Knife's Edge - Restaurant Rants & Raves

The First Half of the Pig

First you get your pig. No, I'm not trying to win a prize in the "It was a dark and stormy night" poor writing contest. Getting the pig is the most important part of the process for a few reasons. The first is obvious, the second is half the reason I buy these pigs is to support my local farmer. I understand not everyone has this option, but I do. If I had to buy whole pigs from a meat purveyor I don't know if I'd go through the time, effort and gasoline to produce products which can be a challenging sell. It's one thing for a place like Incanto to offer unusual cuts like beef heart on their menu because there are a hell of a lot more people in San Francisco than there are here. More diners equals more potentially adventurous souls equals actually selling beef heart.

That said, I like the guy I get pigs from. He picks up our compost, makes homebrew, built a brick oven for pizzas and breads at his farm, has a small vineyard, grows all sorts of things, gives farm tours, has people stay at the farm doing work exchange, does the farmer's market, presents workshops on sustainable living among other things. He's handsome to boot. When he comes in the female staff all swoon. So, I like buying pigs from him because I want him to make it. I also buy whatever he has left from the farmer's market. It's good and I know I can find something to do with it. Like the case of assorted peppers that are awaiting pickling.

So, when a litter is born he gets me a contract that lays out what we're all agreeing upon. I'm looking for a pig weighing about 225 pounds. Once he gave me one that came in at 350. Waaay too big. 200-225 is about perfect for us. A couple of notes. The photo is actually from a litter of his. The faint of heart, those who don't believe in eating animals and those who eat the animals but can't handle the idea that these were once living, breathing and cuddly creatures should hop over to another blog right about now. No hard feelings, I don't want to upset you and I don't want you upset at me.

We also agree on an approximate delivery date, which I usually try to make on one of my normal days off so I can come in and concentrate solely on the pig. He just asked if I could take one right after our next city trip, which will be in a few days and even though I am just selling the last of the ham from the last one, I of course told him it would be my pleasure.

When the day arrives he takes all the animals to a slaughterhouse about 3 hours north of here. There is another on closer and inland but he didn't like the way they treated and killed the animals so he takes them to the one a bit further away. He also sells to non-restaurant customers and those he butchers himself. However in order to sell to me the animal has to have one of these, which you might recognize as a USDA stamp.

As you can see this one passed inspection. The only thing I don't like about this slaughterhouse is that I only end up with the kidneys. The rest of internal organs never make their way with the rest of the pig. I wouldn't miss the lungs terribly, but I'd like the liver, spleen, brain and blood please. Even if that meant it was me and me alone eating boudin noir with sauteed apples for the rest of the fall.

He drives down to the restaurant with the pig in this, well packed in ice. The first one he didn't have this nifty coffin for and we lugged her one half at a time up the stairs with some black plastic bags draped over the body, hoping we weren't dripping blood on the carpet, and hoping I didn't lose my grip and send the entire carcass tumbling down the stairs.

We now have this down, we get to use the elevator and he's got this Rubbermaid thing so that it looks pretty innocuous, although one we wheeled by an art class of inquisitive children, hoping they wouldn't ask what was in the box.

You can see a little bit peeking out. This is after delivery in the walk-in.

The slaughterhouse splits the pig down the middle, which saves me an immense amount of hassle, since I don't have a band saw. I do have a meat saw but sawing a pig in half would wear me out that I would be hard pressed to anything else with it once that part was done. So I get delivery of two halves that look like this.

Now, on to the cutting. I'm fortunate in that I'm not fabricating retail cuts and that I know what I'm going to do with all the things I cut. The first thing is to remove the head. If your pig is cut in half, you can turn it over and have a pretty clear idea where the skull meets the neck and using a sharp, pointed boning knife separate the head from the spine. Looking at the front of the animal you can see also pretty clearly where the head attaches to the neck and where the cheek ends and the neck begins. I carve around the cheek on that side and if I have done a good job of separating the the head should come away pretty cleanly. I remove the eyeballs and put into the dog's pile. You can then use the head for headcheese or you can remove the jowls for guanciale or for smoked bacon. I usually do the latter, since headcheese is a tough sell for us no matter what we call it, even country style pate. The ears you could remove and cook by themselves, and if I were solely enjoying this by myself that's what I might do, simmered long and low, then plastered with mustard, rolled in bread crumbs and fried crisp. However since there are only two of them I generally leave them attached to the head to become part of the headcheese.

After removing the jowls the rest of the head goes into the brine pot (more on that later).

Moving down to the shoulder I decide whether I'm leaving skin on or removing it. This depends on what I'm going to do with the meat. The last pig we got I didn't do any fermented sausage like salami, since it was still mid-summer and the space/time issue wasn't working out. Instead I cured all four legs for ham so I didn't remove the skin. If I'm going to use the shoulder for sausage meat at this point I'll take off the skin while the leg is still attached to the rest of the body as it slides less and it's generally easier to remove this way. And no, I've not yet made a football from the skin. The skin I save for cotechino, which is a much better use for it in my opinion than chicharones.

So, using my own shoulder as a guide, I carve around the top of the joint, and wiggling the leg see where the joint meets the body. Gravity is your friend here. Lift the pig by the leg, letting the weight of the carcass fall back toward the board. Cut into the joint and the leg will naturally want to separate. At this point I remove the trotter. Find the joint by wiggling and picturing your own wrist. You should be able to locate it. If you are strong muscled and pressed for time, use your meat saw. You now have something which will, after brining and smoking,  eventually look like this.

Remove the back leg, what you should recognize as the ham, in a similar fashion. This is slightly trickier since you are dealing with a ball joint, (picture your hip and you've got it) and you're getting close to the tenderloin (you have to gently cut the narrow end from the leg), loin and sirloin. Again, you've got the choice of whether to skin or not. I almost never skin the back leg. The tip of your knife should find the joint pretty easily and again letting gravity do the work lift the leg and carefully cut through the cartilage, letting the body drop to the board. Remove the trotter. You should now have in front of you a brine bucket with the cheekless head, the cheeks, one foreleg, one back leg, two trotters, perhaps some skin, an eyeball and the rest of the carcass.

You now have the bacon, ribs and loin. You can picture the bacon as a square that runs from leg to leg, just under the ribs. How much you choose to remove depends on whether you like bacon or ribs better. Either way at this point I skin the belly and if I am dealing with a sow, cut out the mammary seeds near the bottom of the belly. These I save for the dogs, along with the glands from the neck and legs. I tend to remove more of the meat for bacon, as I get a better return on bacon than I do selling ribs. If I were a retail butcher that might be a different story. So after cutting the bacon away from the ribs you have a nice slab like this.

Now you pretty much have to use a saw to cut through the ribs. I just saw straight across and set them aside.

At this point you have another choice. Bone-in pork chops or boneless loin. I always have pork loin on my menu so I always go for the boneless loin myself. It's also the line of least resistance, by which I mean the least sawing. I really don't like the sawing. Anyway, it's pretty easy to let your knife follow the bone to detach the loin. The only tricky part is near the aitch bone, but as long as the tip of your remains in contact with the bone you can't go too far wrong. As the butchery instructor says, "If you're not following the bone, you're not boning anything.

Remove the backfat and save for sausage. At this point you want to tidy things up and start making piles of meat for sausage, fat of various grades, the leaf lard around the kidneys and backfat together, the meatier and bloodier bits of fat together, skin, the bits for the dogs and the bones for stock.

You should now have half a carcass broken down into the primal cuts. Do the other half now. I'll be back tomorrow with recipes and techniques for the rest.

More Posts About Buildings and Food

Breakfast at Milo's on NE Broadway left no real impression beyond the booths being very similar to a breakfast place here, ie, slightly uncomfortable so you don't park too long. We did tell the waiter we were on a tight schedule because today actually was the day we looked at houses, I'll have to think about what we really did the day before. I know, we visited Rejuvenation House Parts and the stained glass shop across the street, met The Professor at Pazzoria, the little bakery/cafe next to Pazzo, took the Burnside bus and then walked around NW 23rd, shopping and just getting to know the city. And today was actually the day we had the crappy lunch at Saigon Kitchen. OK, got that straight.

That evening we met The Musician, a long time friend of The Professor's who I knew marginally 20 years ago. We headed to Por Que No Tacos, on N. Mississippi. The Professor was excited. Being a Native Californian she was missing good Mexican food, something she claims the Portland dining scene is missing. The tacos had great flavor, the beans and guacamole good, the blackberry agua fresca a little weak. I was amused watching the Mexican woman cooking trying to explain to the young hipsters working the counter that mira meant to look. Call me racist but I think if you're naming your place Por Que No and employing Spanish speaking cooks, you might have someone up front with at least a passing knowledge of Spanish. After dropping them both off we headed for a little late night pastry at Pix. I went for The Royale, a dome of chocolate mousse with hazelnut praline and a dacquoise disc. I don't remember what the GM had, as she liked it a great deal and was very protective of it. We also shared a lavender/candied mandarin ice cream. I had heard from another chef that the ice creams were dynamite but this one was good but not spectacular.

The next morning I called the Portland Food Dude. I had thought about calling him earlier but since I hadn't read his comment prior to our visit and knowing he prizes his anonymity I wasn't sure that he would be up to meeting total strangers. Also we thought we weren't going to be meeting The Professor but she called to say she had time between classes and to see if we could give her a ride to a meeting at the Oregon College of Arts & Crafts. So, when I called, after fearing that I had woken him, and not knowing what time The Professor would be calling and knowing we had a schedule to get to the airport, I was rude enough to pump him for information about breakfast and lunch and then not invite him to join us. I wish I had because firstly I would have like to have met him and secondly because we may have had better service at breakfast. Food Dude, I' m sorry.

He recommended Gotham Building Tavern for breakfast or lunch which was on our list of spots already. We wanted to explore more of the Mississippi neighborhood and Gotham is close by so we decided to try it. His description of the decor, as looking like a Lincoln Log prison is pretty accurate. We really wanted to like this place. It felt good, the decor was fun, nice subdued colors, good use of wood to break up the room, Sigur Ros and Hope Sandoval on the iPod and an interesting menu including one of my favorite morning foods, an egg sandwich. They had the same sort of check box menu as Navarre (this must be a Portland phenomenon) and our first clue as to our service came when our waiter admonished the GM to only fill out one of the menus. We both have to read them however. I understand that he probably gets tired of explaining the concept to people and the kitchen doesn't want duplicate tags but there were other ways to phrase it. Little did we know this would be the last communication we had with him.

My chai was rich and flavorful and we sat enjoying the music until the food arrived. Breakfast is the hardest meal to cook and serve bar none. Everyone is at their pickiest and everyone has specific ideas about eggs, how they should be cooked and how often coffee should be refilled and what condiments they need, etc. The GM got the egg sandwich, and when it arrived we realized it was a mistake for her because while the egg was perfectly cooked for me, it was an inedible gooey mess for her. The poached egg on my polenta was again perfectly cooked and after eating it, I swapped with her. This was my mistake because while the egg was perfectly cooked there was ketchup on the egg sandwich which in my breakfast world is an abomination. We also shared a lovely doughnut which came with an unnecessary jam. I can't fault the place for the food. The eggs were done right and although the polenta was a little less than flavorful it was fine. The egg sandwich problems were our fault because we didn't specify how to cook the egg and we didn't ask what was on it.

The service though, or lack of it, was the worst we had experienced. There is a difference between being forgotten or ignored and being snubbed. Our waiter had what another Portlander described as a common problem to all the Hebberoy's (owners of Gotham, Ripe and clarklewis) restaurants. The "hipper than thou" attitude. It's never an attractive one, and I'd know since I was the insecure possessor of one as a punk rocker in the late '70's. I still pull it out on occasion, much to my shame. And this was one of those times when I was feeling like I was going to. Thinking,"You've got this much attitude and you're a breakfast waiter in Portland? This isn't Isherwood's Berlin, Stein's Paris, or to use an example closer to home, Cobain's Seattle.' Get over yourself kid." We were one of two tables in the restaurant, had to get up, walk to the bar, wait for him to finish a conversation with another hipster before he would acknowledge he had a customer, walk behind the bar and silently give me the wrong change. After getting back to table, realizing the change was wrong and vainly trying to get his attention, we did flag down another person, explained the situation and our waiter stuck the missing money through one of the gaps in the Lincoln Log wall without a word.

I still have to write the letter to the owners describing our experience. The GM did send the letter to Navarre praising our waiter, Heather.

I'd be willing to try Gotham again, but I'd be willing to bet that the "hipper than thou" attitude does indeed permeate all their establishments because although there were quite a few employees in the place and almost no customers, no one made eye contact with us, no one made us feel welcome so I don't think our waiter was alone in his insecurity.

So with a slightly bitter taste in our mouth we explored the Mississippi neighborhood. I don't know if we were jaundiced by our breakfast experience, but the whole neighbor had that same, "Look at me, I'm trying so, so hard to be cool" feel to it. At least the gentrified parts of it did. There were some interesting looking places, like Gravy, and Moxie but neither one of us felt at home there.

We thought about trying Park Kitchen even though the Food Dude said lunch was inconsistent. This was going to be our last meal in Portland,and I had heard good things about Scott Dolich. The Food Dude had suggested Wildwood and we were shooting for that but timewise it just wasn't going to work. We met The Professor at Sahagun Chocolates, again referred by Shuna, check Eggbeater for her far more descriptive take.

When meeting strangers, in this case Elizabeth Montes, the chocolate maker, I am quite shy. Those who know me may think this a lie but it is true nonetheless. At any rate, one of the tools I have had to adopt to get over myself is to be this somewhat extroverted, borderline obnoxious person to cover the shyness. I was wearing this persona when we went into the shop, introduced ourselves and told her that Shuna had said we should ask her for a chocolate soda. She was a little taken aback by the request (delivered in my extrovert persona) and then said, sure, I have to go get soda. So she left us in charge of her shop (talk about being the kid in the candy store) and brought back some Pellgrino water, not my first choice for a chocolate soda, but when ask for something not on the menu you accept that people will do their best. I thought it delicious nonetheless, I don't think it was really the GM's thing.

We talked about her shop, chocolate, Portland, the food scene, the farmer's market and then loaded up on her chocolates. She's definitely about the chocolate flavor, not too sweet, a lovely bitter edge to most of her confections. The dried plum (read prune) was the GM's favorite, while I preferred the ancho chile. Both the GM and The Professor enjoyed the Citrus Haystacks (I didn't try one) and we all agreed we wished we had more of the Banana Coconut Mendicants. While typing this I just got an alert from her email list that the shop will be in the October issue of Chocolatier.

Her talking about the burgers at Castagna got us all thinking about hamburgers. The Professor had an appointment though and we had a plane to catch so we couldn't all enjoy a burger together. After dropping her off we decided we only had time for a hamburger at Burgerville. It's been a looooong time since I've had a fast food burger. This one was fine and from I what I've read about the company they appear to have something of a social conscience, buy local ingredients and are only in the Pacific Northwest.

Some general observations about Portland food: Bathrooms. I like that many of the places we visited had VACANT/OCCUPIED locks like on airplanes. It's really irritating to be in the bathroom and hear someone frantically trying to open the door. I also like that the handwashing signs in the bathrooms were not solely directed at food handlers, reading things like "Don't spread disease. Wash your hands." Good reminders for everyone.

It seems like Portland has arrived at a place (Bluehour notwithstanding) where people realize that great food can be fun and low-key. That dining out doesn't have to be a choice between stuffy and good or casual and shoddy.

Places I'm sorry I didn't try: Park Kitchen, Higgins (Greg Higgins is the only Portland chef I actually ever had a conversation with), Wildwood, clarklewis (even if I now have hipster dread), Fife, Ken's Artisan Bakery, Crema, Castagna, and Paley's Place although I did eat there about 6 years ago on a Chef's Collaborative outing. Oh well, that just means we'll have to take another trip.

Next post, back to real life and after that the long awaited pig pics. I have to do the pig post because I'm teaching a sausagemaking workshop at the farm next month and this will help me get my notes in order.

Portland, Days Two & Three

Day 2 in Portland wasn't really about the food. We started the day at Bijou Cafe where we had a near repeat of our service experience at Navarre the previous evening. We arrived and were greeted by an overweight, sweating woman wearing the frantic look of a restaurant manager out of control. The same look spooked horses get, wide eyes nervously rolling around, nostrils flared, head reared back. We waited patiently while she searched for a clean table, followed her over and took our seats.

Our waiter, a pleasant Bostonian by way of New Jersey with a shaved head brought us coffee and green tea while we studied the menu. The first two choices were Oyster Hash and Roast Beef Hash. The third was Mushroom Hash. There were also your standard two egg breakfast choices and pancakes, etc. Oyster Hash it was for me. Except they were sold out. That's restaurant spin there. When we run out of something we have our waiters say sold out, instead of ran out, making it appear like a popular item rather than an ordering flaw. Sometimes it is just a popular item. Anyway, on to second choice Roast Beef Hash. Sold out of that one too, to which our waiter said, "get mad at her", nodding to the frantic woman who seated us, "not me". I didn't want to hazard the Mushroom Hash and went for my fallback of two eggs over medium, toast, ham and potatoes. The Gm carboloaded with a Bacon, Cheddar and Potato omelette, served with a side of potatoes (the way the dish came, not her creation).

We watched as our waiter grew more and more perturbed with the failure of the woman, who we guessed to be the owner, to do the basics of her job. We watched her half clean tables, drop things on the floor, sweat all over everything and get in the way. Our waiter, while in the right, was amiss in letting his frustration show, shaking his head, mouthing Fuck or other obscenities. The food was decent but second to the theater. When we had a moment to speak with him he told us the owners had decided after Labor Day to cut the staff, but according to him it didn't really slow down until October. A little chill went up the GM's back, since here we were after Labor Day, out of town, with fewer people than normal on the floor. Not because we wanted it that way but because we didn't have people trained to cover the shifts yet.

From there we visited the Chinese Garden, a collaborative effort between the city and gardeners from Suzhou. The results are spectacular, a real oasis of tranquility right in the middle of downtown. We liked it better than the Japanese Garden which we visited later in the day. At tea ceremony class after getting home my instructor said he liked the Chinese Garden better too because "it's finished, the Japanese Garden isn't finished".

Getting to the Japanese Garden gave us our first look at Portland's touted public transit system. Our ride was pleasant, fast and within the Fareless Square, free. The bus from the zoo to the Garden could have run more frequently, you would think a bus going to one of the major tourist attractions (the bus also goes to the Rose Garden) would come more than once an hour, but it was a glorious day and we didn't mind being outside.

We had dinner that night with the GM's ex-step aunt and uncle. Her father's second ex-wife's sister. Someday we will explain the convoluted Northern California family tree for both of us. At any rate, these two have been Portlanders since 1982 and we met them at their beautiful home (purchased for $15K and worked on incessantly since), enjoyed mozzarella and tomato canapes, toured a few neighborhoods and had a very unmemorable Thai dinner at a place called I believe, Sweet Basil.

What, no lunch in between. I know, that's pretty weird for us. Blame it on the bus.

Started the next morning at the Cadillac Cafe on the recommendation of the ex step aunt. We should have known from dinner the night before but hey, it's breakfast. The service was friendly and efficient and the food was edible. If I lived nearby I'd go again but I certainly wouldn't cross town.

We spent the late morning and early afternoon looking at houses and met The Professor at her place. We were starving and went to a thoroughly detestable place, Saigon Kitchen, around the corner from her house. Every aspect of the meal was poor, from the miserable pregnant server (I only mention the pregnancy as the GM is making allowances for her poor service because of it), to the torn fabric of the booths, the confusing menu (is it Chinese? Indian? Vietnamese?), the brown and wilted bean sprouts with my flavorless pho, the inedible curried vegetables the GM ordered and the turned piece of pork in the rice paper rolls.

Dinner at Bluehour fell into the "trying too hard" category. We knew this was one of Portland's newer restaurants and that the owners had spent a bundle on it. We arrived an hour before our reservation and asked if they might be able to fit us in so we didn't have to walk around hungry for an hour. Sensing an extra turn on the table they said yes. The room was pleasantly dark with curtains defining "rooms" within the space so they could block off parts of the dining room if need be. The waiters had "serious restaurant" uniforms, white shirt, white tie and long tablecloth for an apron, clipped in the back with a large, spring loaded paper clip (you can find a photo of this on their obnoxious website if you can't picture it)

Shuna said she had the best pork and chicken of her life there . We ordered the pork, we should have also ordered the chicken because the pork was indeed very good, everything else was average at best, except the panna cotta which was poor.

The meal started with an amuse. A slice of pluot on a round crouton spread with goat cheese. Pleasant enough flavor, great canape, but didn't really cut it as an amuse. I may be wrong, but I think of an amuse as a little surprise, something you might not order because it sounds too outre, or a luxury item, or a clever presentation or preparation. Better to send nothing than something without much thought.

My smoked rabbit loin came with fried tomatoes. In my book fried tomatoes are green, as in under ripe, not necessarily in color. These were not and while the top was pleasantly crunchy, the interior was just too mushy. The loin itself was fine, but not $14 fine. The GM's carrot-ginger soup was OK, not much ginger. Not a bad soup, not a good one. The Professor had no app.

The GM's pasta of crab, peppers and tomatoes was not what she expected. Her description, a light marinara with crab. Not spicy, slightly sweet and very bland. To be fair she was mentally comparing it to a pasta we served last winter with crab, jalapeno, white wine and butter. My striped bass was unmemorable. The Professor's pork was the only winner, sagey corn, a caramelish sauce and perfectly cooked (though not for the GM) pork.

Desserts other than the panna cotta were serviceable. Profiteroles with malt chocolate ice cream, a fruit crisp and the disappointing buttermilk panna cotta, which had no buttermilk flavor.

If this meal had been served in a corner bistro we would have been OK with it. Not thrilled mind you, just not disappointed. But given the surroundings, the price and the obvious intent of the owners, that they were raising the bar for Portland dining, we were underwhelmed. But we know there are people who are fooled by flashy things. We see it all the time. Restaurants at a certain price and attitude level get taken more seriously than neighborhood places with better food, service and wine.

One of the reasons we enjoyed both Pix and Navarre was that they were confident enough to let the food, service and creativity of the principals speak for itself, rather than throwing money and designers at a space. Unfortunately we're well aware of the price you pay for that in an area which is growing in sophistication.

Even though we were full, we couldn't resist stopping at Voodoo Doughnut if for no other reason than their posted hours, 10pm to 10am (yes, you read that right). Although we were actually just shy of their opening the doughnut man was gracious enough to let us buy a doughnut apiece. The GM thinks they may be selling more than doughnuts since she overheard the doughnut man telling the next customer, "yeah I can do that, but you have to buy a doughnut and it'll be in the bag". Hmmmm....

Later, I tried to catch Black Rebel Motorcycle Club at the Doug Fir Lounge a place I had seen in Hospitality Design magazine. The show was sold out which was fine. I was really more interested in the opener, Mark Gardener (ex-Ride) and he had already played by the time I got here. Still, it looked like a good venue, restaurant and bar attached and operating independently of the club and a hotel owned by the same people right next door. So, you book the band, house them and feed them. I'll have to see what I can find out from bands about how they treat the talent.

Day 4 to come...

Portland, Day One

After hearing for years how wonderful Portland is, that it's like San Francisco 20 years ago and that now it even has good food we decided to check it out. A good friend, The Professor, had moved there in January and she seemed well settled in and ready for some company. We arrived late Saturday night, found her charming Tudor house in the SE, had some conversation, including The Professor telling us that she's mostly had poor service experiences in Portland, then a hot tub followed by the GM having a massive allergy attack. The Professor's cat had been sleeping on the guest bed and the GM is one of those curious people who are allergic to animals yet had two cats when I met her. We now have the two cats and two dogs. Go figure.

At any rate, she left the house at 6 am, a waking hour she has rarely seen, drove around the still closed city and returned to rouse us at 9. We strolled down to Division and one of Shuna's picks, Pix Patisserie . She's already given a great description which you should read. It's nice for us to walk into a space that's had thought, but not money put into it. More flash than cash as they say. It was Sunday and they were serving brunch by Simpatica Catering. There's a little more than food crossover going on. One of the chefs at Simpatica is married to our server. I haven't had brunch in years, and this one was really good. I had biscuits and gravy, a dish I will always order when I see it on a menu, The Professor had an heirloom tomato fritters and the GM some savory crepes. The real event though was the sweets. An assortment of luscious pates de fruits, macaroons (the GM's fave) and a pear, rosemary, chocolate caramel tart for me. Perfect crust, the rosemary just a hint, not overwhelming, supporting the dried pear.

From Pix we went to Hawthorne Ave and Powell's Books for Cooks which although mightily impressive, managed to underwhelm me. Perhaps because of the ever growing stacks of books I have here. After enjoying the sunshine for the rest of the day we had dinner at another of Shuna's favorites Navarre.

When we arrived the place was packed and of course we had not made a reservation. They might not take them, judging from the homespun feel of the place. Not only was the place packed, there was only one waiter on the floor and she was looking harried. Not a good sign. She told us that the party of 6, who was outside were waiting for a table inside and that she could seat us outside when they moved in. Another bad sign. The GM is quite cold sensitive and an evening outdoor meal anywhere out of the equatorial zone is rarely an option. After waiting a while we decided we might be better off returning when the place was fully staffed. When we told this to Heather, our waiter, she said she felt bad because we had already waited a long time (not really, 10 minutes or so). We told her we could see they were short handed and wanted to give them a chance to shine and she let us know she felt she could handle it. The party of 6 took their table inside and Heather tried to set up the table outside for us, wrestling with the shim to keep one of the tables level. We told her we'd take care of the table and she should get to her other guests.

Although she was rushed, she was smiling, scanning the room and giving each table what they needed. She did not perhaps have a lot of conversation to offer, but she was gracious and we certainly didn't feel ignored. The menu also serves as the ticket for the cooks. There are two price/portion levels and you check off what you'd like and how much of it you want. There are three or four lines for specials at the bottom and the specials are written on a mirror in the dining room. By the time we were seated they had sold out of a few things but still had plenty of choices. We had three rounds of plates: a potato/ham terrine that was a bit dry, carrot salad with lightly pickled beets and a splash of olive oil, collards with chorizo which prompted The Professor to wonder why her greens didn't have any tooth left to them after long-cooking, a succotash of corn, tomatoes and (again) lightly pickled green beans. The pickling was perfect. A nice little surprise to what could have been a boring dish. Rabbit terrine, again a little dry, they could sauce their terrines a bit. Marrow beans with collards and tomatoes. Although we were repeating flavors with the collards, I'm a sucker for beans and these were creamy and satisfying, perked up with a little acid from the tomatoes and vinegary greens. The arugula/watermelon salad was a hit with The Professor who vowed to make it often herself. They had sold out of the salt cod cakes and we (a little against my will) tried the crabcakes which were the only real disappointment. The crab was overpowered and the sauce was caramelized onions which just didn't work. Our chicken was braised and juicy, the cabbage and potato gratin was good at the time but unmemorable now, the pork with romesco a winner, the potato pancakes another near miss. The GM enjoyed them but I thought they tasted like what I remember McDonald's hash browns tasting like (it's been a looooong time). The desserts could use a little help. The Basque Cake was good, more of a custard pie with lingering anise flavor. The pound cake with berries was dry and the only other options were sorbets which even though the GM made it through an outside meal, weren't an option on a late summer/early fall Portland evening. 14 dishes for $62. A pretty good deal if you ask me, although not if you ask some Portlanders. Their listing on citysearch seems split down the middle between positive and negative comments. The Portland Food Dude (more on him later) told me consistency was a problem for Navarre. The stuff I read on citysearch mirrors our experience (sold out of things, short-staffed) but our service was awesome. In fact the GM wrote a letter letting the owner know how well taken care of we were, despite them having sent an ill waiter home, leaving poor Heather to work the room herself. The place isn't big, but there were about 40 full seats. You try doing that.

The one thing I couldn't sympathize with the posters on citysearch about was price. What the hell do these people think food costs? We also realized we were pleasantly surprised because Oregon has no sales tax. So all our meals (well, almost all) seemed pretty cheap.

There was no way the GM was going to be able to sleep at The Professor's, so we ended up at the Doubletree near the Lloyd Center. Up on the 10th floor, overlooking the bridges and downtown. The GM slept soundly.

More tomorrow....

Off to Portland

The GM & I are off to Portland today. Coincidentally, the ever perky Rachel Ray was profiling Portland when we turned on the television last night. We only saw half the show (more than enough for me, thanks) but she featured two of the three Portland places I had ever had any contact with, McMinamin's Edgefield where I stayed during a Chef's Collaborative conference, and Higgins, whose owner Greg Higgins I have met at various conferences and workshops throughout the years.

We're armed with lots of tips from Shuna and the reviews of the Portland Food Dude but anyone else who wants to weigh in should.

I cooked the first of the hams from our most recent pig last night. I almost don't want to leave town because I love ham so much.

After we return I'll get a full pig post up complete with photos.

And speaking of ham and leaving town, I should rouse the GM so we can be on our way sometime today.

7 Day Weekend

It didn't seem like I'd be writing anything again. I've been derailed by summer, Katrina, committees and small-town life.

The trip to Anaheim to see the NY Dolls was great. It was really a treat to spend that much time with both my mom and long-time friend. The Dolls themselves put on an excellent show and David Jo looks better than I've ever seen him. There were a couple other people there I hadn't seen in about 25 years and it was nice catching up and seeing they were exactly the same. It was however, pretty surreal. As my mom said, "25 years ago if someone had told us in 2005 we'd all be drinking nothing but bottled water, carrying cellular phones and seeing the NY Dolls at Disneyland, well you know what we would have told them."

Thank you Fatemeh for the Darya tip. It was just what we needed, a good place to talk, and Persian food that satisfied all the party.

Returned (finally after a delayed flight) to Labor Day Weekend. We never know what to expect on these three day weekends. Hell, we never know what to expect most days period. Although we're in a touristy area a lot of our business is locals. On the holiday weekends they either go out of town, or just don't go into town. The tourists who do find us make up for those locals we're missing plus a little. So usually, on holiday weekends we're just a little busier than a normal weekend, rather than being slammed. However, our reputation has grown and on a few of these weekends have found ourselves running like mad. This Labor Day was one of the normal ones. We were busy, not out of our minds.

My new Montague range arrived. If you took away the oven and salamander/griddle on the right side it would be like the one in the picture. Although my feeling about Montague craftsmanship hasn't entirely changed I was disappointed that the threads for the legs were all screwed up. 2 of them have burrs, preventing the bolt on the leg from even entering the opening and the other 2 are stripped. So it's sitting on a little rolling platform until I get in there with my neighbor's tap and die tomorrow. The range itself is great. It seems left-handed. The oven control is on the left side and the burner controls are reversed. That's fine, I'm left handed and so is my sous so I'm sure we'll adapt just fine.

Having a working oven has been a joy. The old one was running so slow that I was joking with the people from the raw foods culinary institute next door that I should give it to them as it didn't heat foods above 118 degrees (the cut-off for foods to be considered "raw"). It's still sitting in my dry storage area since I no longer have truck and have to co-ordinate with someone to pick it up. I was hoping my friend would take it for parts but I don't think that's going to happen.

Speaking of my friend I learned a good naming technique from him. Those who have read the blog may have seen posts about trying to sell various parts of our pigs. There are certain preparations which just don't seem to sell (except to Europeans or the stray chef that might wander in). Head cheese is one of them. Call it that, coppa di testa, fromage de tete, whatever, it scares people. We've realized the best way to sell this stuff is to put it in a sampler with two or three other familiar and desirable pork preparations like smoked loin or fresh ham. We still have the name problem though. However, calling it country style pate seems to work. Until the customer asks what does that mean? Then we're back to scaring people.

On Tuesday, just as we were opening I got a surprise visit from Shuna Fish Lydon . I was delighted to see her although a little intimidated after reading her review of Range on Bay Area Bites. If you haven't read the review and the accompanying comments you should. She really made the best of a difficult task (one I probably would have declined) and has taken a good amount of anonymous heat for it. As it was I didn't feed her. She was on her way home from Portland and took an hour detour to come see our place and wanted to press on before dark. How very sweet. Fortunately we're in a small town and the people she asked for directions not only knew me but were directly across the street from our place. I look forward to her return.

Right now I need to grab the snake and try to unclog our hand sink drain before it overflows, as it evidently did last night. I'm hoping when I get there there's something obvious like a lemon rolld down into the opening that my crew didn't see since they didn't bother to actually move any of the equipment. If that fails I have to be sure to wear loose fitting pants since everyone knows the skill of a plumber is directly proportional to the amount of ass crack he or she shows while doing the job. Then I have to become an electrician at home, then the Underassistant West Coast Promo Man at a committee meeting this afternoon. Whatever happened to just cooking?