Brews and View in Portland

Certain places just get it. Oregon is one of those places. I spent three days there over the extended New Year’s weekend and was constantly reminded of how well food and drink is done in the Beaver State. Every year, my girlfriend Victoria and I travel for New Year’s Eve and our anniversary four days later. Last year, we went to Cornwall, London, and Brighton and this year, with very little planning, we ended up in Portland.

The Stars of the Show

Our friends Brennan and Garrett were gracious enough to let us stay in their house in Southeast Portland while they were in Orange County and Dubai, respectively. Instead of heading straight there from the airport, however, we beelined for Great Notion Brewing in northeast Portland, luggage and all. Great Notion is finally getting recognized on a wider scale and for good reason: they make magnificent beer across a wide spectrum of styles. I first tried their beer last year when friends brought back Crowlers (32 ounce growler cans) of Juicebox Double IPA and their Blueberry Muffin sour beer. These, and the news they had collaborated with Alpine and Abnormal Beer Company on a vanilla stout, were enough to convince me it should be our first stop in a place saturated with great beer. All the beers I tried were excellent, but the two that really stuck out were Peanut Brother, a milk stout aged on fresh chocolate and handmade peanut butter, and Over-Ripe IPA, which had the best nose of any beer I smelled in 2016. With no added fruit or experimental hops, Over-Ripe smelled just like cantaloupe and honeydew. It was as uncanny as it was delicious.

The following morning, Victoria and I went to a cornerstone of the breakfast scene in the Rose City: Pine State Biscuits. I ordered the signature sandwich, the Reggie Deluxe, which slides a fried chicken breast, cheese, an egg, and sausage gravy all between their namesake crumbly biscuits. It looked massive and probably was, but I ate every last scrap and loved it. The sandwich was rich and savory, with creamy gravy and a crispy, juicy piece of chicken, but didn’t feel heavy at all–maybe it was because I was on vacation. Victoria’s vegetarian shiitake mushroom gravy was equally good with an understandable but unique earthiness you don’t often find in breakfast food.

 

Ave. No. 2 and “Elements”

With full bellies and warm hearts, we set out for the coast, traveling across a snowy pass to the tune of Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast, which is truly great. After winding through a white-flecked evergreen forest for nearly an hour, we descended into Tillamook, Oregon and were greeted with a beautiful, verdant vista of farmland with the coast looming a few miles towards the horizon. The green pastures are not only home to fantastic dairy farms, but also a sour beer brewery amongst the best in the world. De Garde, like so many breweries of the third wave of the craft beer movement, occupies a space in an unassuming industrial park. Were it not for the half-dozen barrels strewn about its front and back entrances, you could mistake it for screen printer, auto body shop, or a private accounting firm. Luckily, De Garde is none of these things, but rather a beery wonderland of spontaneously-fermented ales and deliciously fruited sour beers. Their beers are not one-dimensionally sour, but demonstrate layers of complexity akin to the beers made at Sante Adairius and Jester King. Clearly the brewers at these places recognized a kindred spirit in De Garde, because they teamed up for Elements of Composition, a blend made from components offered by each brewery. I thought the beer, which I poured from the bottle, did a fine job of balancing bright acidity with some earthy undertones. While delicious fresh, it was clear that this beer would develop with age and I’ve stashed a bottle away for that purpose. The other beers I tasted were the Avenue No. 2 (a wild farmhouse ale with marionberries), Alt Bu Weisse (an aged Imperial Berliner Weisse), and a guest tap offering of Jester King’s Detritivore, which is a beer I’d been wanting to try for some time. I purchased to-go bottles of what would realistically fit in our luggage home and then set off toward the coast.

We turned north once we hit the main coastal drag and it wasn’t long before we saw a sign that read “Brie cheese tasting. 1 mi.” We pulled into the gravel lot of a building that could have been an inn, but now housed a wayfarer’s station of gift shop kitsch that can only be described as folksy. Blue Heron was the type of place where you can not only sample brie, but also wine taste and dip pretzel rods in eighteen different mayonnaise-based dips (which we did), and buy kitchen gadgets and Oregon-themed linens (which we did not). From here, our travels took us up the coast to Rockaway Beach, where we tested the water temperature with tentative fingers and did our best to avoid the rain.

The drive back took longer because night was falling as quickly as the snow, but when we made it back into the city, we found ourselves back at Great Notion, where we met some family friends who had moved up to the Oregon coast. We left with a crowler of Peanut Brother, which was not available to-go the night before and set out in search of our final meal of 2016. Many restaurants were fully booked and had special tasting menus that night, but we found one that could seat a party of two. The restaurant, Tusk, was Lebanese cuisine via the Pacific Northwest in a delightfully retro-yet-modern pink pastel setting. The Lebanese flatbread and raw lamb dishes were both outstanding, but I think Victoria’s cocktail stole the show. The Eastern Maid is listed on the menu as “Prairie vodka, celery seed, lemon, rose water, hazelnut, yogurt,” but it is the final ingredient that made it such a standout. It was tangy, floral, slightly sweet, and utterly fantastic.

Latourell Falls

After a quiet New Year’s celebration, we made up our minds to get the tastiest brunch we could and settled on the aptly named Tasty N’ Sons, where we met our friends from the previous night. I was craving chilaquiles and the ones they had were quite good, as was the potato donut appetizer. My mezcal-based Bloody Mary was fine, but didn’t live up to the rest of the meal. Not wanting to miss out on all the natural beauty Oregon offers, Victoria and I drove out to the Columbia Gorge, where we stopped at Latourell Falls and the much more popular but ever-impressive Multnomah Falls. Snow began falling with increasing intensity so after getting the requisite photos of America’s second tallest year-round waterfall, we navigated back onto the 84 West bound for Portland.

Though quite popular, Voodoo Doughnuts no longer carries the appeal it once had (to me, at least) and I was more excited to try Blue Star Donuts when we got back into Portland. They’ve opened up shop in Los Angeles, and although I haven’t been yet, my first bite of the Blueberry Bourbon Basil donut made it pretty clear that I’ll visit the Venice or forthcoming Manhattan Beach location very soon. After satisfying my sweet tooth, I was thirsty again and though many businesses were closed on New Year’s Day, Deschutes’ Portland brewpub welcomed us with open arms. I tried their Peach Vice, an American Wheat Ale brewed with peach-forward aroma hops and Black by Hopular Demand, which I inferred correctly to be a Black IPA. These were both solid beers, but I still prefer their main production and seasonal releases that I can get in Southern California.

Our final stop of the weekend was the Cascade Brewing Barrel House, one of the longest tenured sour breweries in the U.S. (at over a decade old). I’ve enjoyed their beers for some time, and saw them as the forebearers to the clean, lactic-forward style now propagated by the Rare Barrel, among others. The price point for their beers is higher than most, so going to their Barrel House provided a good way to taste many of their beers without paying thirty dollars a bottle. My favorite beer was their Cranberry 2016, which was slightly spiced with orange peel and cinnamon. No trip to Portland would be complete without a stop here, and I’m glad I was finally able to make it.

There were plenty of other places we weren’t able to visit in our two and a half days, such as Pip’s Original Doughnuts, The Commons Brewery, Hopworks Urban Brewery, and a pizza place I like called Oven & Shaker. Luckily, Portland is more accessible than ever now that Southwest Airlines has joined JetBlue in making flights out of Long Beach Airport, which is incredibly close to me. Something tells me I’ll be back sooner rather than later.

I Love Austin, TX

Most of my favorite American cities are those that take their food seriously. Quite often, a locale with a vibrant arts scene also plays host to innumerable great restaurants and bars. This is why I love visiting Portland but would never wish a trip to Houston upon anyone. Yet, a few hours to the west of that bland sprawl in Texas’ Gulf Coast sits a town that rivals any when it comes to arts, culture, and food. I had the pleasure of visiting Austin this weekend with my girlfriend Victoria for a quick getaway and spent 48 hours in gastronomic and zymurgical bliss.

We flew in late Friday night, with just enough time to check out Sixth Street, the bar destination of poor college kids, working adults, and tourists alike. The bars lining both sides of street, nearly all of which were leaking live music out of their doors and into my ears, were full to the brim and the closed-off street was bursting with people as well. It was actually a bit too overwhelming and we were tired from the flight so we decided to turn in early to enjoy a full day on Saturday.

The following morning began with a trip to JuiceLand, a small chain of juice bars peppered throughout Austin (and one location in Brooklyn). After a strawberry-banana-peanut butter-chia seed-apple juice smoothie there and an hour wandering around the giant, flagship Whole Foods in the center of town, Victoria and I headed west with our friends who were visiting from Dallas. Fifteen miles down the highway, houses become scarce, trees become abundant, and the ranches of hill country reveal themselves. Out this way lies the best one-two punch of beer and pizza I have experienced in America so far: Jester King Brewery and Pieous pizza.

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These people are about to receive 500 mililiters of beer after 3 hours of waiting in the sun.

My first encounter with Jester King was about four years ago when their beers still made it out to California regularly. I picked up a 750ml bottle because of its artwork and name: Black Metal Imperial Stout. It was (and still is) badass. A year later, Jester King had changed their recipe for this beast of a beer by fermenting it with yeasts native to the ranch the brewery sits on instead of pre-packaged cultures from White Labs or Wyeast. Just after this change took place, I visited Austin and happened to meet the owner of the brewery, Jeffrey Stuffings, who graciously gave me a tour the following day. Jeffrey capped the experience by opening a bottle of a raspberry sour beer called Atrial Rubicite, which instantly blew any framboise or other raspberry beer I’d ever had completely out of the water. It was extremely sour, yes, but what I couldn’t comprehend was how fresh the raspberries tasted. After sitting for months in a barrel and a few weeks or more in a bottle, it seemed like the fruit had just come off the bush.

Fast-forward a couple years and Atrial Rubicite is one of the most sought after beers in the world. Any beer trading forum you view will have at least one post (if not many) with the title “ISO: Atrial; FT: You Name It”. ISO is beer trading shorthand for “in search of” and FT signifies what the poster has “for trade.” People love Atrial Rubicite. And luckily enough, of all the weekends I picked to go to Texas, July 24-26 was the one that the brewery decided to release this year’s batch of their sour nectar. Needless to say, it was packed. My previous visit saw five cars in the parking lot and this one saw north of 500. The line for bottles of Atrial Rubicite was about three hours long. Did I mention it was 95 degrees outside? It’s an outstanding beer, but I wasn’t going to risk heat stroke, a terrible sunburn, and my precious time on a short trip for 500ml for a beer I’ve had before. Yes, it would be an outstanding addition to my cellar but I was happy enough with enjoying it fresh from the tap on that sunny Saturday.

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I forgot to take a picture until I was almost done. It was that good.

The beer pours a beautiful rosy pink color, with a white head of foam that dissipates fairly quickly. From five feet away you can smell the fresh Washington raspberry aroma volatizing and finding its way into the pleasure centers of your brain. The taste is quite tart, though slightly less sour than previous batches, with raspberries front and center. I detected a bit of acetic acid (vinegar) and a tinge of oak, but to a far less extent than the berries. The beer warmed up quickly, given the temperature outside, but it retained all of its desirable characteristics even as it passed 75 degrees. Victoria loved the beer, as did my other two friends, one of whom was a wine drinker skeptical about trying it. After purchasing enough bottles to fill my suitcase, we departed with rumbling stomachs clamoring for pizza.

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Sopressata decided to meat in the middle.

Okay, maybe they weren’t clamoring for pizza, but we were hungry and I was keen on introducing my three companions to Pieous, home to some of the most authentic Neapolitan pizza I’ve had this side of the Atlantic Ocean. We arrived in the wake of other beer enthusiasts who had made the three-mile trek to Pieous, despite the existence of a perfectly fine pizza establishment on the same parcel of ranch that Jester King inhabits. Evidently they also were in the know. I ordered one of the most popular pizzas, the Fat Queen, which is topped with pepperoni, sopressata, and Italian sausage. Normally, a pie that loaded with meat would be a greasy, salty mess with a jumble of flavors that become difficult to differentiate—not here. The spiciness of the sopressata heightened rather than masked the fennel flavor of the house-made sausage and made the savory notes of the pepperoni more pronounced. The sweetness from the crushed tomatoes did not detract from the subtle sweetness of the fresh mozzarella and the bed of sourdough crust that the ingredients all sat upon was perfectly cooked, with bubbles that had blackened beautifully and an edge that was delightfully chewy.

As if this were not enough (and it certainly was), I insisted that we also split a pastrami plate. When the owners took over the space two and a half years ago, there was an old, high-quality smoker that they could not get rid of, no matter how unrelated it was to their idea of perfect Neapolitan pizza. Keeping it in the restaurant proved to be a brilliant move, because the pastrami they make in it is some of the best I’ve ever had. It has black crust on the exterior, but comes thinly sliced and ready to melt in your mouth instantly, like a hybrid of a smoked brisket and pride of a Jewish deli. The platter it came on also had pickled onions, two types of mustard, sourdough bread, and a pickle. All of these were quite tasty but after trying a bit of each, I decided to eat the pastrami all by itself and I’m sure I made the right call.

After a lazy afternoon spent napping and digesting, we all met up with friends, old and new, on Rainey Street—the de facto row for gastropubs, hip restaurants, and new condos. Our first stop was Clive Bar, which seemed (not unlike other bars on the block) to have been converted from a bungalow-style house into a bar with a large outdoor patio. At the back corner of the patio was a small building which looked like a small church from the old West, but it served mescal instead of the good word. On a warm Austin night, it was the perfect place to throw back a mescal mule, chat with friends, and soak in the ambience of the coolest city in Texas.

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We will be back soon!

To finish the night, I brought as many people as would listen to me down the street to Craft Pride, a bar that only serves craft beer brewed in the Lone Star State. I had a few fine offerings, but none compared to the Yellow Rose IPA from Lone Pint Brewery. I had heard about this beer, forgotten about it, and ordered it after far too much deliberation looking at the big board. It had a fine citrusy aroma and extremely clean taste full of grapefruit, pear, and honey. I sought it out the next day at a bottle shop to no avail, but will soon be asking a friend in Texas to ship bottles my way.

I could hardly believe how much great food and drink we had packed into a single, scorching day in the heart of Texas, but we pulled it off and went to sleep happy. Our second and final day in Austin was much more relaxed and involved a homemade breakfast of chicken and waffles, a trip to the Barton Springs creek, and Victoria’s first experience with queso—the dip that epitomizes Tex-Mex cuisine. Two days was not nearly enough time to explore everything Austin has to offer. With hundreds of great local restaurants and innumerable food trailers, the capital of Texas has a rich food culture, which I fully intend to explore on repeat visits.


What’s your favorite part of Austin? Where should I eat on my next trip (other than Franklin BBQ, because, obviously)?

 

Captain Jack’s: Weird and Wonderful

The most (only?) famous restaurant in Sunset Beach, Captain Jack’s is something of an anomaly. If you’ve heard of it, you probably already know everything that I’m going to tell you, and if you haven’t, my words probably won’t be enough to give you the full picture until you experience it in person. But alas, I will try.

Captain Jack’s is actually more than an anomaly, it is a portrait of a dichotomy if I’ve ever seen one. While the restaurant patrons are usually well-dressed, the wait staff wears Hawaiian shirts à la Trader Joe’s. The decor is nearly as kitschy as a theme restaurant’s, yet the service is second to none. The wine list is extensive, but the beer selections make TGI Friday’s look like a craft beer bar. You order from a giant plastic menu shaped like a shark fin (or a sail, perhaps), but the seafood that lands on your plate might as well have come from God’s own fishing boat.

I went with my parents and friend Jonathan to celebrate his recent promotion at a job my dad helped secure for him. Many other parties seemed to be there in celebration as well—that’s just the sort of place Captain Jack’s is. In our two hours dining, I heard three performances of “Happy Birthday to You” (don’t tell Warner/Chappell Music) and the waiters congratulating a nearby couple on their anniversary. When we walked in, the hostesses and busboys we passed all welcomed us with the full name of our party all the way to our table. It’s both impressive and slightly unnerving. The interior is meant to look like a ship, or, more specifically, the Captain’s quarters of a ship. The illusion is aided by the fact that the backside of the restaurant sits on Huntington Harbor and most tables have a view of the water. There are aquariums, nets, and masts, but these only serve to distract you from the real star: the food.

Ceviche, on the Chips

Alaskan King Crab legs aren’t exactly a delicacy, but they are definitely not an everyday occurrence either. They exist somewhere in the middle as an expensive but delicious treat that you enjoy when you can, but do not necessarily seek out. Accordingly, this was a perfect opportunity to enjoy them while I could, and I ordered 20 ounces of the steaming, salmon-colored legs. But no truly great meal has a single course and this was no exception. To start, we had the starter that first changed my mind about seafood when I was a teenager: ceviche. I had Captain Jack’s ceviche when I was 17 and quickly realized that not all fish was fishy and meat did not have to be cooked to be delicious. Their ceviche, which is pleasantly cool, zesty, salty, and sweet, has a dollop of house-made guacamole in the middle, and is full of juicy chunks of fresh white fish. It’s served in a martini glass and lasted two minutes between the four of us. The only ceviche I’ve had that I could say was definitively better was on Isla Mujeres in the Caribbean and was full of fish, shrimp, and octopus that had all been caught that morning. Needless to say, I was more than happy to settle for second-best in this case.

The entrees also come with starter salads, which can easily be overlooked because they are, in fact, salads. And largely, there is nothing special about iceberg and romaine lettuce, some shredded carrot, red cabbage, and a cherry tomato or two. However, if you enjoy blue cheese as much as I do, you will be in complete awe of the rich, creamy blue cheese dressing that puts every buffalo wing house to shame. Again, you have to really like the funky taste of the mold (yes, it is mold) that grows in it, because the dressing has larger bites of cheese than most people outside of Wisconsin would know what to do with.

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Not pretty, yet beautiful

And then the crab legs come. Hardly confined by the platter they are served on, the six pink-orange legs total nearly a pound and a half of sea meat—a term I just made up and may use going forward. They come (slightly) pre-cracked and quite hot, allowing for an amazing crab-scented steam to emanate from the center of the legs. Underneath the legs is a ramekin of drawn butter, which I did not notice until I had powered through two legs already. And that’s the thing—they don’t need it. On its own, the crabmeat is already sweet, juicy, and just a touch savory. It is rich (as if steamed in buttermilk) without any fishiness or indication it came from the bottom of the ocean. The sea meat was thoroughly tasty throughout the legs, but I’d say that the contents of the claw were the best—they had just a touch more savory characteristic than the rest of the legs. We opened a bottle of 2013 Chardonnay from Center of Effort wines, which paired nicely with the crab. The wine had strong notes of pear, and was a bit buttery in its own regard. Slightly chilled, it offered a nice respite from the steamy crab I was consuming. Sip, crack, pull, eat, smile, repeat was my formula for success. Soon enough, I was full and happy, and judging by the countenances of my tablemates, I’d say they were too.

There is a feeling I get when ingesting large quantities of meat that I first experienced when I went to a Brazilian Barbecue and encountered the joys of endless steak, lamb, and pork. It is a strange mixture of extreme satiety, euphoria, and lightheadedness and I call it the meatache. Eating over a pound of crab legs gave me a meatache. A sea meatache. And it was wonderful. Captain Jack’s is not the most beautiful restaurant in terms of aesthetics; nobody is going to argue that point. But if it’s time for a celebration and you need crab, there’s nowhere better.