Pacific Northwest, Day 1: Living Local

recently consumed

vacation: Portland, Oregon

tasting notes

Portland is an unusual place. From the minute we stepped off the plane, we could tell that it was a little different. The airport smelled like moth balls and old musty people, and yet there right at the terminal was a Rogue Ale House with 20 microbrewed beers on tap. The rest of Portland would pretty much be the same as that. A mix of gourmet lifestyle with an edge of rugged rather than pristine.

We started off our journey by visiting the Portland Farmer’s Market. Within a few blocks of approaching the Portland State University Campus, the buzz of political discourse was already in the air. We got approached by a girl evangelizing Barak Obama, which seemed like a waste of time… in Portland… on a college campus… at the farmer’s market. Passerby after passerby uttered the same phrase, “Thanks, but he already has my vote.”

The colors of the market were glorious. Large, shiny and delicious looking produce. I felt bad that we hadn’t rented a kitchenette or something where we could enjoy them. Instead we had to opt for the wood-oven roasted lamb pizza and freshly made raspberry lemonade. Everything around us, from the soda pop and wine to the vinegar and sausage, all shared the same label: “Local”.

Next we decided to take a bicycle adventure to Laurelhurst Park and Mt. Tabor. We walked by what looked like dozens of resistance movements waiting to happen along the waterfront, army clad beard sporting groups gathered in circles under the large trees. We happened upon a bicycle shop without bicycles to rent. Turns out the whole city was rented out. Luckily, a few people came to return their bikes just as we were getting fitted for a tandem, which the shop owner admitted might not be the best bike to get us up the mountain.

We whizzed easily across the river and through the Portland neighborhoods. The backroad streets were owned by bikes. You would hardly ever see a car, unless it was parked. The portrait of a Portland neighborhood between downtown and Mt. Tabor is this… think Ann Arbor only even more so. Craftsman-style houses in various states of repair, landscaped lawns in various states of overgrown, and fairly odd 70s vehicles in various states of rust.

While some houses were purposefully decaying, it was hard to deny the beauty of the explosive bushes of roses and hydrangea on every corner and on every street. The city was covered in flowers.

We made our way up to the top of the mountain, slowly but surely. A couple was having a 1920s themed wedding at the top, and even the little kids were sporting authentic clothes from the decade. The tall trees blocked much of the view, but created a sense of majesty and peace. We soaked it in until we decided it was time to come back down.

We had dinner at Park Kitchen near our hotel. Everything on the menu was, again, local and unique. The strange cocktails featured unusual berries and loads of mint which could be sipped from a metal straw. The food was exquisite. We got to try pig ear and papardelle, something new for us and quite tasty. Blueberry sauce over crispy and tender duck, and a finish with a chocolate plum pudding.

We wandered back to our hotel, tired from the long journey, and feeling connected. Everything we had eaten and touched and viewed today was from this place, and no other.

Tomorrow: Willamette Valley