oregon
Start at Pepper Box Cafe for breakfast, a New Mexican spot on the east side of Portland. It may get busy on the weekend, but on a drizzly Friday morning, there were only one or two other people sitting inside, and the door was propped open to let in fresh air. The breakfast plates are big enough that you could probably share, but you may not want to once you dig in. Get your breakfast item of choice (mine was a breakfast taco) ‘rolled and smothered’ with one of their homemade sauces on it; it’s the right move.
A rainy drive through lush greenery to the coast was broken up by the most lightly breaded fish and chips I’ve had, across the street from the Tillamook factory. We nearly missed the place, a small spot with only outdoor seating on the porch. There was a display case full of seafood, but we stuck to the fish and chips so we would have room for Tillamook ice cream (and maybe some cheese). The factory itself was packed, and I was glad we hadn’t decided to have lunch there; we had forgotten it was Saturday, and the place was full of families. We waited patiently in line for our kiddie-sized ice creams. As I ate my cone of mountain huckleberry, I watched kids with much larger cups get their ice cream everywhere (and even sometimes in their mouths).
The line at Yolk on Sunday morning was long given the size of Manzanita. It had been reviewed on an Eater list of best places to eat on the Oregon Coast, so perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised. We lucked out and managed to get a table within 30 minutes of arriving. We both went savory, but felt obligated to split a marionberry pancake as well. Marionberries were clearly an Oregonian thing; we kept seeing them on menus, but hadn’t tried them yet. My huevos rancheros were delicious, as was the marionberry pancake, and I finished nearly everything as we’d taken a four mile walk before brunch.
The sunset on our last night in Manzanita was unbelievable. As we perched on the rocks at the top of the beach (which was also the bottom of Laneda Ave, the main strip), we saw everyone with a beachfront view at the inn behind us pulling out their chairs to watch as well. It was an objectively spectacular sunset, with wisps of clouds floating across the setting sun and brilliant pinks and reds and oranges painting the sky above the water. There was not a single thing inhibiting the view as the sun finally disappeared over the horizon.
Driving from the coast to Willamette Valley, all I could think was that it seemed too dry here to grow vines. I was used to the comparative greenery of Napa and Sonoma, of Tuscany. We learned more upon arriving at Maysara, which had the remnants of a wine royalty wedding hanging over the cask storage area - fairy lights and a sign outside, pointing the way to the reception. After our tasting, wines all named after women, we made our way to McMinnville. We struggled to find a place for dinner; it seemed everything was either closed or fully booked, a problem we had not anticipated. We walked over to a well reviewed food truck, with everything from tacos to burritos. We discovered the Brooklyn/Silver Lake of McMinnville afterward; a hipster bar with outdoor seating where we could watch the sun set and nurse some delicious cocktails. Mine had rose petals on it, which were caught by the wind as the waitress brought them out.
Dominio IV’s painted wine labels left the strongest impression on me in a day of wine tasting. The wine was nice, but the labels were beautiful. The owner paints what he tastes as he drinks the wine on a graph of time, something that appealed to the analyst in me. If only I could make such beautiful graphs with my data. The tasting was held on the wraparound porch of a house, and it was still warming up - not so hot yet to make drinking red wine a little miserable. That came later in the day.
A perfect mushroom Wellington, in a light sauce with the three of the smallest, cutest peppers I’ve ever see hiding at one corner of the plate for a hit of pickled tang. The puff pastry melted in your mouth, and the filling was so good. Why hadn’t it come three courses earlier? That was the truest form of the mushroom madness promised in the menu title. If we had known, maybe we wouldn’t have filled up earlier in the meal. The other courses had been alright, but not nearly mushroom-y enough to write home about. Driving back from the Joel Palmer House that night, there was a perfect crescent moon in the sky, hanging so low it seemed like I might be able to touch it if we stopped.
Climbing up to the top of Multnomah Falls, I huffed and puffed and nearly turned around. Easy to moderate hike, my ass! It was only a mile, but it was nearly all a steep uphill. I was exhausted halfway through, but when I saw little children running past, I had a renewed determination to make it up the rest of the way. Wear a bathing suit so you can hop into the river at the top; it’s incredibly refreshing and a chance to cool off. We didn’t know about this, so instead we soaked our shirts and I splashed my arms and face with the cold water, trying to prepare for the way down (which, thankfully, went much faster).
Teardrop is one of those bars where you want to be a regular. The cocktail list is more like a book, and I imagine the bartenders would be happy (and well equipped) to whip up something off the menu, too. I was hoping my drink would be a bit spicier, and when I mentioned this, the bartender shortly reappeared with a bottle of habanero bitters, which he carefully shook into my drink. It added the perfect finishing touch for me, though I’m sure the lingering heat wouldn’t have made every customer happy.
República was possibly the best meal I had in Oregon. When we arrived, the waitress told us there were two menus, and told us do order one of each so we could try everything. An easy decision: done. The whole staff was incredibly friendly, wearing leather aprons we spotted the next day in a local goods store, and provided detailed descriptions of every dish. Each course was clearly put together with so much thoughtfulness, and everyone was happy to answer any questions we had. Some ingredients I had heard of but never tried included chicatana and escamol (ant products), and others, like huitlacoche, I hadn’t had in a while. One of the moles reminded me so much of my mother’s cooking, the use of cumin and cloves and other spices so familiar to me. I wiped up every last bit with the freshly pressed tortillas.
Oma’s Hideaway is delicious and unexpected. The day we went was incredibly hot, and our table was outside. We sat there, trying to get cool, and discovered they were serving a fully chilled menu; crudos, an eggplant salad, lettuce wraps with a spread that looked like pate but tasted nothing like it. We started with Jell-O shots, because why not? I loved the pivot they had made to accommodate the weather. My only regret was that at 6:30pm, an hour and half after opening, they were already out of the mouthwatering chilled crab noodles.
If you love books, set aside an afternoon for Powell’s. I probably would have browsed even longer than two hours if not for the demands of my feet and my stomach. And there is a guide for the used bookstores of Portland, if that’s more your fancy. I started in the YA section, one that sometimes overlaps with fantasy (my favorite genre). I loved that each shelf had at least two or three handwritten recommendations, either from the staff or another reader. It made it a little easier to know where to stop and browse. I moved from there into cookbooks - so. many. cookbooks. In the most wonderful way, but I was overwhelmed, too. I was flipping through one when I overheard a man complaining next to me that he could never get his poached eggs right. I chimed in to offer a little unsolicited advice. As he and his friend left, he thanked me and promised to give my suggestions a try. After cookbooks, I went up to the third floor, where there were books on crafts, and I walked briefly through the travel section. I hadn’t bought a book yet; I was saving that for the fantasy section. When I finally made my way there, it was more crowded than I had thought it would be, and I was plagued by indecision. I finally picked a novel by V.E. Schwab that I hadn’t seen before. As I stepped out the back entrance, there was a violin-player. It took me a minute to place the music, but when I realized what it was, I smiled. He was playing the castle theme from Super Mario 64 - a game I had revisited earlier this year. I noticed a lot of other people had stopped to listen as well, perhaps also feeling nostalgic.
Lil’ Shalom has outdoor seating set up with umbrellas and wasn’t too busy on a late Saturday afternoon. I got padrón peppers coated in spices and laid over cooling labneh, as well as falafel with tahini and green s’hug. I munched, drank an entire carafe of cold water, and read ‘Crescent’, a novel about a half-Iranian chef, which paired nicely with my meal. The padrón peppers were spicier than usual, which, according to the chef, happens when they grow in hot weather. The tahini was nutty and the green s’hug herbaceous, and I coated each bite of falafel generously with both.
Arden Wine Bar was the perfect choice for a last supper. It became clear early on that I wouldn’t be rushed just because I was on my own. My salad arrived first. I thought the pieces of nori were adding a new, sweet dimension to the greens, but when I asked about it, I was told it was black garlic. My roasted radishes arrived next, flecked with sesame seeds and herbs, arranged around a bowl with dipping sauces - labneh and tahini. The turnips were a combination of pink and white, wedges and half-moons, all deeply roasted without any hint of sharpness lingering. I ate them slowly, dragging each piece through both the sauces before taking a bite. The arancini, however, was the star of the evening. When the waitress brought it out, she insisted on bringing me some bread as well, to mop up the sauce. The single arancino was laid atop a red sauce, brighter than a marinara but not quite orange, either. There were cherry tomatoes sliced in half to garnish the sauce, along with herbs and slivers of preserved lemon. Each of these ingredients complimented the creamy inside when I broke it open. I wish I had had room for the Basque cheesecake, but I was stuffed to the brim. I’ll just have to get it on my next trip to Oregon.
