Mash Tun: Summer Edition
August 6, 2011
Fried zucchini sticks. (Careful: HOT.)
Saturday night in early August. The seasons have shifted, but our cravings remain much the same. So we head down the street for the familiar burgers, amiable service and laid-back vibe at our fave neighborhood brewpub.
+ daylight.
Mash Tun’s new outdoor patio (wisteria-covered trellis should start to fill in next year) is a welcome addition to the neighborhood. And with Pine State Biscuits’ outdoor seating just next door, 22nd and Alberta is a corner to be reckoned with. (Oh … and we discovered the fried zucchini strips. Not listed on the menu as an app; only as a sandwich. Ask for them. Good stuff. )
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- Fried zucchini sticks. (Careful: HOT.)
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- Burger in hand worth two in a bush. Or something.
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- Pretty with the umbrellas. Note the sun.
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- MT burger and tots.
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- MT salad. Bacon. Cheese. Mushrooms.
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- THE best corner in all of NEPO.
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- Pine State’s patio from our perch at Mash Tun.
Pok Pok Noi on NE Prescott
August 4, 2011
Sweet, salty, savory Vietnamese fish-sauce wings.
Last Friday. It seems like a lifetime ago, now, but lingering throughout the oceanic week were memories of our casual takeout dinner from our new(ish) neighbor, Pok Pok Noi. Bearing little resemblance to the Thai menus I’m used to, Noi serves up traditional Thai street food easily eaten standing up, or perhaps sitting on a curb or stoop, food perched on knees. And, in keeping with the street-food theme, it’s not uncommon in the summertime to see couples sitting under umbrellas at the two sidewalk tables devouring ears of grilled corn, skewered meats and the like.
Located next door to Grain & Gristle, the tiny restaurant does a brisk takeout business, but you’ll always find people eating at the few seats at the bar, standing up by the front window overlooking the aforementioned picnic tables, or sitting on the petite patio out back. Walking through the front door, you’re greeted with the unmistakable aroma of fish sauce and chiles. The backlit signage next to the bar depicts the menu’s offerings, and a blackboard details a drinking vinegars and other libations, including bottled and draft beers, cocktails and coffees.
For our living-room picnic, we ordered the Het Paa Naam Tok, a salad made with forest mushrooms, shallots and lemongrass that arrived with a little container stuffed with a magical mixture of cilantro leaves, mint and a prickly toasted rice powder, When mixed with the meaty mushrooms, the result was an earthy, spicy, bright salad. And then the Papaya Pok Pok salad: julienned green papaya, tomatoes, and long beans with spicy, aromatic lime and fish sauce complementing the fresh veg. Optional soft-shell black crab makes the dish a bit of a project: biting, sucking, slurping and discarding, but delicious nonetheless. Alongside the dish, a plastic sandwich baggie with a scoop of sticky rice, easily pinched off and eaten with the fingers.
Beyond salads, we ordered the Muu Seteh, pork loin skewers topped with a tiny gem of glistening pork fat, served with an addictive peanut dipping sauce. But the star of this show is the much-written-about Vietnamese fish-sauce wings: a heap of dark, sticky, sweet, salty, meaty chicken wings, so addictive, savory and satisfyingly filling. The first time we ordered them, I could not fathom making a meal of chicken wings, and yet, that’s what happens.
We say it all the time, and you’ll probably tire of hearing it before we stop: We feel so lucky to live in this amazing neighborhood, and jewels like Pok Pok Noi make our good fortune that much better.
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- Sweet, salty, savory Vietnamese fish-sauce wings.
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- Pork loin skewers, peanut dipping sauce and toasted white bread.
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- Forest mushrooms, cilantro, mint. Amazing.
Food Memory: Dad’s Shrimp
July 16, 2011
70s-tastic shrimp cocktail.
One of my distinct childhood memories is of the occasional cocktail parties my parents gave. They didn’t happen often, but when they did, my sister Julie and I would help make the house sparkle and set up the appetizer table in the family room, knowing our reward was nigh.
Of course, Julie and I could not have cared less who was coming over, and once we survived the polite introductions, our work was done. Those nights were an occasion because we were promised a rare and exotic frozen TV dinner, eaten in front of the TV. Anything to keep us occupied and out of the way. We were in heaven.
Party nights were also special for the other uncommon foods in the house. Bags of potato chips with sour cream dip (my sister and I tempting each other with the old ad pitch “Bet you can’t eat just one!” ); tiny sweet gherkins; pitted black olives whose main appeal was as freaky finger coverings; cocktail weenies on toothpicks; and of course my dad’s shrimp cocktail.
“Dad’s Shrimp,” as it came to be known, was a fairly grownup flavor for little kids, but I loved it: unexpectedly piquant, spicy and barely sweet.
The recipe came from a long-ago edition of Sunset magazine, and who knows how close Dad’s version is to the original. I’ve never known him to follow any recipe from start to finish. He might use one for inspiration and to understand the intended flavors, but then he adds a dollop of creative license to make it his own. And the theater involved — well, it’s amusing to watch. When he’s really having fun, he talks to himself while he bobs and jigs around the kitchen: “A little of this, and, ah, a little of that … yes. That’s it. Oh, do you know what would be good? I know just the thing.” Though I was not present when he first made this shrimp cocktail, I imagine that’s how it went down. And several years ago when I asked him for the recipe, it was clear that the science of measurement was not something he’d applied to this dish — ever.
Its components seem odd. And when I list the ingredients to curious friends, they respond surprised: “Really? Ketchup? Mustard? Celery?” Yes, really. Good, isn’t it?
I still crave it. That snap of horseradish and tarragon vinegar lend a zesty contrast against chilled poached shrimp and creamy avocado.
Here is the recipe as told by my dad. Mine never quite tastes the same as his, so the liberties he takes with measurements are not perfectly represented here, and every measurement could be followed by an “-ish.” But like a good ’70s cocktail party, it’s still groovy in my book.
Dad’s Shrimp
1/4 cup tarragon vinegar
1 1/2 tablespoon prepared horseradish
1 tablespoon yellow mustard
1 tablespoon ketchup
1 1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 cup canola oil
1/4 white onion
1 stalk celery
Put the ingredients in the Vitamix, and blend to a puree. (A regular blender works, too, but first mince the celery and onion.)
Pour over 1 1/2 pounds poached shrimp (shelled and deveined) and refrigerate for 2 to 3 hours. Serve over avocado slices on individual plates or small bowls. I like making a bed of arugula or spinach under the avocado.
Post-Fire Support on Alberta Street
July 12, 2011
Gotta love these recent stories from The Oregonian:
Portland restaurants help fireworks-damaged eatery on Northeast Alberta Street
Alberta Street businesses pull together after fire
Hats off to Umpqua Bank and Stumptown Coffee Roasters for offering a hand. Plus Andy Ricker of Pok Pok fame and the owners of Firehouse step up for one of our neighborhood faves that finds itself a bit down on its luck. It makes us that much happier that Ricker opened his takeout spot, Noi, in the area. He had our business before, but this is reinforcement. We’ll be popping into Firehouse sometime soon as well. Here’s hoping the folks at Aviary are back in business ASAP.
Grain & Gristle on NE Prescott
July 10, 2011
Scrapple and egg with house ketchup and mustard.
A lumberjack must have decorated this place. A free-spirit lumberjack with industrial-chic sensibility, perhaps. Timber prevails at Grain & Gristle on Prescott at NE 15th Ave, represented in the exposed ceiling beams, floors, tables, chairs, benches and the bar at the center of it all.
Cylindrical cages — baskets in which machine parts were dunked and washed, we learned — serve as light fixtures over the tables along either side of the room and contribute to the rustic vogue vibe. Blackboards announce the day’s specials, and a mixed-media mural of a grain harvester lends some amber-waves hominess.
We’ve eaten here twice now, and both meals were engaging enough that we’re threatening to become regulars. Our most recent visit came just as the Last-Thursday craziness on Alberta was winding down. (Perk No. 1 at G&G: They’re open late.) So, what were the winners?
The scrapple topped with a fried egg was a homey meatloaf-style, breakfast-esque dish, tasty any time of day. Also, housemade sausage simmered in a zesty-sweetish red curry sauce on a bed of crispy-salty fries offered delicious contrasts in flavor and texture. Curry fries? Yes, please. Other standouts: a little pot of pork rillets; a beet, arugula and blue cheese salad; a plate of pork rinds so crisp you can hear the crackling from across the room. (Perk No. 2 at G&G: The creative menu changes frequently.) A selection of draft beers complements the menu. (And Perk No. 3: G&G also has a full bar should you crave a martini with your rinds.)
During our first visit, J fulfilled his gastronomic duty and ordered the burger. Though he specified medium-rare, it arrived well-done, breaking a cardinal rule of burgerdom: The patty had shrunk and was smaller than the bun. But flavor and texture were delicious. So on our return he gave the burger another shot, with slightly better results — again a good crust on the patty, juicy, perfectly seasoned, but more medium than medium-rare. There’s some deviousness at work here: Even overcooked, the burger is good enough to keep us coming back, ever hopeful of perfect execution.
Overall, G&G is a welcome addition to our neighborhood. (Even more so now that the patio is open for business.) Get the burger right, and we will be friends for life.
Food Memory: Noodles for Breakfast
June 26, 2011
Delicious noodles for breakfast.
I had a pretty typical childhood. I loved swimming in the summer; my friends and I pretended we were “Charlie’s Angels,” packing heat and fighting crime in our Salt Lake City neighborhood; I adored kittens — more than once my sister and I dressed up the family cat in old baby clothes. And I ate Top Ramen regularly for breakfast. OK, maybe not completely typical.
Of course, on the weekends, I enjoyed traditional breakfasts: pancakes, French toast, oatmeal with a little brown sugar. But around the age of 12 and on through high school, my breakfast of choice during the week was ramen.
I must have learned this breakfast behavior from my dad, Levi Mike, who never ate “normal” breakfast food. Instead he would make soups and stews, vats of collard greens, Mexican menudo, the leftovers of which would be his morning sustenance. So my penchant for ramen was not terribly unusual. Every morning, I’d start a saucepan with a finger of water and cut the top of the flavor packet, leaving a graveyard of silver trimmings in the drawer where the scissors lived. In less than three minutes, I had a savory, salty, warming pan of noodle soup. Rather than dirty a bowl, I would eat the soup right out of the cookpot, and to get to the “meat” of the meal faster, I would slurp the liquid with a giant mixing spoon. (J and I still have that spoon and use it often, though it’s been retired as silverware.) Once the broth was out of the way, all that remained were the delicious, slippery, curly noodles. I would savor them lovingly, making them last as long as possible. After one unfortunate morning when my mother asked for “a bite” and ate HALF THE NOODLES on one forkful, I became fiercely protective, guarding my noodles with the ferocity of a junkyard dog.
Though I don’t often eat ramen for breakfast anymore, every once in a while I wake up with a craving. I’ve graduated to bowls, and I now use a regular soup spoon. But don’t ask for a bite, even on your birthday. Call me selfish, but for 20 cents or so you can have your very own bowl of noodles for breakfast, in under three minutes. I’ll start the water for you.
Olympic Provisions, Southeast Portland
June 17, 2011
Smoked rockfish (front) and tesa with egg.
The goddess Athena walks into a restaurant and says to the bearded waiter, “Is that a house-cured salami in your deli case, or are you just happy to see me?”
OK, I confess: Comedy is not my calling. Eating, however, is one of my talents, and so on Saturday night the gang (James, Zandra, J and I) ventured into Southeast Portland’s industrial district for a feast at Olympic Provisions.
Turns out the restaurant’s name was not derived from the 12 Greek Olympians as I had fantasized. “Food of the gods,” and so forth. Rather, the restaurant is named for its warehouse home, the landmark Olympic Mills Commerce Center located next to the tracks, in the shadow of the I-5 freeway.
Inside, the industrial feel endures with cement floors, subway tiles, dark wood-topped tables and exposed light bulbs dangling from rustic cords. Iron-and-wood shelving showcases a variety of wines and pickled items. A deli case displays salami for sale along with mounds of chicken and potato salad, with old-school meat-counter price cards — you know, the kind with the exchangeable red numbers.
For drinks, we started off with a slightly effervescent rosado from the Basque region of Spain on the recommendation of our server. Her enthusiasm in describing wines and their origins proved her passion for the topic. We were in very good hands as she paired wines with our courses as we explored the menu.
The menu itself is a smallish affair, belying the big flavors it foretells. The list of small plates is divided into small bites (olives, pickles, etc.), vegetables, meat, and charcuterie. We started with the chef’s choice charcuterie (salami, pork rillettes, a terrine) alongside house-pickled veggies. An early standout was the silky, not-too-dense chicken liver pate spread on crostini and topped with shaved ribbons of sweet asparagus, to which Zandra declared, “I could have ordered 10 of those and called it good.” Amen, sister. But variety is the name of the game here, so like the feasting Olympians we strive to be, we ventured deeper into the menu: fork-tender squid in a brothy, sop-worthy harissa; chicken thigh, smoked sausage and delicately tender beef tongue in an herbaceous salsa verde broth redolent of mint; crisp roasted tesa (pork belly) atop pea shoots, all crowned by a fried egg, dissolved deliciously on the tongue; deeply smoky rockfish came served alongside fried potato squares and topped with a creamy horseradish sauce — the dishes kept coming.
Finally the dessert menu appeared, from which we ordered a trio of cheeses and a sticky, delicious caramel walnut tart. Nearly too stuffed to leave, we sipped our port and dessert wine and looked back on the meal we just devoured. Food fit for gods, indeed, but certainly no laughing matter.
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- Chicken liver pate and asparagus ribbons.
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- Beef tongue that melts in the mouth.
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- Brothy, soppable squid.
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- Sauteed spring greens and egg.
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- Poached egg spilling over roasted tesa.
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- Smoked rockfish (front) and tesa with egg.
Gadget Geekery: Vitamix
June 12, 2011
Broccoli cheddar soup.
About a month ago, J and I were browsing through a local kitchen store and happened upon the Vitamix blenders. We’d first heard of the Vitamix reading Thomas Keller’s “Ad Hoc at Home” cookbook where it’s used in several recipes. I found it odd at first, then telling, that Keller continually referred to it by its brand name. No instructions were given that required the use of a “blender.” After researching its capabilities, I was impressed. So we wanted to see one in person.
The salespeople at the kitchen store had practically granted the Vitamix deity-like status. The floor model glowed with an imagined golden nimbus as the clerk recounted its otherworldly capabilities: powers through ice like a chain saw, spins with tornado-like force, chews fibrous fruit like a ravenous goat. In fact the Vitamix works with such high-speed intensity that it heats the ingredients in its container, as in makes hot soup out of a frozen smoothie, if you’re not careful. Hot soup in a blender in about five minutes: Sold.
The price was steep as a cliff, but we rationalized the purchase by counting it as our next seven birthday gifts, each. We brought it home, and promptly made, of course, frozen margaritas. Not regular frozen margaritas, though. This version had whole fruit. Peel an orange, peel a lime, drop them in — membranes and all — and blend them up with some silver tequila, Cointreau, ice and a touch of water. The Vitamix made short work of ice cubes and blended the whole fruit to a smooth consistency. Whole-fruit fiber hidden in a frozen cocktail? Brilliant! Make mine a double.
Though I usually prefer to keep the kitchen counters clutter-free, the Vitamix earned a permanent home next to the coffee maker. We use the beastly blender daily, whipping up everything from smoothies, salad dressings, mayonnaise, dips, cold soups and even a new version of chile verde. My favorite recipe so far is the hot broccoli and cheddar soup, loosely adapted from the Vitamix cookbook:
1 1/2 c. skim milk
1/2 c. shredded cheddar
2 c. steamed broccoli florets (reserving a few for garnish)
1/3 c. minced onion
1/2 tsp boullion
1/3 c. cooked barley for body
Place all ingredients in the blender in the order listed. With the blender on variable 1, turn it on. Increase speed to variable 10, and set to high. Blend for 5 to 6 minutes, until steam escapes from the lid. Serve with reserved broccoli florets. Presto, hot, creamy soup.
To clean up, fill the container halfway with hot water and a squeeze of dish soap, and run the blender again. Holy molé, the thing cleans itself!
Queue the angels: This is one heavenly appliance.
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- Broccoli cheddar soup.
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- Behold, the Vitamix.
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- Grated cheddar cheese.
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- A little steamed broccoli.
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- All the fixins in the Vitamix.
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- Roommates, soulmates.
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- Beautiful broccoli cheddar soup in mere minutes.
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- A drizzle of Tabasco.
Saturday Afternoon Oysters at Dan & Louis
May 23, 2011
Calamari, fries and oysters.
Saturday afternoon was cool, cloudy and dry — the perfect day for a long walk. J and I headed downtown, as we often do, and this week’s exploration took us to the northwest side of the city. After a good hour and a half of wandering, we headed back toward the river and to Dan & Louis Oyster Bar.
This was the second time the promise of oysters had lured us in. The first was in the middle of winter, when the oysters beckoned, but the real draw that soggy day was the prospect of stick-to-your-ribs clam chowder. Neither disappointed, and we knew we’d return.
Dan & Louis is an old-time storefront tucked away on Ankeny Street just west of the Saturday Market. A family-owned joint opened in 1907, the feel of the bar is what I imagine a fisherman’s hangout to be — nothing fancy, wood paneling, just the basics. The front bar area has a half-dozen or so wooden two-top tables and a bar backed by liquor of all sorts; a giant wooden ship’s steerer … wheel (what is it called? a helm, yes.); a lone TV in the corner is usually tuned to some game, race or sporting event. An old cistern from the early Portland days has been preserved near the door to the kitchen. Covered with a Plexiglass window and lit down below, it’s a stop on a local walking tour. Flocks of tourists march in, look down the hole, turn around and leave. Weird? A little. Amusing to watch? Yes.
But I’ve dwelt on the decor too much. The real star of this show is the oysters. We ordered the variety pack (my term, not theirs): six kinds, two of each, all plucked from the waters off Washington and Oregon. (Eat local, indeed.) A splash of lemon is my preferred accompaniment, but the plate also offers horseradish and cocktail sauce. Fresh, briny, slurp-a-licious. Rather than chowder, this time we went for the fried calamari. Well seasoned/herbed and fried to a perfectly crispy bite, these were among the best for my taste. Everything accompanied by piping-hot sourdough bread with a pillowy interior, crunchy exterior. I think we all know how we feel about that. A couple of glasses of crisp Columbia Valley Sauvignon Blanc to round it all out, and we were ready for our walk home.
One of many versions of a perfect Saturday afternoon.
Refrigerator staple: Greek salad
May 22, 2011
Greek salad, a Sunday tradition.
It’s part of the Sunday ritual, so deeply ingrained that the weekend hardly feels complete without it. Every weekend, we make our shopping list, and every weekend, the same few ingredients appear: cucumber, tomatoes, red onion, feta, black olives.
After the groceries are put away, and before any other dinner-fixing starts, the chopping commences. Uncomplicated, and delicious in its simplicity,
our Greek salad serves as a side dish on its own, but more commonly I use it to top my chopped lettuce during the week. Every night. Yes, I eat salad every night during the week. I think of it as a calorie bank: I save up calories during the week that I can in turn spend on weekend splurges.
The essential component to our Greek salad is English cucumber, peeled. I find the seeds and skins of traditional cucumbers to be bitter and generally horrible. In fact, for years I detested cucumbers until I realized their problem could be fixed by peeling and seeding them, and I always question restaurants that slice cucumbers on salads without taking these extra steps.
Grape tomatoes are the other important component of the recipe. During the summer, if large, flavorful tomatoes are available, I’ll use them, but grape tomatoes are usually delicious, if a little expensive, year round.
So, peel, quarter and chop the cucumber, add a little salt. Halve the grape tomatoes lengthwise and add to cucumber. Finely mince 1/2 red onion and give the salad a toss. Though I buy pitted kalamata olives, I chop them to detect any lingering pits. In they go. Cube or crumble the feta and pile it in. Season with salt and pepper keeping in mind that the olives and feta add some saltiness. A drizzle of olive oil is the final touch. If I have a lemon, maybe a squeeze of juice, but I don’t go out of my way to buy lemon. Stir it up, and it’s done.
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- Greek salad, a Sunday tradition.
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- English cucumbers are the way to go.
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- Grape tomatoes.
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- Red onion.
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- Feta cheese.
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- A drizzle of good olive oil.
Chile Verde Chronicles 