In the week following our stay in Portland, a few people have asked us what it was like. The photo above does a good job of summing things up, but since I don't have a smart phone that I can whip out for the purpose of showcasing pictures, the only appropriate response has been, "Have you seen Portlandia?" Like Portlandia tells you in its pilot's opening number, Portland truly is "a city where young people go to retire," and everyone does look like they're straight out of the 90s:
While in Portland, we stayed with an English Education classmate of mine named Yana, who knew long before graduating that she wanted to be a pastry chef rather than a teacher. In addition to working at a bakery, she is a part-time server at a Lebanese restaurant called Ya Hala. We happened to come into town on one of the nights she was serving, so we decided to dine there. Tricia ordered a tuna dish, and I ordered some kind of lamb casserole. I enjoyed tasting (and eventually stealing) Tricia's meal, but I didn't much care for the lamb casserole. Imagine a hockey puck, except instead of it being made of vulcanized rubber, it's made of densely-packed lamb. Then imagine three of these meat pucks stacked on top of each other, creating a short tower of Shari Lewis' favorite plaything. That's kind of like what my lamb casserole was like. Maybe I'm being unfair, though, because it tasted to me like pot roast, and I'm not a fan of pot roast.
Later that night, we talked for quite a while with Yana and her boyfriend Eric at their apartment in northeastern Portland. Just to tell you a little bit about Eric, he works as a professional video game tester, and he's currently reading Das Kapital (you know, a little bit of light reading). I'd tell you what game he's working on right now as well, but I'm afraid it's privileged information.
When we woke up the next morning, Tricia and I were determined to find Yana's bakery using Portland's public transportation. Like Seattle, Portland had a relatively new Light Rail service, and it too was smooth to ride and fairly easy to navigate. The problem was that we were confused by the address Yana had given us, and we ended up taking the Light Rail to the SW part of the city rather than the SE part (apparently, one of the few things Portlanders are passionate about is compass directions). Upon not finding the bakery there, we started walking. Perhaps hiking is a better word, because we walked so far that I for one took off my jacket and tied it around my waist like someone fixing to climb a small mountain (or a 90s soccer mom). All I needed was a fanny pack and I would've been on my way to fitting in with the other Portlanders.
Once we did get arrive (finally) at Crema Bakery, we attempted to buy the items pictured below, but Yana insisted they were on her. After a bit of "aww, shucks"-ing, we sat down to enjoy. And enjoy we did. Our favorite two items were the ones Yana recommended -- a corn biscuit smothered in cheddar, and a strawberry and blueberry tart with a hazelnut crust. Yana herself was responsible for the tart, and I must say in all honesty that it was the most delectable tart I've ever had. Step aside, French bakeries.
After some reading for me and some working for Tricia, we decided to head back to the SW part of the city, so we hopped on a bus. The kind-hearted (or negligent) driver told us $5 was enough for 2 all-day passes, even though the sign posted at the front of the bus said it was more like $9. Perhaps he was simply tired of seeing me fumble around with my wallet.
After some walking around, we took a shuttle to the International Test Rose Garden, per Yana's and Eric's recommendation. 'Twas a lovely and at times fragrant excursion, but in the end, a rose is a rose is a rose, and we had important business to take care of, like eating and playing a show.
Before the show, we dined with Yana and Eric at Frank's Noodle House. I ordered General Tso's chicken, which made me the only carnivore at the table. Tricia ordered noodles, which were both handmade and quite thick. I should mention that at Frank's, they give you metal chopsticks to pick your noodles up with. (Fellow English teachers, please don't give me any guff for choosing to end certain sentences with prepositions.)
After the meal, we headed up to the Alberta Street Pub, where they apparently know how to spell "cheap ass booze" correctly, but not the last names of their musical performers.
The Alberta Street Pub's music room was pretty unique in that old church pews served as seating. As a result, everyone felt guilty about talking during the show, leaving us with a quiet and fearful audience. Since then, I've considered charging concert-goers a one-dollar donation to light a candle and write down songs they're hoping to hear.
I opened the evening and Tricia closed. In between was local Portland act Felecia and the Dinosaur, a duo made up of Felecia Campbell on vocals and guitar and David Evan on drums. Since Felecia is accounted for in the moniker, I can only assume that David is actually a stegosaurus.
The two certainly had some entertaining song titles, and fortunately they performed some quality songs to match them. The style and sound varied between tunes, ranging from intimate and soulful to upbeat and percussive (all with an inexplicable punk aesthetic). Felecia offered to cook us breakfast the next day, a kind gesture that we unfortunately didn't take her up on.
We left PDX (we're under the impression that this is hip local lingo for "Portland", but we could be wrong) the next afternoon, headed for nowhere in particular... We'll explain in the next post. Or two.
Driving Music:
Jethro Tull - Benefit
Liza Day and the Northbound Trestle Singers - Liza Day and the Northbound Trestle Singers
Low - The Great Destroyer
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