Some have amazing food, others their drinks are the stars. Socialize in some, hide in others.
I’ve also got more than a few opinions on what good food and drinks ARE, and I don;t mind telling anyone that’ll listen.
So, at Emily’s urging, I’m gonna use this space maybe once a week to review the places I’ve been!
No totally negative reviews- every restaurant deserves a shot and your own opinion- but it will always be the honest truth. I’ll tell you not only where to go, but when and WHY.So let’s talk balls.
As you may have noticed, I love food. I do some of my best writing when sitting in a cafe or bar, and over the course of two years I’ve accumulated a list of favorite places- some are great to write in, some have great music. Some have amazing food, others their drinks are the stars. Socialize in some, hide in others.
I’ve also got more than a few opinions on what good food and drinks ARE, and I don;t mind telling anyone that’ll listen.
So, at Emily’s urging, I’m gonna use this space maybe once a week to review the places I’ve been!
No totally negative reviews- every restaurant deserves a shot and your own opinion- but it will always be the honest truth. I’ll tell you not only where to go, but when and WHY.So let’s talk balls.
WHERE:24th and Meatballs, NE 24th + NE Glisan St.
A few weeks back, the planets once again aligned in a felicitous manner, and I had a day of beautiful weather off. Donning my favorite aloha shirt (they are always in fashion and I will fight you), I took to the streets for a bit of a wander around parts of the city I don’t often get to see.
As I walked and soaked up the sun before the inevitable days of rain, I found myself around NE Glisan. Before picking up my current job, I’d had an (obviously) unsuccessful job interview at a restaurant nearby, and found myself with some time to kill. If memory served, there was an interesting meatball place around here….
So it was. 24th and Meatballs clings to the end of an unassuming string of restaurants, with indoor and outdoor seating. The placement is perfect for people-watching on the busy street, with food well-bent toward the mid-afternoon doldrums.
Even before you walk in, the elephant in the room comes out and greets you. There are a LOT of testicle jokes everywhere- and yes, you ARE there to eat balls. Their phone number (50-EATBALLS), their menu, their advertising all make it quite clear that the dining experience will not include high-brow humor.
Behold- the Baller-Melon.
Now that the 12-year-old in you is satisfied, you can medicate the adult. The beer and cocktail menus are limited, but effective. Beers are mostly local microbrews, and the cocktails are twists on classics (with yet MORE ball jokes.) I put in for a Baller-Melon (vodka, lime, watermelon juice). The fruity, neon boat drink fits the weather- cool, refreshing, and pairs nicely with obnoxiously loud clothing.
Next comes ordering, done off a chalkboard. It’s a simple progression if there ever was one:
1. How do you want your balls? 24th and Meatballs offers their wares in various platings and numbers, including pasta and sandwiches, ranging from the humble slider (one ball on a bun for $3) to the Hero (three balls, sauce, cheese, on a hoagie roll for $10)
2. Pick your balls! (Choice of Classic Italian, Pork Piccante, Chicken, or Vegan)
3. What Sauce? (Classic Marinara, Creamy Cheesy similar to an alfredo, a pork bolognese, or an arugula pesto.)
All balls apparently work with all sauces, but I go with the Classic Italian and the Marinara- just three on a plate, with foccacia, referred to on the menu as “Balls, Balls, Balls” for $7. If you need extra balls, it’s $2 a pop. Much easier than getting surgery. (Crap, they’ve got me doing the jokes now. Sorry about that one.)
“Balls, Balls, Balls”… I think there’s an AC/DC song here.
My order comes out pretty quick, though I was maybe one of 5 people there on a Friday afternoon. Meatballs and booze in the sunshine? This I could do more often.
The meatballs are VERY good- very meaty, with not much filler. Most of the meatballs I’d had use bread crumbs or eggs as a binder. The ingredients are locally sourced, and the texture is firm and satisfying. The sauce, however…. oh good God that SAUCE.
This might be a nitpick that’ll earn me a beating in some circles, but I can’t stand sweet tomato sauce. I want fresh, spicy, zesty- but not sweet. Pizza, pasta, it doesn’t matter- if the sauce is noticeably sweet, it’s an instant turn-off to me.
24th and Meatballs’ classic marinara is exactly what I want out of a tomato sauce. When I think of “the gravy” in Italian-American cooking, this is what I come up with now. Take a look at that plate again. When I’d finished the balls and had run out of bread, I was sitting there scooping up with sauce with a fork. If I wasn’t sitting in public, I probably would have gone ahead and lapped at the bowl like a dog.
A cocktail, meatballs, and an aloha shirt in the Portland sunshine. I could REALLY do this more often. I need more of these balls in my life.
I’m sorry about that one too.
Not this one, though.
When To Go: Anytime seems right, but pick a day with good weather- indoor seating is somewhat limited.Why: Because you need a simple, delicious, meaty lunch and a good drink to wash it down with on a lazy afternoon.
How: Visit them, or their other location on 87th and N Lombard St here in Portland (appropriately named “87th and Meatballs.”) If you’re stuck at home, they deliver! Order through their website at 24thandmeatballs.com, or call in at 50-EATBALLS.
P.S. Maybe you’re a purist who needs to have wine with your Italian. In yet another cosmic alignment of convenience, directly across the street from 24th and Meatballs is Pairings, “Portland’s Weirdest Wine Bar.” This guy sells wine the way I pick restaurants. Need a wine based on your zodiac? They got you. Pairings based on movies and tv, and even a wall of choices based on which awkward social situation you feel compelled to bring a bottle to. Eat your meatballs, then slip across the street for a glass of something red and weird. You might even see my wife there- it’s her new favorite spot.
Stay Classy,
The Black Hat Baker 