Summer Fest 2009.

Sounds like a groovy 60′s, peace-love kind of thing, doesn’t it?

Oh, it’s groovy, alright. Summer Fest is a blogging project masterminded by a group of talented food and garden bloggers with the sole purpose of sharing, so it does have something in common with the free-spirit decade.

Matt Armendariz illustration

I found out about it on Margaret Roach’s lovely blog, Away To Garden. You can also read about it, if you haven’t already, on one of the other co-creator blogs:

Mattbites
Steamy Kitchen
White on Rice Couple

And, look for “special appearances” by:

Shauna James Ahern, aka the Gluten-Free Girl, the lovely and talented Marilyn Pollack Naron from Simmer Till Done and writer-cook-mom-multitasker Paige Orloff from The Sister Project.

The whole point of Summer Fest 2009 is to share.

Share tips, recipes, anecdotes, sad-but-true mishaps, brilliant successes, not-so-brilliant successes — anything. How? Leave a comment. Here and on the co-creators’ blogs.

Each week will feature a different theme. This week is all about herbs. Next week is stone fruits (not stoned fruits, mind you), followed by beans & greens and a glorious finale week celebrating that special Queen of summer fruits: the tomato.

Of course I want to join in on the fun, so I’m talking about two of my very favorite herbs, cilantro and mint, using them together in a bright, kicky citrus salsa. I really shouldn’t say favorite, because truth be told, I love ALL herbs. Never met an herb I didn’t like. Can’t say that about all edible plants (ahem, Brussels sprouts?)

The great thing about cilantro, other than the lemony flavor, is that you can use the whole herb, leaf to stem. And you certainly can’t say that about rosemary, can you? Oh, wait, actually, you can.

You can use rosemary stems to flavor stocks, soups and sauces, and if they’re woody enough, you can even use them as spears for grilled shrimp, but with cilantro, you can eat the whole sprig.

About mint. Mint is a greedy little herb, I learned after the first planting. It will take over a garden before you know it. Consequently, I’ve banished it to a pot, where it grows nice and contained, and frankly seems happier with boundaries (kind of like my dogs, and children so I hear, and in no way am I condoning the planting of children in pots.)

I’m always making salsas around here (living in the southwest, salsa-eating is state law…kidding…sort of).

Earlier this summer, I posted a recipe for fresh cherry salsa but today, I’m making a cranberry grapefruit salsa. This recipe is really more of a holiday salsa. Citrus is a winter season fruit and even though it’s available year-round.

Top grilled fish (halibut and tuna come to mind) with this mouth-puckering salsa, or serve it with blue corn chips. It’s even fun to serve with cheese quesadillas instead of traditional tomato salsa.

So, welcome to Summer Fest 2009. What do you think?

Cranberry Grapefruit Salsa

Makes 3 cups

Ingredients
2 large navel oranges
1 pink grapefruit
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 large red bell pepper, finely chopped
1/4 cup finely chopped red onion
1 jalapeno (remove the seeds if you must)
2-3 tablespoons roughly chopped cilantro
2-3 tablespoons chopped mint
1/2 lime, juice only
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
*1-2 teaspoons Agave nectar or sugar (optional)

Method
1. Cut peel and white pith from oranges and grapefruit. Cut between the membranes to remove the citrus sections, then cut the sections into small chunks.

2. Place the citrus in a large bowl with the remaining ingredients (cranberries through lime juice). Season with salt and pepper to taste.

3. Rest the salsa about 1/2 hour, give or take, before serving. Will keep about a day, maybe 2, although it looks best the day it’s made.

*Sometimes, you just want a little sweeter taste than what some citrus offer. If your lips purse together and you shake your head after the first taste, add a teaspoon or two of agave nectar or sugar to tame the tartness.

Tags: cilantro, cranberries, cranberry grapefruit salsa, grapefruit, lime, mint, recipe, salsa, Summer Fest 2009
Posted in Recipes, Sauces, Salsas & Dressings | 10 Comments »

That’s Beast, a blood-red doll-house of a restaurant, snuggled between two much larger buildings in northeast Portland.

Getting a reservation at Beast can be murder, as one would expect at a restaurant whose chef just landed a Food & Wine Magazine Best New Chef 2009 award.

Pomeroy took some heat recently in cyberspace from a food writer (who defies her self-written “all around nice girl” bio by brutally lambasting Pomeroy), about a quote she made in the Food & Wine article. Pomeroy said she doesn’t eat the meat in her favorite $5 bowl of pho because she doubted it was raised “sustainably.” I’ll admit the statement was a gaffe, but I’m not sure the punishment equaled the crime.

I have no idea how Food & Wine actually selects their 10 best new chefs every year. They say that it’s bestowed, after much searching and vetting, to up-and-coming chefs who’ve manned their kitchens for 5 years or less. How they skipped over Chef Kevin Binkley of Cave Creek’s Binkley’s Restaurant is beyond me (and any other rationale person who’s ever eaten there), but that’s another post.

This is about Beast, or more specifically, brunch at Beast because we couldn’t get a dinner reservation on short notice. In fact, the next dinner opening was two months from when we called.

Communal seating is not for everyone, but if you don’t mind sitting next to complete strangers (most likely kindred spirits in love with food as much as you are), Beast provides an added bonus of meeting interesting people. Like the young couple we met, who are contemplating a move to either Portland or Phoenix, and the quality of the restaurants might be the deciding factor.

Of course I attempted to make a persuasive case for Phoenix. Portland may well be known as a “foodie” town, but Phoenix has equally compelling, chef-driven independent restaurants that keep my heart palpitating throughout the year. In fact, the valley has several Food & Wine Best New Chefs, including a female chef, Deborah Knight of Mosaic (2002), not to mention several James Beard winners.

But back to Beast. Or Beast’s brunch. Once everyone is seated, French pressed coffee is offered (included in the $28, four-course brunch), or for an additional $5, a mimosa, or $12, a glass of sparkling rosé.

The first course might be a folded crepe, crispy on the edges, covered with bourbon caramel sauce, a dollop of whipped cream, and accented with fresh figs, toasted hazelnuts and sugared bacon thin enough to see through.

The second course may look diminutive, but it’s filling. Slivers of duck, cubes of roasted potatoes and onions and fresh garden peas co-mingle to become a heavenly hash, topped with an elegantly poached egg and buttery hollandaise that would be equally divine if served straight up in a glass.

Cleansing the palate of the last traces of the mouth-coating hash is a sprite sherry and balsamic dressed mound of frisee, with three bites of artisan cheeses from a local cheesemonger. I notice I’m the only one at our table who also devours the nasturtium. It was almost too pretty to eat, but since the bottom of the flower was splattered with the lovely dressing, it didn’t stand a chance of getting left behind.

For the finale, a petite blueberry and fromage blanc tart with a teensy scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. Of the four courses, this was the weakest link, with too few blueberries and too little fromage blanc. Was it really even in there? Still, the pastry was buttery and darkly caramelized on the bottom, so it did have redeeming value.

Chef Pomeroy and her all-girl staff plate all the courses on top of a large butcher block in front of the tiny, open kitchen, moving like well-choreographed dancers. Watching them is part of the experience. But the real joy is tasting the carefully crafted flavors on the plate, sitting with like-minded folks, and soaking up the glow from a newly-anointed rising star.

Beast
5425 NE 30th Avenue
Portland, OR
(503) 841-6968
beastpdx.com

Tags: Beast, Binkley's, Food & Wine, Mosaic, Naomi Pomeroy, Portland, Restaurant Journal, Steve's Cheeses
Posted in Travel Eats | 2 Comments »

Bursting at the seams with booth after booth of fresh berries, summer vegetables and forest mushrooms, the Portland Farmers Market is an embarrassment of riches straight from local farms.

The market is utopia to locals (and visitors) clamoring for farm-fresh, organic, sustainable produce, meats, cheeses, and of course, North Carolina biscuits.

Wait a minute. Huh? North Carolina biscuits? In Portland?

Yeah, and guess which line is longest at the 130+ stall Saturday market? The organic, hot oatmeal booth?

Hardly. It’s the Pine State Biscuits booth, tucked away in the center of the farmers market.

It’s become something of a market phenomenon ever since three North Carolina college friends first set up at the market in 2006. The success of the biscuits at the farmers market prompted the guys to open a restaurant storefront a couple years later.

Wandering around the periphery of the market, lost in the sheer bounty of gooseberries, tri-colored carrots and fresh porcini and morel mushrooms — not to mention tiny-but-real Oregon truffles for $10 an ounce — I feel my husband tugging on my shirt sleeve and he won’t stop.

He pleads with me to follow him– all the way to the back of a snaking line of market goers chomping at the bit to get their hands on (and sink their teeth into) a hot, buttermilk biscuit.

North Carolina fancies itself a bastion of southern-style biscuits. I know this because I lived there for six years (it is also the birthplace of Krispy Kreme doughnuts).

Truth be told, a good buttermilk biscuit isn’t as easy to pull off as it sounds. It takes a deft hand (and soft flour) to make a really tender biscuit.

I spotted the “Reggie” on the menu and asked Wes, the biscuit artist assembling the sandwiches, “Who’s Reggie?”

Wes, an engaging character and clearly loving the adoring crowd, tells me Reggie is a fictitious name. Oh.

Even if the name is made up, there is nothing remotely fictional about the sandwich ($7, or $8 topped with an egg).

It is, without a doubt, the most “real” biscuit sandwich ever to pass my lips and from there, land directly on my hips.

Let’s see, a biscuit topped with fried chicken, bacon, cheese and then covered in gravy? Outrageous — in a gotta-have-it way, though.

Pine State Biscuits may not make the gravy on-site — but get this — they DO bake the biscuits right there (and fry the chicken, the bacon and the eggs, too.)

The line of folks waiting for their shot at a North Carolina heart-attack-on-a-plate is only mind-boggling given the location – a farmers market, filled with fresh produce.

I feel for the booth selling wholesome, organic oatmeal. I’m sure the oats are delicious, but they had no customers. Everyone was in line for a biscuit.

But seriously, how could you not fall for this knife-and-fork beast?

Juicy, double-crusted fried chicken, a lone strip of chewy bacon, just melted cheddar cheese, sage and pepper-spiked gravy as thick as molasses and of course, that tender, butter-laden, fresh-from-the-oven biscuit.

It just goes to show you. You can lead a normally sane person to healthy food, but you can’t make her eat it.

At least not when a Pine State biscuit is an option.

Pine State Biscuits
3640 SE Belmont Street
Portland, OR
(503) 236-3346
pinestatebiscuits.com

Tags: biscuits, farmers markets, Pine State Biscuits, Portland, Portland Farmers Market
Posted in Travel Eats | 12 Comments »

The best roast chickens I’ve ever eaten have a couple of things in common.

a). The chicken was first brined in a salt solution, resulting in a juicy, flavorful bird, and

b.) The chicken was roasted at a high temperature, producing a very crispy skin

A basic salt brine consists of salt (1 cup) and water (1 gallon). From there, you can add whatever flavorings you fancy. I add a little sugar (I like to think it helps brown the skin) and other herbs and spices depending upon what else I’m serving with the chicken.

My favorite chicken brine is a citrus brine:

2 limes
1 lemon
1 orange
1 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup granulated sugar
10 cilantro stems (with leaves), roughly chopped
half a head of garlic cloves, unpeeled and smashed
1 tablespoon black peppercorns, crushed
1 gallon of water

Zest the citrus and place the zest in a stockpot. Cut the citrus in half and squeeze the juice into the pot. Stir in the remaining ingredients. Bring just to a boil, stirring to dissolve the salt and sugar. Remove from heat and cool to room temperature and then chill the brine in the refrigerator. Do this a day or two ahead of when you plan to roast the chicken.

The technique for this recipe is built upon Thomas Keller’s roast chicken recipe in his cookbook Bouchon. He goes into elaborate detail (no surprise there) about the brining, trussing and eventual roasting of the chicken.

I’ve simplified the steps here, and having eaten the chicken at Bouchon in Las Vegas, I can say that this home cooked bird stacks up very well against the restaurant’s version.

The biggest difference? You will have to do your own dishes.

Citrus Brined Roasted Chicken

Serves 4 to 6

Ingredients
1 (3 to 3-1/2 pounds) whole chicken
1 citrus brine recipe (above)
Salt and pepper

1 teaspoon canola oil
2 tablespoons thyme leaves

Method
1. Rinse the chicken under cold water and pat dry. Place the chicken in the chilled citrus brine, cover and place in the refrigerator for 8 to 12 hours.

2. Remove the chicken from the brine, rinse under cold water and pat dry. Tuck the wings underneath the bird (don’t worry too much if they don’t stay tucked – you tried). Tie the front legs loosely together with kitchen string. Lightly salt and heavily pepper the outside of the bird.

3. Heat the oven to 475º F, while the bird is shaking off the chill from the fridge. When the oven is really hot, about 20 minutes later, add the oil to a skillet large enough to fit the bird with room to spare, and place over high heat. Swirl around to distribute the oil while the skillet gets really hot, about 3 minutes.

4. Place the trussed bird, breast-side up, in the skillet (a hot skillet prevents the chicken from sticking to the pan) and place in the preheated oven. Roast for 40-45 minutes (the bird will get very brown, so tent loosely with a piece of foil if you think it’s getting too brown).

5. Remove from the oven and check the the temperature with a meat thermometer stuck in the thickest part of the thigh, making sure it doesn’t touch a bone. The temperature should be 155º – 160º F when it is finished in the oven, so if it is below that, return the chicken to the oven. Check the temperature every 5 minutes. When the bird is 155º – 160º F, remove it from the oven. As it rests, it will continue to cook.

6. Add the thyme to the pan drippings and then with a spoon, baste the bird with the thyme-infused drippings for a minute. Remove the bird to a cutting board to rest for 15 minutes before carving.

Tags: brine, chicken, citrus, roasted chicken
Posted in Chicken & Turkey, How To..., Recipes, Tips & Tutorials | 5 Comments »

Image: Santa Fe School of Cooking

This handy little tool could have been on my top ten list of useful kitchen tools. It gets a regular workout in my kitchen.

From roasting ears of corn to tomatillos to peppers, the pepper grate transforms my stove top to an instant grill (although, it’s not appropriate for grilling meat, or anything that will drip fat, unless you’re fond of cleaning up the mess.)

Still, it’s my go-to tool when I need a roasted red bell pepper or even a roasted tomato to add a little charred flavor to a sauce.

It works best with gas but I’ve used it on an electric flat top (not nearly as effective as licking flames, but it does work, albeit slower.)

Where can you get one? The Santa Fe School of Cooking carries the pepper grate for about 30 bucks.

Tips for using a pepper grate:

• Set the flame to medium-low to begin, and adjust as you go along.
• Use long tongs to turn the food so that you don’t burn your hand.
• Peppers can take a higher flame than tomatoes or tomatillos because the whole point is to blister the entire surface of the pepper.
• Poke the tip of a knife into peppers before you roast to allow steam to escape so they don’t burst.
• You can “grease” the produce first, with a little oil or butter but use sparingly so that it doesn’t drip fat onto the stove.

Tags: how to roast peppers, pepper grate, Santa Fe School of Cooking, stove top grilling
Posted in Book & Product Reviews, Kitchen Tools, Tips & Tutorials | No Comments »

“No reservation?” No, we don’t have a reservation.

“Hmmm, it’ll be about an hour and a half, but there is a cool bar just down the street where you can wait,” the host said. He took our number, promising to call if a table opened up earlier. It didn’t.

Turns out, the chef’s girlfriend is a bartender at the cool bar. Also turns out, after just one meal at Portland’s Le Pigeon, I’d likely wait an eternity for another shot at Chef Gabriel Rucker’s riff on American bistro cuisine.

At 28, Rucker has already snagged a Food & Wine Best Chef nod (2007) and a James Beard nomination for Rising Star (2009, an award that ultimately went to Nate Appleman of A16 in San Francisco.)

In a town known for quirky, independent restaurants, Le Pigeon could easily be the mascot. The space is tight, maybe less than 10 tables, plus front-row seating for 10 at the L-shaped bar overlooking Rucker’s exhibition kitchen.

It is here where Rucker and his band of cooks (a trio, counting Rucker) perform nightly for an adoring public, including a visiting chef the night we scored coveted bar stools.

The menu changes frequently, reflecting what’s fresh at area farmers’ markets. If Rucker is playful with guests at the foot of his stage — and he does banter back-and-forth — he’s laser-serious when it comes to putting food on the plate, tasting here and there, correcting flavors with a pinch of this or a splash of that. Just six starters and seven entrees populate the wisp of a menu.

The visiting chef tastes the foie gras topped jelly donut ($16), proclaiming the foie gras “excellent” even if he wasn’t thrilled with the donut.

He should have ordered the sashimi-quality sliced scallops, dusted with minced tarragon and orange zest, paired with a fennel and radish confit and a dollop of flying roe dotted butter ($15).

With choices like beef cheek bourguignon ($21) and veal blanquette ($25), the Strawberry Mountain Farms burger ($9) might seem pedestrian, but it’s quite the opposite, paired with duck-fat fried chunks of potatoes. The charred, square bun soaks up beefy juices and drippy, aioli-dressed iceberg.

How can you not order pigeon ($27) when, after all, the place is named for the bird? Would I have ordered it if it had merely said “squab?” Probably not.

A bed of butter-soaked greens mixed with shiitakes propped up a square of toasted brioche smeared with liver pate.

Which in turn, held tender medallions of dark-meat bird with a sweet and tangy red pepper jam. Poor thing — its legs and feet precariously balanced on  the bowl’s lip.

Edgy, fun and utterly delicious.

But perhaps the biggest showstopper of the evening was the signature dessert: apricot-studded cornbread, topped with maple ice cream, chewy bacon nuggets and a drizzle of viscous maple syrup.

The cornbread, coarsely textured and caramelized on top, might be the best dessert I’ve tasted all year (and as the dessert columnist for PHOENIX Magazine, I’ve had my share of desserts.)

Rightly so, Le Pigeon attracts foodies from near and far. And seven nights a week, Chef Rucker tends to his faithful flock. No, not the tattoos on his right forearm — his guests, the ones who gather at his stoop, for just another bite with the show.

Le Pigeon
738 East Burnside
Portland, OR
(503) 546-8796
www.lepigeon.com

Tags: Gabriel Rucker, Le Pigeon, Portland, Restaurant Journal, Travel Eats
Posted in Travel Eats | 4 Comments »

Meandering through the Portland Farmers Market, I spotted this stack of beautiful collard greens. The bug holes on the right only endeared it to me more. I mean, if the bugs won’t eat it, should I?

Growing up in West Texas, my mother’s garden overflowed with mustard greens, a bitter, curly-leafed green that I wasn’t particularly fond of. Years later, I tasted my first collard greens and I liked the flavor (less bitter) and texture (smoother) much better.

You don’t have to cook them Southern-style (to death, with ham or bacon fat and onions), but cooked this way they do go hand-in-hand with hot cornbread (or is it corn bread?)

I cut a “V” just like I did here on Swiss chard, and roll the leaves into a cigar and then cut them into strips, just like I blabbed about here with basil, only with greens, I cut thick, 1-inch ribbons.

Collard greens are a staple in many southern  — especially soul food — restaurants, yet they generally don’t cut the tough stems out before cooking. For me, it’s paramount. I hate tough stems swimming in a pile of earthy greens, and even worse, I hate stringy stems — which is what happens when the greens are cooked long enough to soften them.

Now we need a little onion for flavor. I used a leek for no other reason than I had one. Feel free to use whatever onion suits your fancy: white, yellow, red, scallions, whatever.

Of course you need some fat to saute the leeks and greens in. I keep a jar of bacon grease in the fridge for just such purposes.  Who doesn’t love bacon grease? (Don’t answer that if you are a vegetarian, please.)

You could fry up some bacon strips, using the rendered fat for sauteing, and then crumble the bacon as a garnish for the greens. Heck, most folks just leave the bacon in the pot, simmering it right along with the greens. Me? I prefer adding it as a “crunch” topping.

Unlike Swiss chard and spinach, collard greens need a bit more cooking reach tenderness. And in the South, “a bit more” means hours. You don’t have to cook them that long, although most southern cooks I know cook them f-0-r-e-v-e-r. Food scientist and “culinary sleuth” Shirley Corriher (CookWise, BakeWise) says that extended cooking isn’t kind to the flavor of collard greens and other members of the Brassica family (broccoli, cabbage, turnips, etc.) And she’s from the South!

Simmering collards in liquid is crucial for a silky texture.You can use water, or for more flavor, chicken stock or broth.

I’d show you a final picture of the cooked greens but I didn’t take one. Why? Because they’re ugly. Dull, army-green doesn’t make for a pretty picture, although I have to say that this picture honors the humble green as best as can be expected.

Even if cooked collard greens don’t win any beauty contests, they certainly do win as a delicious side dish, perfectly suited for any southern meal from pork chops to fried catfish. Don’t forget the slice of hot, buttered cornbread. Or is it corn bread?

Southern-Style Collard Greens

Serves 2, maybe 3 *

1 bunch collard greens
1 leek (or 1 cup chopped onion)
1 tablespoon bacon fat
4 cups water or low-sodium chicken broth
Pinch of sugar
2 to 3 tablespoons cider vinegar
1/2 (or more) teaspoon of hot pepper sauce
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Cut the stems out of each green leaf in a “V.” Roll the leaves into a cigar and cut into thick ribbons, about 1-inch thick. Dunk the greens in a water bath, drain, and spin dry in a salad spinner.

Cut the top off the leek. Cut the remaining part of the leek in half, lengthwise and rinse under cold running water, fanning the leek layers to remove any trapped dirt. Pat dry. Cut each half crosswise into 1/4-inch half-moons.

Melt the bacon fat in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the leeks and saute until just tender, about 3 to 4 minutes. Add the greens, tossing occasionally to wilt, about 3 to 4 minutes.

Pour in water or chicken broth and stir in pinch of sugar (the greens won’t be completely submerged). Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and cover. Simmer until tender, about 40 minutes.

Stir in the vinegar and hot sauce. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Add more vinegar or hot sauce to your personal tastes. To serve, you can either portion out the greens in individual ramekins to include some of the pot likker (cooking liquid) or you can drain them and put them directly on the serving plate.

*If you plan to double this recipe, you don’t need to double all the ingredients, just the collard greens. For the remaining ingredients, use 1-1/2 times the amount instead of 2 times the amount.

Tags: bacon, collard greens, how to cook collard greens, leeks, recipe
Posted in How To..., Recipes, Side Dishes, Tips & Tutorials | 10 Comments »

Most people would say that they love to travel and they love to eat. I count myself lucky to be able to travel and eat and then write about it, sharing my experiences with others. For me, the journey begins with a fork.

Today I learned that my blog was a finalist in the Tripbase Blog Awards 2009.

Food and travel writing has been a big part of my culinary writing career, and is the basis for the three travel destination cookbooks I wrote. Now I relish in bringing travel and food experiences to others through this blog.

I’m extremely honored that such a prestigious travel service (which was recognized by Travel + Leisure Magazine as the top travel website in 2008) has recognized my blog.  So, thank you, Tripbase.com.

Who I really want to thank is you…for coming along with me.

Tags: awards, food and travel blog award, Travel and Leisure Magazine, Tripbase.com
Posted in News & Nibbles | 5 Comments »

The Farm Cafe wasn’t on my original list of restaurants to visit when we arrived in Portland for a week of non-stop eating.

I’d never heard of it, although I’m not sure why, since I researched the restaurant scene fairly well (obsessively, if you ask my dining partner), and already had more restaurants on my radar than open slots for dining occasions.

The Farm Cafe wasn’t in Zagat’s 2009 America’s Top Restaurants guide or the Portland guide book I was using. All I can say is thank goodness we did stumble upon it.

And stumble is the operative word. The restaurant is tucked just off a side street, well hidden behind overgrown foliage. The rooster sign is a dead giveaway that the cuisine is focused on the farm.

The restaurant is in an old Victorian house, although the back patio and bar are new additions. They don’t take reservations unless you have a party of six, so my best advice is gather five of your closest friends (or completely strangers) and get on their books.

The menu is short and sweet, with just a few appetizers, salads and six main courses. But then there is a slip of paper inside the folded menu with a few specials. It was hot enough to sample the chilled cucumber and caper cream soup, but since this would be my only experience on this trip, I wanted go light on the appetizer.

Rosemary-roasted hazelnuts ($5) sounded intriguing and the perfect way to kick off the evening. We normally snack on nuts with a cocktail while I cook dinner, so it seemed fitting to begin there.

You don’t see too many “nuts” on restaurant menus, and these promised a “secret house recipe involving brown sugar and Tabasco.” Whew, not kidding on the Tabasco. These sweet-hot nuts will wake up any dulled taste bud. I will work on recreating these nuts at some point, because that would be cheaper than hopping a plane back to Portland and unfortunately, these nuts — in just one sitting — have become yet another addiction for me.

A roasted half chicken special ($18) featured an organic, pasture-raised bird from the Rain Shadow El Rancho farm in Scio, Oregon. The skin could have been a tad crispier for my taste, but I had no complaints with the juciness, or the parsley and thyme flavor. The orzo pasta salad underneath was studded with fresh fava beans, red onion and a hint of basil.

Roasted baby carrots, grilled zucchini and yellow squash and saffron-scented rice served as a bed for a coriander-speckled grilled halibut. The garlic and parsley pistou added additional flavor, although the perfectly cooked fish didn’t need any help at all.

While the menu’s sunken chocolate soufflé cake is probably extraordinary, the Chambord and Oregon Duke blueberry tart special ($7) seemed a more appropriate dessert, given the 4th of July holiday. Creamy, rich mascarpone, whipped with honey and tinged pink from the raspberry liqueur, served as a fluffy pillow for the fat, juicy berries.

Don’t worry, we didn’t leave this bite, no-sir-ree. Just wanted you to see the last, glorious morsel.

Sometimes, you can plan too much. In hindsight, I’m grateful that my original plan went awry and our wandering led us straight to the Farm….Cafe.

The Farm Cafe
10 SE 7th Aveune
Portland, OR
(503) 735-3276

Tags: Farm Cafe, Rain Shadow El Rancho Farm, Restaurant Journal, Zagat
Posted in Travel Eats | 2 Comments »

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