Bun Bo Hue Minh's fabulous $7 bowl of bun rieu
Willamette Week’s annual Cheap Eats issue came out yesterday. Despite a couple restaurants that I’d really like to see dropped from the list (cough…cough….Laughing Planet), it’s a very good list overall. If you want to browse the choices quickly before digging into the reviews, I’ve distilled them at Portlandfood.org.
Included in the issue was a fun listing of bites, snacks, and entire meals $7 or under. Following are 10 additions to the list — some of my favorites — from a whole new set of shops, some of which weren’t covered in the issue at all.
Version 2.0 of Extramsg.com’s dining guide and tip sheet for the Portland metro area is finally finished. You can visit it here or by clicking the link at the left under Portland Food News.
The tip sheet has been greatly overhauled. Categories, such as Indian and Sushi/Japanese have been added, but also many of the entries in each category have been updated or completely changed. There’s also a new listing of “Quick Picks” by neighborhood in descending order by price.
Hopefully this tip sheet will help visitors and new residents of Portland — or those looking to expand their culinary horizons. If you would like to criticize or comment on the tip sheet, please follow the link in the dining guide itself.
Radishes from Groundworks
Despite a chilly April Fool’s Day teasing with sun, but threatening with rain, this year’s Portland Farmers Market opener was packed with people as if it were July. There were so many market-goers vying for a taste of cheese, a loaf of bread, or a bag full of mushrooms, it made it darn near impossible to take a decent picture. (How dare they!)
While there weren’t many new vendors, there was a good range of products….
Plaza Latina’s Bulk Chiles
I grew up just outside of Eugene, OR, home of the University of Oregon Ducks, although I always rooted for my dad’s alma mater, the UCLA Bruins. I still have family and friends in the area and visit at least a couple times a month. When I was a kid, Taco Time was probably my favorite cheap eat. Mexi fries, veggie burritos, and taco Tuesday — hey, it’s a lot better than Taco Hell.
That was before Thai food had caught on in the U.S. I hadn’t even tried Indian food and I doubt there was an Indian restaurant in all of Lane County. It was a decade, however, when Izzy’s still made all their pizza from scratch with quality ingredients and Pietro’s made a zesty and crunchy pie with a crust that actually had a chewy, airy texture like Italian bread, not spongy Wonderbread.
Despite the local government’s efforts to stifle change in Eugene, the town has grown up a lot since I left for college. It’s more cosmopolitan with all the expected international restaurants — Mexican, Thai, Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Vietnamese, etc. As a result, the cheap eats options have gone far beyond pizza and fast food. The following is a quick overview of some of my favorites, some places to avoid, and some places that have unfortunately disappeared or changed hands. I’ve also included a list of known blogs in the area that at least regularly post on food.
Even mediocre BBQ can look delicious. (Sampler plate from Wildcard BBQ.)
The colder weather has me anxiously clamoring to fit in as many summer activities as possible. Golfing: I got a hole in one the other day. Biking: I even rode across across town and over the Columbia. Gardening: Pruning up my tomatoes and chiles to get every last bit of fruit. Trips into the Gorge and down to Woodburn’s new plaza. And this last weekend, I went to a farmers market and three festivals: Belmont Street Fair, Bones and Brew, Hillsdale Farmers Market, and Vancouver Sausage Fest.
Clockwise from top left: Desserts at Pix; Margherita from Apizza Scholls; Cherries and blackberries from the Portland Farmer’s Market; Burger and fries from Cafe Castagna.
Version 1.0 of Extramsg.com’s dining guide and tip sheet for the Portland metro area is finally finished. You can visit it here or in the future by clicking the link at the left under Portland Food News.
The tip sheet suggests quality restaurants in a variety of categories and cuisines, plus places to shop for food. Following these recommendations are a list of dining options on Sundays and Mondays, links to online discussions of Portland eateries, and other dining guides. Finally, there is a list of over-rated restaurants to avoid.
Hopefully this tip sheet will help visitors and new residents of Portland — or those looking to expand their culinary horizons. If you would like to criticize or comment on the tip sheet, please follow the link in the dining guide itself.
My mom has a class picture of me in kindergarten when we lived in Sacramento. We lived in a trailer park off of Northgate and Del Paso Blvds. In the picture, there are a dozen black kids, half a dozen Hispanic kids, and me, the only white kid. But when you’re six, you don’t know that you’re supposed to care about such things, that you’re supposed to live in different parts of town, be suspicious of one another, and so on. You just know that Jamal makes you laugh and Maria makes you blush when she tries to kiss you on the bus.
By the time I started taking the red line to south Chicago, I knew better. And they, the African-Americans who live there, knew better. They knew that in 1926 the Supreme Court ruled that deeds could restrict what races could purchase the property in the future. They knew that in the ’30s and ’40s the FHA had encouraged separating “incompatible racial groups”. They knew that in the progressive ’60s and ’70s — and even today — that real estate agents only showed them housing where they’d be “comfortable”. They knew it, and I knew it.
But my belly is no respecter of persons. It knows no race. It knows no history. It just knows good food. So when my belly heard “ribs”, it directed me south.
After eating LOW’s BBQ at the Portland Farmer’s Market, was there any point in going to the Bones and Brew at the Tom McCall Waterfront Park? Probably not, but call me an optimist.
The event is sponsored by Rogue Ales and benefits the Albertina Kerr Centers for troubled youths. So I offered my (technically tax deductible) $5 donation and went through the gates. There were a dozen BBQ vendors, including a couple of the better ones in Portland, Cannon’s and Yam Yam’s. However, I skipped the places I’d already eaten at, and instead explored, hoping for a gem or two.
My Yahoo Instant Messenger popped up: “I’ve found the perfect truck!” It was John, a friend since gradeschool. He and I had been considering a small transportation business, and apparently, he was ready. A few years ago he had driven truck and still had his commerical driver’s license. He was in IT now, like me, but tired of dealing with angry customers for mediocre pay. A link popped up next and I followed it to a picture, description, and price for the truck on Ebay. It was in Dewitt, Arkansas, about 90 minutes outside of Little Rock.
At about a thousand dollars to have the truck shipped to us, we decided to fly to Little Rock and drive it back. It would be cheaper, and besides, it’d been a while since we’d had a good road trip. (The last one was to the high Uintas in Utah for fishing — a miserable trip in which, after a hike where I got separated at 10,000 ft from both my friends and the food and water, I had gotten sick.)
John dealt with the seller. He said “Rusty and his boy” would pick us up in our newly-purchased Chevy dually at the Little Rock airport. (The way John described him, I imagined Karl from Slingblade sitting on the other end of the phone eating french fried potaters and potted meat, mmm-hmmm.) I gave John the choice of themes for the trip back: Mexican or BBQ. Never a fan of Mexican, he chose the latter. That was fine with me. It meant the cooler, northern route through Kansas City instead of Santa Fe, and I love BBQ and have always wanted to make a meat Mecca Hajj.
Burt stands austerely, arms folded at his chest, as I ask him questions: “What time do they take the pig out?” “What time do they put the pig in?” “How large is the pig?” He answers all my questions, but never relaxes his face or budges from his spot in front of a circular lava-lined pit with a large pile of earth in the middle and a sign that proclaims, “IMU: Hawaiian Earth Oven”.
I should have asked him if “Burt” was his real name. Polys (short for Polynesians) have a tendency, as many immigrants do as well, to take on Americanized names. My uncle Mataumu, a Samoan, conveniently goes by Mat. Polynesians have an impressive ability to look either really jovial or really stern. Burt’s doing the stern thing. But I can tell he likes the attention, both for him and his ancestral food. Most of the other luau guests are concerned with only two things: when does the bar open and when do we eat.
