Mouth Wide Shut
From foie gras to food carts (with a strip club in between)
So, are you going to eat it?
I contemplated the plate of artfully arranged charcuterie before me. The waiter had recommended that we eat clockwise from 1:00 to 12:00. The midnight star was a foie-gras bon-bon, too rich, we were told, to be eaten first.
So, was I going to eat it? It was a question I had pondered throughout the day as CME showed me Portland. Until recently I didn't even know what foie gras was. It was only through reading Ruth Reichl's book Garlic and Sapphires that I became curious and looked it up. The book is about Reichl's past experience as the food critic at The New York Times. Foie gras here, foie gras there, foie gras everywhere.
In case you aren't in the know, readers, foie gras means fatty liver, and in most cases the obese organ is from a duck that has been force fed. It is not a nice process. And there I was sitting at a communal table on Friday night at Beast in Portland, Oregon with CM, Mr. CM and their friends staring at a foie-gras bon-bon. Beast is the creation of chef Naomi Palmeroy. The restaurant offers a six-course prix fixe menu with or without wine pairings.
The second-course charcuterie plate also held pork pâté with pistachio and sour cherry, chicken liver mousse, steak tartare with a quail egg, a pickled carrot with a bite of beet, and a palate-cleansing parsley and radish salad that was placed in the center of the clock.
When my fork struck midnight, I sighed, silently apologized to all fattened ducks everywhere, and popped the bon-bon into my mouth. The tiny rectangle of sauternes gelee on top exploded into a profusion of salt on the tongue that annihilated rather than enhanced the other flavors. Definitely not worth the duck torture. As we enjoyed a wonderful grapefruit Campari sorbet to cleanse our pallets before the third course, I wondered, why, with a profusion of other delicious meats, does one even need the fatty liver?
When the waiter plunked a duck leg in front of me at the start of the next course, I decided it would be best to stop thinking about the darn birds and dig in. Next time I am confronted with foie gras, I will kindly keep my mouth shut.
The duck leg was over-salted, but the remaining three courses were all excellent--an endive salad with apples, grapes, celery and walnuts; a selection of cheese with honey, shortbread, poached quince and hazelnuts; and a pine-nut caramel tart. The most superb part of the meal, however, was the first course, a soup of parsnip and celery root with chervil salsa verde and fried sage in truffle oil. The concoction was culinary perfection. The salsa verde added a pickly crunch that was balanced by the earthiness of the sage and the root vegetables.
If you are visiting Portland, save an evening for dinner at Beast, and order the wine pairings with the meal. Each selection not only complimented but enhanced the flavors of the food.
Just prior to dinner we had a knock-you-off-your-barstool drinks experience at Yakuza next door. I ordered a martini made with beet-infused Monopolowa vodka (a Polish potato vodka), simple syrup and lime, and CM had the Wasabi with Aviation gin, wasabi, lime and cucumber. Both drinks were balanced and delicious. My garnet martini had bits of beet floating around, adding texture and sweetness.
As CM said, nothing beats beets, and so it was that we found ourselves picking out two beautiful bunches at Portland's downtown farmer's market on Saturday afternoon. The roasted beets and sauteed stems and greens were part of a Halloween vegetable smorgasbord that also included chanterelle mushrooms, potatoes, brussels sprouts local cheese and crusty bread.
After fueling up, we transformed into one masked creature of the night and one poisoned Snow White. Little did we imagine the wonders Halloween would hold. When we arrived at Doug Fir Lounge, a great spot that is part of the retro Jupiter Hotel, a strip-tease costume contest was underway. Two Jameson's on the rocks and one band later, we were headed out into the night for more dark and spooky fun.
How, you might rightly ask, did we end up in a strip club? Well, it seems that Portland has more strip clubs per capita than any other city. So why not?
And the gastronomic relevance? The woman sitting across from us was drinking a green beer. Who knew that black light turns porter green? We had wonderful fun. Our table companions were a schoolteacher wearing a Halloween costume that was really just lingerie and her man "friend." It was all very eyes wide something, but this I can say: pole dancing is a real talent. (Guys, make sure you tip those girls well.)
After our foray into the dark, we were hungry again. CM took me to the food carts on Hawthorne Avenue. It may be safe to say that Portland's food carts are as proliferative as their strip clubs. We shared a fried pie with BBQ pork from Whiffie's and an order of poutine from Potato Champion. Poutine is a mix of Belgium french fries with gravy and cheese curds. As we munched I contemplated moving to Portland to fulfill my oatmeal truck dream. How much oatmeal would one have to sell to pay the rent?
Okay, ladies and g's. It's been a long one. If you made it this far, thanks for hanging in, though I suspect you were tantalized by the mention of a strip club.
Stay tuned for more gastronomic madness! And, in the meantime, if you are in listening distance of this blog, please feel free to join me on Friday night November 6 for a digital girl birthday celebration at Raines Law Room on 17th Street around 6:00. It may be a day late, but never a cocktail short.
From foie gras to food carts (with a strip club in between)
So, are you going to eat it?
I contemplated the plate of artfully arranged charcuterie before me. The waiter had recommended that we eat clockwise from 1:00 to 12:00. The midnight star was a foie-gras bon-bon, too rich, we were told, to be eaten first.
So, was I going to eat it? It was a question I had pondered throughout the day as CME showed me Portland. Until recently I didn't even know what foie gras was. It was only through reading Ruth Reichl's book Garlic and Sapphires that I became curious and looked it up. The book is about Reichl's past experience as the food critic at The New York Times. Foie gras here, foie gras there, foie gras everywhere.
In case you aren't in the know, readers, foie gras means fatty liver, and in most cases the obese organ is from a duck that has been force fed. It is not a nice process. And there I was sitting at a communal table on Friday night at Beast in Portland, Oregon with CM, Mr. CM and their friends staring at a foie-gras bon-bon. Beast is the creation of chef Naomi Palmeroy. The restaurant offers a six-course prix fixe menu with or without wine pairings.
The second-course charcuterie plate also held pork pâté with pistachio and sour cherry, chicken liver mousse, steak tartare with a quail egg, a pickled carrot with a bite of beet, and a palate-cleansing parsley and radish salad that was placed in the center of the clock.
When my fork struck midnight, I sighed, silently apologized to all fattened ducks everywhere, and popped the bon-bon into my mouth. The tiny rectangle of sauternes gelee on top exploded into a profusion of salt on the tongue that annihilated rather than enhanced the other flavors. Definitely not worth the duck torture. As we enjoyed a wonderful grapefruit Campari sorbet to cleanse our pallets before the third course, I wondered, why, with a profusion of other delicious meats, does one even need the fatty liver?
When the waiter plunked a duck leg in front of me at the start of the next course, I decided it would be best to stop thinking about the darn birds and dig in. Next time I am confronted with foie gras, I will kindly keep my mouth shut.
The duck leg was over-salted, but the remaining three courses were all excellent--an endive salad with apples, grapes, celery and walnuts; a selection of cheese with honey, shortbread, poached quince and hazelnuts; and a pine-nut caramel tart. The most superb part of the meal, however, was the first course, a soup of parsnip and celery root with chervil salsa verde and fried sage in truffle oil. The concoction was culinary perfection. The salsa verde added a pickly crunch that was balanced by the earthiness of the sage and the root vegetables.
If you are visiting Portland, save an evening for dinner at Beast, and order the wine pairings with the meal. Each selection not only complimented but enhanced the flavors of the food.
Just prior to dinner we had a knock-you-off-your-barstool drinks experience at Yakuza next door. I ordered a martini made with beet-infused Monopolowa vodka (a Polish potato vodka), simple syrup and lime, and CM had the Wasabi with Aviation gin, wasabi, lime and cucumber. Both drinks were balanced and delicious. My garnet martini had bits of beet floating around, adding texture and sweetness.
As CM said, nothing beats beets, and so it was that we found ourselves picking out two beautiful bunches at Portland's downtown farmer's market on Saturday afternoon. The roasted beets and sauteed stems and greens were part of a Halloween vegetable smorgasbord that also included chanterelle mushrooms, potatoes, brussels sprouts local cheese and crusty bread.
After fueling up, we transformed into one masked creature of the night and one poisoned Snow White. Little did we imagine the wonders Halloween would hold. When we arrived at Doug Fir Lounge, a great spot that is part of the retro Jupiter Hotel, a strip-tease costume contest was underway. Two Jameson's on the rocks and one band later, we were headed out into the night for more dark and spooky fun.
How, you might rightly ask, did we end up in a strip club? Well, it seems that Portland has more strip clubs per capita than any other city. So why not?
And the gastronomic relevance? The woman sitting across from us was drinking a green beer. Who knew that black light turns porter green? We had wonderful fun. Our table companions were a schoolteacher wearing a Halloween costume that was really just lingerie and her man "friend." It was all very eyes wide something, but this I can say: pole dancing is a real talent. (Guys, make sure you tip those girls well.)
After our foray into the dark, we were hungry again. CM took me to the food carts on Hawthorne Avenue. It may be safe to say that Portland's food carts are as proliferative as their strip clubs. We shared a fried pie with BBQ pork from Whiffie's and an order of poutine from Potato Champion. Poutine is a mix of Belgium french fries with gravy and cheese curds. As we munched I contemplated moving to Portland to fulfill my oatmeal truck dream. How much oatmeal would one have to sell to pay the rent?
Okay, ladies and g's. It's been a long one. If you made it this far, thanks for hanging in, though I suspect you were tantalized by the mention of a strip club.
Stay tuned for more gastronomic madness! And, in the meantime, if you are in listening distance of this blog, please feel free to join me on Friday night November 6 for a digital girl birthday celebration at Raines Law Room on 17th Street around 6:00. It may be a day late, but never a cocktail short.
Comments
Post a Comment