Portland II

"Welcome to Portland. Prepare to be mildly depressed."

So begins the editor's letter at the beginning of the 2010-2011 issue of 'Finder,' the Williamette Week's Guide to Portland.

A mild malaise was exactly what I felt within the first little while of my arrival in the city. Aaron Mesh, Finder Editor, put his finger on my feeling exactly.

He continues by theorizing that "This dolor is an inevitable consequence of acclimating to a city that has spent the past decade indulging its interests, which also happen to be your interests. Even the Portland motto, 'The city that works,' carries an undercurrent of smugness and fulfillment. Everything is how we imagined it. You will find what you wanted here. Yet somehow this is speedily dispiriting. Simply put: It is hard to get out of bed in the morning if you don't want anything."

This smug lack of struggle is disconcertingly obvious throughout much of the city, and made me slightly bored. Too much of a good thing.

It was, undeniably, fantastic to connect with Amy and JP, friends who are friends of former friends and with whom Adam and I have much in common. We shared one of those amazing kinds of evenings that you can't plan. They just happen through some satisfying combination of being in a cozy space with good wine, convivial conversation, and food so good that simply sharing it creates a bond.

It was equally lovely to spend an afternoon with the rest of our Ottawa tribe, the Geageas, and to meet other great friends, Chris and Megan, for a brief and delicious foray through the farmer's market.

The food carting industry -- and the healthy cheap, really fresh foods it produces -- completely blew my mind. The pride in local talent and resources is endearing. And the proximity to hiking trails and dedicated city bike lanes are enviable.

So, perfect.

So perfect.

But I felt almost immediately that Portland didn't need me. It would be great without me. It is great without me.

So, I was a consumer. There to eat and read and drink and watch and walk. All enjoyable. But not sustainable.

Humans have, I believe, an inalienable need to produce, as well as consume. And I wondered, many times while I was there, what I could possibly add to Portland that it didn't already have. The answer, I realized dispiritedly, was very little.

I would definitely, definitely visit again (and perhaps base an entire weekend around a number of carefully-chosen food carts). But I wouldn't say I've joined the Portland love-in just yet. I find my spot in Ottawa immensely satisfying, redolent as the city is with simmering frustrations with weather and bureaucracy and identity. Visiting the bohemian holy land of Oregon has convinced me all the more that Ottawa's wild and entrenched array of imperfections are partly what keep me there.

Portland

Two days in Portland. Two nights at Amy and JP's cute apartment near the Pearl.

A big batch of delicious morning granola. An afternoon with the Geagea's at Powell City Books and Dechutes Brewery in the Pearl District, where Adam and Ziad availed themselves of the beer samplers.

Two amazing food carts off Mississippi Street. Food carting is a thriving culture in Portland with carters serving everything from quinoa pancakes to meatball sandwiches. Adam and I each got spicy hot blackened tofu rice bowls and iced peach roiboos from The Native Bowl. Not to mention the grilled tofu quesidillas Adam ate from a cart a few blocks over. Nearly everything is under $6 and there's no sales tax in Portland, so it was easy to eat on the cheap.

One fabulous dinner out with Amy and JP at Ned Ludd, a new restaurant where everything -- everything -- is cooked in a wood-fired oven. We shared several delicious dishes: a whole trout with soft, mild fennel and dill; a giant smoky pork chop with pork broth and kale; puffed up flat breads with peppery green olive oil; broccoli, anchovies, and melted onions; and nearly celestial s'mores.

A trip to the Portland Farmer's Market with Chris and Megan at the University of Portland. Adam and I bought the place out! Fresh-roasted Oregon hazelnuts; plum ginger fruit leather; creamy coconut dahl with yogurt and fresh cilantro; a marionberry empanada; fat organic cherries; strawberry creme shortbread sandwiches from Two Tarts; a spicy potato burrito; and a chewy salt and pepper bagel slathered with cream cheese, fresh pesto, and slices of cucumber.

Portland is close to perfect, or at least that's how the general wisdom goes. I actually have my own theory.

People's Republic of Fremont

Thursday morning, we still had the Geageas all to ourselves, so we checked out Seattle's funky neighborhood of Fremont, which used to be its own countercultural city in the 1800s. Now, it's gentrified a bit, but it still has the cheerful vibe of other 'annexed' hippy communities. A bit similar to Vancouver's Deep Cove.

The community's trademark (and controversial) statue of Lenin) is pretty impressive, as is the giant sculpture of a troll living under one of the neighborhood's bridges. We went to an appropriately-healthy yuppie sandwich shop, called Homegrown, for lunch.

Ella entertained us with her happy baby Buddha face and round belly. She reminds me of the flirty red radishes in Lorna Crozier's poems about vegetables.

Best, best friends. The best.

Seattle Food

Top: Cake and icing, blah, blah, blah. The important part is the fluffy ball of whipped yogurt beside it. I did not know you could whip yogurt, but it's delicious! Even better than whipped cream. It is my mission to figure out how to make it now.

Middle: Mount Rainier cherries. A very delicate hybrid cultivar that get mostly stolen by birds before they are ready to be picked.

Bottom: Big old fava beans in their pods. Ziad grew up eating these raw in Lebanon. I've had fava beans before, obviously, but I've never cracked them open and eaten them as hand food. They're pretty strong-tasting, but still quite good.

Three new foods in one day. How often does that happen?

Missing Members

"I'm in coffee heaven!" -- Ziad Geagea

Seattle's businesslike tenor is the perfect setting for a culture built around concrete skyscrapers, taxi cabs with ticking meters, and cafes serving up fresh doughnuts and plenty of hot, dark coffee. Even the hundreds of leafy trees that line the streets seem to be part of a culture of quiet production. Perhaps this is the influence of Microsoft, which is headquartered in Washington.

Liz and Ziad were nice enough to pick me up for lunch at Cafe Flora, a beautiful vegetarian restaurant with low-slung glass windows, stone columns, and old farm gates as partitions between tables. But for once, the food took a back seat for me. I was more fascinated, as I always am, by the charming Ella, with her deep black eyes, rosebud monkey mouth, and curly black Leborean hair.

We walked around Pike Place Market after lunch for long enough to get pretty tired and then sat at Starbucks for a couple hours.

And as the sun finally started to come out, Adam showed up, tired from work, and we helped him melt his cares away with stories from our afternoon. We all spent the rest of the day together, and had a laid-back dinner at Whole Foods with a short walk down 6th Avenue to our hotel before bed.

A long fun day with people who are seriously some of the greatest humans on the planet.

Seattle

Seattle is cold and grey.

So far.

Toronto

A packed weekend in Toronto with a suit fitting; brunch with Allison and Sam; Cathy and Mike's Danish Lutheran wedding ceremony; and an over-the-top Chinese reception complete with a giant dancing dragon and a twelve-course seafood dinner.

Fun, but it's really, really good to be home.

A Prize!

Best comment on a Vermont post.

"Your blog is having an impact on my psyche. Last night I dreamed that you and I went out to eat at a little restaurant in Manhattan. Strangely, all we had to eat was a some kind of green soup (asparagus?) and a brownie alongside glasses of red wine. It was terribly expensive. Glad that Vermont sounds so much better. Can't wait to hear more about your adventures!"

- Sarah Shaughnessy*


*Sarah wins a cute little jar of Vermont Apple Butter from Champlain Orchards.

Vermont III - See It

Vermont III

Sunday and Monday in Vermont.

More low-key local food. Notably, we made a point to eat lunch at The Farmer's Diner in Quechee where the slogan is 'Think Local, Eat Neighbourly.' The menu consists of items like slow-cooked maple pulled pork, fresh-cut French fries, 'tanned cows' (grilled cheese sandwiches), and fat mason jars brimming with ice cold milkshakes.

There was also time spent outdoors at the Quechee Gorge and Lake Champlain.

And little else.

A lovely, lovely trip, suggested by my very best friend.

Vermont II

Saturday. Brattleboro.

The parking area at the Brattleboro Farmer's Market is an orderly line-up of Subarus (the vehicle of choices for bohemian Vermonters), rusty Mercedes Benzes, and boxy old Volvos. Imagine, then, the patrons themselves, sporting naturally-silver hair, neatly plaited in single braids down to their bums, with weathered faces, tanned calves (effortlessly toned by hilly bike commutes), and baggy cotton shorts. And then guess at what might be on offer at such a market. Brown bottles of homemade root beer, hot sugared doughnut holes, delicate date-filled ma'mool, iced soy lattes, steamed spicy pork buns, pretty pottery berry bowls, chair massages, bright red strawberries, and soft black sheep skins.

And then take your mind across town to the Brattleboro Food Co-op, where you'll run into several of the same people you saw at the market (and all of them will say hello). And where you'll pick up picnic foods: black beans with corn and cilantro, slippery mushroom dumplings, crispy tofu tenders in a smooth ginger glaze, French onion potato chips, broccoli spears with miso and toasty sesame seeds, unsweetened ice tea (the American way!), and Lake Champlain chocolate.

Stroll, afterward, to Sam's Outfitters (of course, they have free popcorn! don't all stores do things like that for their customers?) and Twice Upon a Time (just across the street) to poke through a few thousand square feet of teak deer sculptures, framed needlepoint, mismatched cuff links, go-go dresses, and turquoise-coloured salt and pepper shakers.

You'll be tired after all this, of course, so ask your friend to drive you back to The Putney Inn, which is stuck in a Victorian time warp, a phenomenon that will lull you, finally, into the small town mindset that you remember from your Maritime childhood.

Of course, your friend might not be tired. Send him to the first-annual Brattleboro Brewer's Fest, so you can be lazy, just for a little while.

While he's gone, you may wish to scuff down the road to the Putney Food Co-op, marveling on your way there at the warm sky, gently quilted with clouds. You'll pass Curtis' BBQ on your right, a hang-out for bikers and people who drive old convertibles painted in unappealing colors. Giant puffs of sweet-smelling smoke rise from the BBQ shack, and an old cowboy sings 'Hallelujah' from a picnic table near the back.

At the co-op, you'll fill a basket with all kinds of delicious things. Woodchuck draft cider, tiny tomatoes, Vermont Smoke and Cure beef sticks, peanut butter cookies, oatmeal soap and apple butter, a chocolate truffle, raspberry fig bars, and Vermont Common Cheddar Crackers.

On the way back to the inn, you will realize, thoughtfully, that everything else can wait.

Vermont I - See It

Vermont I

First stop, Burlington's pretty university neighborhood, bordering the unoffensive, but bland, outdoor shopping district of Church Street. Our destination was Penny Cluse Cafe, a restaurant I had sussed out online, and which turned out to be a going concern among students, bohos, bobos, locals, and other uncommonly relaxed people. PCC serves healthy, interesting breakfasts and lunches until 3 pm daily. But what massive, American-sized portions! Less than nine dollars, for instance, netted a platter of pollock tacos with nuggets of tender pan-fried fish, a big scoop of soft turtle beans, cubes of ripe mango, generous spoonfuls of guacamole and pico de gallo, fresh corn nibblets, delicate red cabbage saurkraut, micro-matchsticks of radish, and shredded lettuce all atop three crunchy homebaked tortillas. Was I ever full!

Next we booted on to Putney, where we're staying for the next two nights. We relaxed on the bed for, oh, about twenty minutes before we were back in the car looking for our dinner spot. We'd booked a table at T.J. Buckley's, Brattleboro's hottest dining...car. The resto is made up of about six tables, tucked into into an old train car with a bricked-on piece built for a kitchen, and a shed stuck onto that for storage. It's all fine dining, with a verbal menu, and a hand-written bill. We ate too much (at least, I did; my stomach's not cut out for multi-course affairs). But too much of what we ate can never be a bad thing. Manchego and local feta tart with tiny snippets of thyme and dots of wildflower honey. Slow-roasted onion bread with butter and black pepper. Warm smoked trout with a spoonful of creme fraiche. Braised turnip, buttermilk mashed potatoes, fried, frizzled onions, sesame lentils with red cabbage coleslaw, paper-thin cucumbers sliced into a little pile. All very reasonable and low-key. Very laid-back and very Vermont.

Got to leave this city!

Our People

Liz, Ziad, and Ella dropped by to say good-bye last night, and what a sad good-bye it was. I cried as they pulled out of the driveway, I cried riding the elevator back upstairs, and I was still sobbing while we opened the lovely, elegant wedding gifts they brought for us.

We have never had a friendship characterized by so much positive reciprocity as the one we have with them. The last year has been a steady give and take of baked goods, dinner leftovers, impromptu meals, clothes, tools, time, embraces, emails, texts, evening phone calls, walks along Wellington, and random items like lemons and wine and matches. We've often joked that a horizontal dumb waiter between our units would be useful. But using the door works even better, I suppose, because we get to see each other that way. Liz never fails to ask about my day. And Ziad rarely cooks a new dish without bringing over a heaping helping.

When you come from a family, as I do, whose histories have been wiped out by diaspora, fire, and abandonment, you may find yourself making home with an incredible voracity. You may have a sense, deep in your belly, that you should find a tribe of your own. That you should claim the extended family that isn't yours by birthright.

This is how Adam and I see Liz and Ziad and Ella. As part of our tribe. As our people.

The wind is whipping through the treetops this morning. A cold rain is coming down sideways. And the sky is a watery white with a confusing wash of blue in the background.