A Drinkers Guide to Portland

So, I spent last week in Portland. Ostensibly the point of the trip was a leisurely look around the outskirts to see if we would fancy a move up there at some point. The endless California sunshine, that a mere 18 months ago I would have described as a golden gift I would never tire of, has started to become a smothering sweltering heat that is actually boiling my spuds in the bag. Whether this is due to climate change, or just the fact I am a pasty northerner raised in the only part of England where the sun is permanently obscured I cannot say. 

 Also, the  endless Beijing-style traffic jams are not to be sniffed at either. As Middlesbrough has never had a single tourist in it's 150 year history, the traffic there is laughably light. The ten mile an hour rush hour "traffic" found in towns up and down the UK pales in comparison to the actual traffic that fills the streets and freeways of California has to be seen to be believed. You can look out of your window at 4am and the freeways are still backed up, its so bizarre its almost a tourist attraction in and of itself.

 Anyway, I figured that I would go check out Oregon because it is supposed to be lovely, and the family were leaning towards the possibility that it may be worth moving up there some day. 

 Upon arriving there, I found myself in what appeared to be the most youthful town in North America. Not that I have been to that many you understand, but I have been to trendy hubs like Chicago, Los Angeles, San Diego, New York, and.. er... does Virginia count as trendy? 

 After landing at the airport and being greeted by two teenage baggage handlers who looked as if they could stick their heads out of the car to shave effectively, we caught a shuttle to the hotel. Amusingly this sign was behind the counter when I checked in.

"Welcome to Portland mon!"

I chuckled and asked the guy behind the counter how long ganja had been legal and he said it had only been freely available for a short while. Obviuously the natives have took to it with gusto, which explains why my room smelled as if Bob Marley had died in the bathtub.

 After a nights rest, we took an Uber into the city center and had breakfast at what is apparently an extremely popular breakfast restaurant named Gravy (3957 N Mississippi Ave) As always, I found the food to be perfectly acceptable, but not worthy of the endless praise showered upon it on Yelp, and certainly not worthy of the 45 minute wait to get in at 10am on a Tuesday morning.

  Indeed, in America it seems that merely serving 4 lbs. of food as a single serving on a plate the size of a dump truck wheel is enough to warrant a 5-star rating. My corned beef hash was more than passable and the eggs were decent, but there are kids eating mud in Haiti so I feel a bit guilty when I get my hash-browns served to me with a shovel. Personally I recommend splitting a plate with a friend, or just getting coffee and a half-order of French toast (The half order looked like a telephone directory covered with powered sugar.)

 By this time, we still had two hours to burn before we could check in to our digs, so we walked a couple of blocks down the street to StormBreaker Brewing on the junction of Mississippi and Beech Street. I got a 5 beer taster that for some reason was served in King Arthurs lunchbox.

"Gadzooks! Sir Gawain has just been chinned by a bouncer."

Tasters are rarely offered in England, and when they are, it usually involves 3 or 4 warm glasses on a plastic dinner tray. I found that in Portland they always came in increasingly elaborate carved wooden frames, boxes, old tea-chests, and anything else that looked like it was pre-World War One. Pretty cool I suppose, but frankly, who gives a fuck how they present your booze? Its whats in the glass that counts. 

 I can report I was more than impressed with the ale, the lager was a bit pissy, but the Americans often like it that way. The IPA was as powerfully hopped but excellent as it always is this side of the Atlantic, and the stout was top-drawer, stronger and much more flavorful and than a timid pint of Guinness. A few pints later I dropped my gear off at the apartment we were renting and walked a short distance to another place just down the street, Ecliptic Brewing.

 This place was not as welcoming to my eyes as StormBreaker was, as rather than an old-fashioned wooden bar and some benches it was a huge, bright, metallic building. Indeed, it looked like one of the aircraft hangars that Nicolas Cage hangs about in in Face Off. I'm guessing it is a recent expansion as it all looked very shiny, not as pleasing to me as a dimly lit, urine stained bar, but its the ale we are here for so I took a seat at the bar and ordered another taster. 

If you can drink 4 of these and not roll off your stool you are a better man than me.

If the name and spiral design of the taster tray don't give the game away, all of the beers are named after constellations and such like. The beer was all pretty good, but I didn't really like the staff. I started a jovial conversation about golf with a guy at the bar and we started discussing whether or not we thought golf was a real sport of not (it isn't.) We were having a laugh and a joke about how its should definitely be up for debate because pensioners and fat guys can still win titles and the bartender appeared to take real offense. I know that in California they tell bartenders to avoid heated debates with the customers, but in hip and youthful Portland, everything appears to be fair game, which explains why the fat bearded guy behind the counter called us a pair of clueless bastards and stomped off in a huff. 

 He did have an arse like a water-buffalo though, so I can only presume golf is his game of choice, he certainly didn't look like a speed skater. To be fair he did come back ten minutes later, but I thought he was being a bit of a pansy. A few more pints later and I was half pissed, I went to several more bars, but I'm fucked if I can remember where they were and I fell asleep by about 9 0'clock. I'm not getting any younger.... 

The next day we went for breakfast in another Yelp favorite, one of the several thousand food trucks that has popped up in Portland. The place is called The Egg Carton and while the food was excellent, it was pretty steep for a truck ($13 for a special with eggs and potatoes and a coffee) and the service was genuinely awful. Four of us ordered and the food came out at 10-15 minute intervals for each member of our party. To be fair to the lad who was working there, he was fucking quick considering he was clearly high at work (legalized pot in action folks.) When I was that stoned at work in my teens I couldn't even fasten my shoes, let alone cook four breakfasts.

 We went into the downtown area after breakfast and walked around for a bit. Nipped into the massive Powells City of Books after being told it was a "must see" by several of the locals. Basically its a really big book shop, but as the main aim of a bookshop is just buying a book, I don't really see what all the fuss is about.

A very nice bus and a metal sculpture of a sperm fertilizing an egg, but there is a book store behind it honest.

Unless you are after some ancient tome they are unlikely to stock on Amazon.com, I don't really see the point of cramming into a massive sweaty building filled with other bored tourists who stupidly followed the advice of the natives and walked very slowly around the place even though they didn't want to buy a bastard book. I count myself among the stupidest of tourists obviously, because I'm old enough to know better than following the advice of youthful travelers who say something is a "definite must see" (fuck you Stonehenge.)

 After that, we hit Fat Heads Brewery for a few pints because it was almost midday and I had a perishing thirst.

One of the fattest heads in Fat Heads... and a woman with a normal sized skull

 I ordered a taster, big surprise, and it came in another strange wooden frame. The session ale was lovely and at less than 5%, I could actually drink it steadily for several hours, unlike many American "session" ales that weigh in past 6% and leave you in ruins after three hours. I know Americans work much longer hours than their European cousins, but unless you work a 90 hour week 3 hours just doesn't count as a session. I also had the Imperial IPA (ridiculously hoppy) the Trail Head IPA (wonderfully easy to drink but gets you pissed a bit too quick) the superb Bone Head Red (beautiful but about 9%) the Starlight Lager (a bit tasteless but a steady percentage) a kinda disgusting blueberry lager with actual berries floating in it, and a stupidly strong stout I forget the name of (not too good but still tastier than Guiness.)

"Excuse me mate, some arsehole has dropped vitamin C and antioxidants into my harmful carcinogenic beverage."

 I got another pint of the red because that was my favorite, and then I felt half-pissed so we went to TILT for lunch. Its a decent place with a sort of.. metallic British Steel sort of air about it. All of the chairs are brushed metal, so anybody that has ever worked as a welder or a steelworker would probably prefer a trip anywhere else. As for the food...

In America, it isn't a butty if it fits in your mouth

I got a Reuben, which for the uninitiated, is basically pastrami on Rye with Russian dressing (fuck knows) and some sauerkraut. The sandwhich was good, but those weird jalapeno popper things on the right were one of the best things I have ever put in my mouth, and I have ate a Parmo from The Europa. They are a sort of.. cheese and potato paste mixed with peppers, and battered, similar to the excellent potato balls at Portos in LA but better. 

 The highlight of the day, other than the 12 beers obviously. 

After lunch we nipped over to the Nob Hill Bar and Grill, which I was disappointed to find was not actually a gay bar but an ordinary bar and grill. By this time I was smashing pints into me at speed and I have absolutely no idea what I drank, but I remember the staff were very friendly, and then I think we ended up in Prost a German themed bar that was small and cosy but had a really nice beer garden with a separate bar outside. I was leathered by this point, but I do recall drinking massive 1 liter steins for $10 a pop, and I was baggage by around half past 8. 

Real men get carried home by their 110lb wives and fall asleep before 9 o'clock

I scraped my face off the pillow the next day and we went to another apparently popular breakfast spot named The Stepping Stone Cafe. Like a great many of the bars, restaurants, book-shops, and.. well, anything in Portland, it was very hip and youthful, and it looked like I was the oldest, sweatiest, and most haggard person in there.

 Sadly this also includes my mother-in-law, who is 30 years older than me. 

 The menu proclaims "You eat here because we let you" in that sort of, tongue-in-cheek, unfunny hipster way, but this should not dissuade you, the food is really good. 

This is what it looks like when a Tesco freight train hits a Waitrose truck and they make a meal with the wreckage

My choice was a steak that they deep fry like a chicken, cover in cheese, peppers, paprika, onions, and hash browns, then wrap in a massive omelette. Oh yeah, and the gravy has sausages floating in it, because in this wonderful country, there just isn't enough meat in something that is made out of a cow and fried in a liquidized hen. 

I was tiring of Portland by this point, so we buggered off up the the coast to Astoria, its about two hours north and its a nice drive because you can see an ocean that isn't full of burning tires, hypodermic needles, and dog shit.

On the way, you can stop at the totally awesome Tillamook Cheese Factory off the 101 Highway. Its only a factory of course, but they have a massive gift shop, and a big open buffet where you can stand in a line and essentially eat as much cheese as you like. You can also pose for the obligatory shite tourist picture. 

Looking at that uncommonly handsome bull, I can almost understand why the Welsh shag sheep.

After that we cracked on right up the 101 to Astoria, which if anybody even remotely cares, is where they filmed The Goonies. Unfortunately the poor old couple that live in the house that they forced that fat kid to dance outside now live in perpetual fear because drunks rock up on their garden and start dancing with alarming frequency, so I didn't want to go and take a picture. I did get a picture next to those big rocks in the sea that One-Eyed Willie's ship sailed past though.

There must be a hideously deformed football player and a crass Asian stereotype around here somewhere....

After having clam chowder and a few pints at a place with an excellent view but very generic and entirely forgettable food (Moe's, Cannon Beach) we cracked on up the road to Astoria and first port of call was Astoria's oldest brewery, the Wet Dog Cafe.

It hurts so good....

This place was one of my favorites, the bar tender was warm and friendly as soon as he heard my accent as we had a good craic. The craic basically involved me making bad jokes and him giving me all of the beers I had missed off the list for fuck all, what a positively splendid gent.  I got a taster tray that looked like a big square table-tennis racket and I drank too many beers to keep track of, but the vast majority of them were excellent. Oh, and the fruity ones were a lot more subtle and pleasing than the alcoholic smoothie I drank at Fat Heads. 

A much better use for a table tennis racket than actually playing table tennis

Anyway, I was pleased after leaving the Wet Dog Cafe, and not just because I was pissed, the staff were excellent, the beer was cheap, and it was all of good quality. 

 We then walked 5 minutes up the street to Fort George Brewery + Public House.  a large and new looking place on the crest of a hill just off the main street. The taster in this place was the biggest yet.... 

A very lucky 13... Until you piss the bed.

 Anyway, this place was very trendy, everyone in here was young and bearded and wearing pants tight enough to cut the flow off to their ankles. I tried to strike up a conversation with a few people but didn't get anywhere, and the bartender was merely cordially polite. Still, by the time I left I was minging, so I can heartily recommend it. 

Last stop in Astoria was the excellent Rogue Ale Public House, situated right on the pier and with a lovely view across the bay. 

Excuse the writing, I was pissed and convinced I could do calligraphy despite never being shown how.... what a bell-end.

Rogues beer is some of my absolute favorite, when I was in San Francisco I bought a case of their Hazlenut Brown after merely sipping one. Anyway, the ale was excellent, the locals were all friendly too. They get some sailors and fishermen in here and they are a good bunch. One of them let me swig his truly bizarre stout-with-ice-cream pint when I crudely said it looked like something had died in a pint of Guiness, and.. well.. it tasted like something had died in a pint of Guiness as well, but its the thought that counts. The only gripe I would have from this great little place was the fact that it is so large and airy that the toilet is about 200 yards away from the bar and I have a bladder like a walnut, but you can't have everything.

 The next day I started off half-pissed and it went downhill rapidly from there. Grand Central Restaurant & Bowling Alley, was a cool place with loads of video games, (shooting digital rhinos on Big Buck Hunter is a surprisingly gratifying experience for an animal lover) and bowling alleys. They have plenty of cheap drinks specials and the staff were eager to please. After that, just when I thought the tasters couldnt get any bigger, we went to the Hopworks Urban Brewery and I was presented with these bastards...

And then Captain America and U.S. Agent hit the town.....

They dont come on wood in here, presumably because they dont want to decimate the surrounding woodland, so they come on the back of massive metal trays as big as the shields that Captain America throws at terrorists. One of the 15 beers on the stock tray was some sort of pissy, shandy lemonade thing, but the other 14 were pretty good, even the sour cherry thing that tasted a bit like Samuel Smith's Cherry Beer mixed with Listerine. The pretzels and fries were good as well, so they get top marks from me.

15 mini beers with a slightly larger beer taster

 We also ate at the very trendy Fire on the Mountain, but the food was only average and I didn't like the youthful clientele very much. They also had three walls full of photographs of people that had completed "The Challenge" but considering it had more names on it than a Battle of the Somme memorial I don't understand how challenging said challenge can possibly be.

 Second last stop was The Kennedy School which is a huge auld school that they converted into numerous bars, distilleries and restaurants. 

Perhaps the only school where the kids get more drugs in the classrooms than the bathrooms.. 

I'm sure anybody who reads this will head straight there as soon as they land in Portland because it sounds so awesome, but to be honest, I suppose its more of a gimmick. Yes, it is pretty cool wandering around the place and taking a few snaps, but ultimately the food was rather bland and the beer.. well, its good everywhere, and better at those other places that give you more for cheaper. Still, head along, I'm sure you are going to go regardless of what I say. 

Dad was right, they are the best years of your life.

Anyway, that's about me, I think I have forgotten at least ten of them, such as this one I don't even remember being in (Lompoc?) 

Answers on a postcard...

This place that was somewhere between Portland and Astoria... 

The Golden Valley was forgettabley Golden

 And the many I never took any pictures of. I can heartily recommend a trip to Portland to anybody if only because there are more breweries than Oliver Reed could safely manage, but it was a little hip to the point that it may grate on people over the age of 30, with a penchant for shaving, or a preference for baggy pants and crew cuts. (Lots of top knots.) The service was pretty bad at almost everywhere we ate, but New York and Los Angeles are just crazy econmic hubs where everyone is in a hurry all the time. Once you get used to the laid back attitude and the abundance of youthful trendy people with fashionable shirts on, its a very fun place to visit. The traffic is much worse than I expected and its pretty crowded, but I enjoyed it more than Chicago (just as hip but much colder) and San Francisco (who the fuck wants to walk up a mountain when he comes out of the pub pissed at half past 11?)