The Dining Report – Mextiza

What do you mean, NORTH Killingsworth?

 

A long time ago (practically when people rode dinosaurs to college) when I was getting my degree at the University of Portland, I drove to school each day down Killingsworth to Willamette, basically from beginning to end, as I think it begins somewhere around 82nd, and ends close to “the bluff.” Back then, before the double-edged sword of inner NE gentifrication was even thought about, Killingsworth was not a particularly nice street, and sometimes there were rather scary looking things along the way, especially in the approximate area of the PCC Cascade campus. Mainly my plan was just to get to good old Willamette Blvd., and not really make any stops or look around a ton, and back then, there weren’t too many blossoming businesses to see, anyway. In more modern times, the only reason I had to go back and check out Killingsworth was when Roux opened, that nice New Orleans style restaurant that the owner lost interest in, and closed a few years back, finally reappearing with Violette, in the park across from Fox Tower (I’m never sure what that place is called, is it Director’s Park?) I liked Roux a lot, but the only thing I remember about its environs on Killingsworth was how quiet the street seemed there, very residential (And yes Michael, I think you are right, that Roux was a long way west, maybe around Jessup.)

Of course over the last few years, Killingsworth has exploded like all those other formerly “gritty” inner NE streets, Mississippi, Alberta, Williams. Now you’ve got New Seasons, Hot Lips, Cocotte, Beast, Yakuza, Autentica, and Podnah’s, all within a 20 block range. All of these businesses are on or around NE Killingsworth, which it turns out is not anywhere near N. Killingsworth, as I unfortunately learned at our last dinner, as did three of my co-diners. It turns out Mextiza is on N. Killingsworth (yes, just as the address actually said.) Of course I know the difference between NW and NE Portland, there’s that big river thingee in the middle to help me out. But it turns out I don’t know the difference between inner NE Portland and North Portland (by the way, there’s also SE and SW Portland, but is there a corresponding S. Portland? I think not.) Burnside, East and West, now there’s a street that makes it easy to figure out if you are North or South, but what exactly divides NE and N. Portland? Is it the freeway? Is it Interstate? (If so, wouldn’t Interstreet be more appropriate?)

 

THE DINING REPORT – Lucé

THE DINING REPORT – Lucé
Polpettes and Icy Toes

A few years ago, the Oregonian selected Navarre as Restaurant of the Year and I rejoiced, especially when even they admitted it was a weird choice, but that the food prevailed over all the quirky things there, ambiance, service, the size of the kitchen. Although they are barely open for lunch these days (maybe still Fridays and on the weekend?) I can think of no more interesting place to pop in for a leisurely lunch, eat a few of the intriguing small plates, finish with a delicious gut busting dessert, pay the reasonable tab, and feel like you just had lunch in some small village in the French countryside. The decor has always been incredibly basic, just blond wood chairs and tables (much seating is communal) a mirror with the specials written down, and a bunch of homemade preserves and imported specialties that you can buy lining the walls.

Owner John Taboda has a new venture now, about 8 blocks down Burnside from Navarre, and at least as far as the restaurant, it’s not much larger or fancier than Navarre (although the checkerboard floor is eye-catching.) The new place is called Luce. I mention the size of the restaurant because Luce is actually two spaces, the restaurant/cafe space and an event space right next door. Luce, the eatery, only seats 20, so I’m guessing the event space is larger, unless it caters to really small events. Luce does have a large fancy kitchen though, opposed to Navarre’s galley/postage stamp sized food preparation area, so maybe that’s why Navarre’s long time chef didn’t mind going  Italian. (Navarre has always seemed to me a French, Spanish, Italian combo.) Another strong presence at Luce is John Taboda’s wife, Giovanna, who also helms the extra fancy Italian boutique, Una, also on 28th like Navarre. My guess, from her name, is that Giovanna is Italian, and perhaps much of the authenticity at Luce comes from her (although Mr. Taboda certainly know his way around various European cuisines.)

 

THE DINING REPORT – THE WOODSMAN TAVERN

THE DINING REPORT – THE WOODSMAN TAVERN
PICKLEBACKS, WRECKED PALATES, AND THE MIRACULOUS CROUTON

This is 100 for me. No, not my 100th birthday, although often I feel that way. This is my 100th Restaurant Roulette dinner review on this blog, at least according to WordPress. Can you believe I’ve made it through at least 100 dinners with a bunch of people who were almost all strangers at their first group dinner, and that some actually come back again and again to dine with the likes of me? (Don’t worry, I know it’s mainly because most of the  food is really good.) And to think, the blog didn’t become a struggle until about 50 reviews in (which is why I laugh when people get mad at me and send comments implying I live to do nothing but blog my life away. I would gladly sit back and send in an random snippy comments while they labor away at the keyboard for hours trying to be occasionally funny, or at least informative. Oh, and there’s also that fun part where I spend half of each dinner taking photos!) I do love the dinners though, and visiting all the new restaurants, and hanging out with my dining buddies, both familiar and brand new, and I think the blog is a bonus for potential and current members. So onward I solider, and readily I eat, all in the name of group dining fun. I don’t know if we’ll make it to 200, as that would end up being over 10 years of Restaurant Roulette, but anyone who wants to hang in with me as long as possible, we’ll give it our best shot. After all, I still have my first member, he was at the Woodsman dinner, and while we don’t see him that often, he does still seem to have a good time when he joins us.

Okay, that was a weird experience. I’m sitting here at 8:00 in the evening, writing this, and my doorbell rings. I turn on my porch light, and there’s a Penske Rental Truck outside delivering my UPS package. Has anyone else gotten UPS packages at 8:00 PM in a rental truck? It’s hard to know if this is a seasonal overflow thing (on December 1st?) or if their truck just broke down, but do you remember those old timey days when your mail came six days a week, probably before 4:00 PM, and you didn’t see UPS drivers doing deliveries at 8:00 at night?

Wasn’t that just fascinating? Please remember, I live a very tiny life.

 

THE DINING REPORT – LAURO KITCHEN

THE DINING REPORT – LAURO KITCHEN
Hey, What’s Not To Like?

There are some restaurants you like from the moment they open, or at least from the first time you go there, and each time you return there it’s like visiting an old friend. Often you makes lots of “new friends” in the interim, but you still wonder what’s going on with this “special friend,” how they are faring, and if much has changed with them.

Portland has way too many good restaurants, and this being the case, you often don’t get a chance to return to places you really like, because there’s just so much to select from. Lauro was one of the first, really good (but still modestly priced) neighborhood places that got going a couple of years before Portland’s incredible food explosion. In the beginning, they were always packed, and with no reservations, getting in could be rough, especially if there were quite a few of you. They ditched that no reservation policy a few years ago though, luckily for groups like ours, and Heidi and Julian, who became Lauro fans in the last year or so, occasionally stroll over for a meal and have no trouble getting in. On the recent Friday night we were there, it seemed like they were doing quite well, but with every passing month seeing more openings of good food places on Division, who knows what the future holds for Lauro. My guess is, as it’s a fine neighborhood eatery with an intriguing but comfortable menu, and a good bargain as well, that Lauro will continue on for some years.

 

THE DINING REPORT – YAKUZA

THE DINING REPORT – YAKUZA
It’s a HIT with us

Although I love it, I’ve never had too much luck co-mingling Japanese food (and especially sushi) and Restaurant Roulette. I see people in our group eat raw fish all the time, but then when sushi comes around, forget it. Do people even try sushi (especially rolls) before they reject it out of hand? Most of the time it’s just vegetables, rice, seaweed and fish, and often the fish is smoked or otherwise cooked. Okay, it’s true raw fish isn’t supposed to be ultra healthy for you, as you can never be totally sure what’s lurking, but if you can eat an entire plate of hamachi, or a bowl of ceviche, or an entire meal consisting of a raw tuna starter and basically a raw tuna main course (yes Glenda, fingers are being pointed in your direction) why isn’t the tiny portion of raw fish in a tuna roll okay compared to 20 times as much seared Ahi? Let’s face it, there seems to be some sort of brain block when it comes to sushi.

As far as our group’s history with Japanese, I think it’s pretty well non-existent or hideously bad. About four years ago I put Restaurant Murata on the roster in December, a place that was supposed to have wonderful sushi, but I only had one taker, so the dinner was cancelled. Also, long, long ago, when the corner of 30th and Killingsworth was just starting to get its foot in the dining door and Yakuza had just opened (I think the first Micah Camden restaurant in that area) I sent out an RSVP notice for Yakuza, but about 2 days later it got an incredibly scathing review in the Oregonian, which said the food was awful, so I put another non-Japanese restaurant in its place. So our only real Japanese outing would have to be the infamous Menji-En, surely one for the record books as far as torturous evenings in dining out, the woeful Japanese Restaurant who had no rice. Although that dinner was one of our earliest, I believe in our first 6 months, it’s one of my favorite reviews, and you can check it out here at this blog (just select sushi in the category search.)

 

THE DINING REPORT – TRADER VIC’S

THE DINING REPORT – TRADER VIC’S PuPu Plates, Potted Parrots and Over Active Cleavage

Many people around my age have underage drinking stories of the original Portland Trader Vic’s, which for many years was located in the S.E. corner of the Benson Hotel, where El Gouge-O has successfully been hanging out for a number of more recent years. I don’t think I ever had one morsel of food at the original TV’s, but I do have fond memories of a few Potted Parrots there, this fruity rum drink that comes with a parrot on a stick you get to take home. I was never one of the under agers (that’s me, Miss Law and Order) but I do remember a group of us taking a friend along on a weird late night jaunt there, and I don’t think she was even out of high school. The thing I remember most was having a Potted Parrot delivered to our table for this guy who had run to the bathroom, and since he wasn’t around at the time, we all put a straw in and took a slurp. I think at least one person left their straw behind. Anyway, once Mr. Potty Break came back to the table, he immediately protested, saying no, he had not ordered another drink (we were poor youths, and weren’t dripping in cash) and made the waitress take it back. About 15 minutes later we saw this exact same drink being delivered to another table, slightly slurped and with an excess of straws. Truly appalling, but it did provide a big laugh.

I have this foggy notion (after all, I am OLD) that sometime after that, maybe about 20 years ago, a slightly known date and I meandered into Trader Vic’s during the Starlight Parade, when I again sucked up a Potted Parrot. I’m pretty sure that was my last brush with the Old Trader Vic’s, and not too many years later they folded up their beach umbrella and left town. Except for a few employees and some major rum hounds, I don’t think anyone really cared much, it’s not like people other than hotel guests and perhaps some other misguided tourist ever ate there. That was my memory of the old Trader Vic’s, except for some alcohol crazed types in the bar, it always seemed pretty empty, although it might have been that it was always so dark that you just couldn’t see people. I also remember they had some incredible blowfish and puffer fish hanging from the ceiling, probably a good place to keep the prickly little objects, to avoid confrontation from all the inebriated people stumbling in and out of the lounge (I think back then the drinks were nice and strong.)

 

THE DINING REPORT – THE RINGSIDE FISH HOUSE

THE DINING REPORT – THE RINGSIDE FISH HOUSE
Feeling Poor on Park Avenue

I’ve never been a Ringside kind of gal. Even before I started this group, I’d been eating out quite freely since my teenage years, certainly more than average, but for one reason or other, the Ringside never drew me in (maybe it’s the name, somehow sitting next to an elevated platform where two guys are beating the daylights out of each other, with spit flying, just doesn’t sound overly appetizing to me.) We all know I love my beef though, so it’s hard to figure out. I’ve never been a fan of those sporty guy or corporate sort of places, so maybe that’s the issue. We did go to “nicer” restaurants though, so why the Ringside never came into the mix is a bit surprising, maybe it’s because we BBQed steak at home quite often, so wanted something different when we ate out.

I was only at the Original Ringside (of course now we have the totally revamped Original Ringside) once in fact, right around the turn of the 21st Century. Wow, that was a miserable experience (not due to the cooking or decor at the Ringside that evening, although those upscale prices did not help.) The guy whom I had been hanging around with forever, had a father who was having some big birthday (65th, 70th?) and as this was a nouveau rich kind of family, Dad’s favorite eatery was that Old Boy’s Paradise, the Ringside. It was decided that almost the entire family would come, all four sons and their spouses and me, the arm accessory of the middle brother. Although I balked at having to pay for a Ringside dinner, as this whole family and I always seemed like we were from different galaxies, I was assured that if I went my meal would be paid for, as the birthday boy was going to be paying for everyone’s meal, via the family matriarch. Of course lots of expensive grub was ordered, with starters, and big honkin’ steaks. When the bill came, third brother is line decided that it was tasteless to have daddy pay for the birthday extravaganza (duh) and that everyone would have to split up the bill, including payment for mom and dad. It’s funny how when it came time to pay the bill, all of these brothers, who had been talking about virtually nothing the entire evening but stocks and expensive houses and cars, had no money on them and few credit cards (but plenty of rancor towards one another.) Plus, the brothers with the families that had eaten the most food wanted to pay the smallest part of the bill, or have mommy pay for everyone. Anyway, as you might guess from this quaint little story, innocents like me were the people caught in the crossfire and ended up emptying their wallet when the check came. It’s true, I was paid back for a portion of what I put out, but the entire evening was so idiotic, it hardly gave me reason to ever want to return to the Ringside.Over the last couple of years I had read many comments online, alluding to the fact that the Ringside was starting to show its age, that it was way behind the times, was full or tattered decor, and ofter smelled of mildew. Also, many comments were made that the steaks were only about the fourth best in town. The other thing I always remembered about my evening at the Ringside, besides the three ring family circus I was dining with, was how dark, dank, and old fashioned the ringside seemed. It was like crawling inside a pair of old flannel pajamas for a nice dinner, not you wearing pajamas, but the restaurant trapped inside some old fragrant jammies.

 

THE DINING REPORT- It’s Otto!!!!

THE DINING REPORT- It’s Otto!!!!
Why not Toot???

What’s in a name? Well, if your name is Otto and you are a relatively new restaurant in Portland, there could be confusion. Particularly if you are a relatively upscale restaurant, especially one without Bavarian leanings. I’m certain the couple behind Otto had a good reason for selecting the name, perhaps a beloved family member or dearly departed pet (do people name serious restaurants after their pets? Hmm) but whatever the case, if these folks were from around these here parts (I think I read months ago they hail from Michigan) it seems unlikely they would have latched onto Otto, since we already have Otto’s Sausage Kitchen, operating since the 20s, and a place I’m not familiar with (it’s in Beaverton, we all know I don’t go THERE) called Otto’s & Anita’s, which I’m told is some sort of whee-haw-lederhosen-special occasion place.

As they always say, you can’t judge a book by its cover, but whatever the reason, people here just do not associate Otto with fancy, and Glenda kept implying it reminded her of an alpine gondola operator. When we went there, several at out table actually complained to the staff about the name, and I could tell they had probably heard it all before. It is a nice round, symmetrical name though, and what could make a better logo than a palindrome? That being said, Otto could avoid all these issues by keeping their same letters, but just internalizing those Os. After all, who doesn’t want to go out for fine dining at a place called Toot? Hey, it’s still a palindrome.

I suppose if Otto seemed like it was on a path that would rocket it to instant fame, it would be easier to not worry whether the rather confusing name would prove problematic in Puddletown. The major probleappears to be that Otto most likely has other bad karma mojo-ing its happiness, nothing at all to do with the good food or pleasant people who work there.

 

THE DINING REPORT – 3 DOORS DOWN

THE DINING REPORT-3 DOORS DOWN
And Behind Door #3, We Have Liver Ale!

Our group is a yo-yo (hey, at least I didn’t say full of yo-yos,) one dinner we have 13, then cancel due to lack of interest, then 10 people, then 13 people, it really makes setting-up those reservations in advance a tricky situation. And when you are potentially bringing a group of 12 or more, or even 8 or more, and the restaurant is a hot commodity, or not that big, or whatever, you must give as much advance notice as possible. So I typically shoot for 10 days. But trying to guess how many people are available or interested in a particular dinner, this is not easy, and I often have to call a restaurant multiple times to get enough chairs, or to let them know we are more minicule than I had planned.

Sometimes this works out better than other instances. 3 Doors Down is a restaurant who has been on that same impossible to park block off Hawthorne, across from the Bagdad, for somewhere around 15 years, although it might be longer than that. For about the first 10 years of so the place was tiny, I didn’t even consider trying to wedge a group in there, as they were famous for the lines out the door and no waiting area. A couple of years (?) ago that changed, however, 3 Ds expanded into that space to the South of them as well (what was it, a high end clothing store???) and then they had double the space, a bar, a waiting area, and entertained reservations and everything. Nonetheless, 8 people is a decent sized group for them on a Friday night, and while originally they didn’t want to give me a reservation after 6:00, I guess someone thought in this economy it was better not to turn away eight eatees, so they gave me a 6:30 reservation as requested.

 

THE DINING REPORT – del Inti

THE DINING REPORT – del Inti
Wrath of Ceviche (Luckily no Klaus Kinski though.)

As I have already posted entries on two different del Inti dinners on this blog, and have hopefully given you the flavor of the place and the food, this chronicle of our most recent dinner might be a bit briefer, and perhaps more participant rather than restaurant oriented. I don’t want to give either the food or the bodies assembled the short end of the stick though, so I will blab on about something or other in this space, since I need something to put between those purty food photos.

So has anyone out there not heard about my shed? How about those chickens?

Okay, perhaps something a bit more Restaurant Roulettesk is in order. As I’ve mentioned before, I like del Inti, and I love the food of Peru (and don’t they have some sort of neat river there, too? I’m not much for those multicolor knitted hats though, they scared me in one of those Werner Herzog movies.) I suppose del Inti could be called a little step-sister of Andina, as the owner and also the primary chef escaped from there. I don’t think either gentleman enjoyed their days at Andina, but really, if you are a Peruvian chef and you come to Portland, where else would you cut your teeth but at the Peruvian big boy in town? Also, the cooking at del Inti is very similar to what you would get at Andina, (it’s Peruvian, after all) not quite on such a large scale, but delicious food and really interesting ingredients.