Hey Lady

One night last week, my plans fell through and I found myself up for some solo dining in the Pearl District. I walked by Piazza Italia and decided to give it a try. An Italian gentleman approached me in the doorway and held up one finger "Uno?" [Okay, disclaimer here. I know no Italian. Everything I heard, I heard in Spanish. So everything you read here is the victim of my interpretation.] I nodded my head. "Pregunta." He turned around and walked away towards some tables on the sidewalk.

I didn't know if I was supposed to follow him or not, so I just stood there. Then, an older Italian gentleman standing just outside the door motioned at me, "Hey Lady!" and he pointed towards the first guy, waiting at a table for me on the sidewalk. Snap, Crackle, Pop, I was seated, had a bread basket and a dish of olive oil and vinegar. It was remarkable - their organization and speed with which they serviced the tables.

My only complaint of the whole dinner was that the bread was dry - like it had been cut and then sat out for an hour or two before being placed on the tables. But it was good and dipped in the oil and vinegar, I didn't really care.

I ordered Gino's Favorite Linguini Squarciarella: prosciutto, egg, onions, parmigiano and black pepper (I think it was about $12.) It came out within about 10 minutes. While I was waiting, they refilled my olive oil. Did you read that? THEY REFILLED MY OLIVE OIL. Beautiful. The pasta was simple, fresh and delightfully laced with sharp parmigiano, salty proscuitto and a little spice with the black pepper.

I ate all of it. Then they took my plate. I was out of there in less than a half hour. Which was not my goal, really, but I didn't mind that their service was so practiced and down pat that they could serve me a nice dinner so quickly.

Impressive service, quality pasta and they refill your olive oil when you run out. Yeah, I'm thinking you should go.

Man do I need to get happy.

I've been to a few happy hours lately. Here's a very quick rundown on a couple, both enjoyed with my friend Jen.

Bastas: clams (nice, not fishy), pizza and chicken skewers wrapped in pancetta (totally dry and flavorless). Upside: They have have happy hour from 5 - 10pm every day and they have great music playing overhead - singalong type music (like Cecilia, by Simon and Garfunkle and other such greatness). Downside: Food is *meh*.




Serrato: beet salad, burger. The beet salad is fantastic - with crispy chards of garlic throughout. Burger was overdone (no pink at all!) but not bad for being well-done. Fries were thin and crispy.

Yes, I want the balls. I always want the balls.

Twelfth and Hawthorne is becoming my favorite late night place. The other night, after the Kids Rock 4 Kids concert, Ansley and I decided to head over to the food carts and get some dinner. After reviewing the offerings at Potato Champion and Perriera Creperie and Yarp?!, we both decided that Yarp?! was going to be the way to go. The menu was fabulous. Lost of pasta and some seared Ahi Tuna - yum.

"You looking for me?" A guy with a reddish sweater vest, a dress shirt and some slacks walked towards us. "Are you the one that makes the food?" I asked. "That's me! What do you want tonight?" "I'd like the roasted red-pepper spaghetti." "You want the balls with that?" "Yes, I want the balls," I said. "I always want the balls." Ansley ordered the veggie pasta with a red wine rosemary reduction. "Give me a few minutes and we'll have that ready for you." He walked inside the trailer and started cooking.

The trailer, covered in spray paint, with anarchist messages, did not look like a place that you would necessarily look at and say "I want to eat there". But there were fresh herbs peeking out from the window and somehow, talking to this guy, I knew the food would be good. I had read a couple of things online about them that gave me the idea that Yarp?! was a safe bet.

It was probably 10 minutes or so when they handed us two boxes and two tin foil packages with two napkins and two real forks. The boxes were heavy! We sat down at the covered picnic table and we opened them up. Holy crap. This was a helluva lot of food.

The roasted red pepper spaghetti was lighter than normal spaghetti and had terrific flavor. The meatballs had fantastic texture and perfectly seasoned flavor - a little spicy, which is exactly how I like my meatballs. The foil packages contained delightfully buttery thick slices of garlic bread, freshly warmed through and perfect for sopping up extra sauce.

I ate exactly one third of my spaghetti before I was bursting full. Ansley, too. She declared her pasta to be amazing and loaded with veggies, and was also bursting full after eating only a third.

We said good night to the chef and headed off. Leftovers served for two additional meals the next day. And they were still just as delicious.

Damn good food. And seriously THE best people watching in the city. I didn't even tell the story about the umbilical cord hats, the billy club and the stoned skateboarders, but use your imagination. And check out Yarp?! You will be happy you did.

Yarp?!
SE 12th and Hawthorne Food Cart Pod
Wednesday - Sunday
8pm - 3am
http://pdxyarp.blogspot.com

Escape from New York...and the Scary Homeless Dude

Saturday evening I wandered over to my soon-to-be-hood over on NW 23rd to meet my friend Laura at Escape from New York Pizza to grab a slice and catch up. I snagged a table outside, gave Laura some money and she went inside to order.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye, coming down the street. A 60+ year-old transient, stumbling towards me, mumbling. Laura came out with the pizza (a slice of pepperoni and a slice of mushroom, olive and tomato) and we started eating. The man stopped behind me and continued to mumble.

I started feeling a little uncomfortable - which is unusual for me. I don't mind giving a few bucks to the homeless now and then, but this guy was creeping me out a little. I strategically moved my purse between my feet. Finally, he moved along to the Kornblatt's tables next door, which were all empty, save for the basket of condiments on each table.

I took a bite of my pizza - it was greasy, as pizza should be. It was foldable, as NY pizza should be. It tasted okay. The pepperoni was better than the mushroom pizza. The mushroom pizza pretty much had no flavor.

Mr. Transient started digging through the bus bucket beside the Kornblatt's tables. He pulled some food from it and headed for the condiments. One of the Kornblatt's dudes came out and grabbed the bus bucket and took it inside. Mr. Transient picked up some Tabasco sauce and put the bottle in his mouth. Then he put it back on the table. Then he went a few tables down. Opened up the horseradish bottle, stuck his fingers in and pulled out a fistful of horseradish and stuck it in his mouth.

At this point, I felt a moral obligation to let the Kornblatt's people know that their condiments were contaminated by transient fingers. They were livid. Kornblatt dude went bursting through the door: "GET AWAY FROM THE F---ING CONDIMENTS!" Mr. Transient wandered off down the street and Kornblatt dude dumped all the condiments in the garbage. Thank heavens.

After this diversion, I returned to finish my pizza. It was not tasting super great. Kornblatt dude came over to talk to us about Mr. Transient.

"It was disgusting," Laura said, "He stuck his hands in the horseradish." I started to feel my chest tighten up, blocked with the bready crust. "We've called the police on him already today, but they let him go after 15 minutes. It's just disgusting." I was starting to feel like I was going to hurl all over both Laura and the Kornblatt dude. Then I would be on par with Mr. Transient. "I feel bad yelling at him, but you gotta yell at them or else they just keep coming back."

I half smiled at him while I was starting to panic. I tried drinking my soda. It made it worse. Kornblatt dude walked away. I couldn't talk. The crust was blocking my airway. I drank Laura's water and sat there, as the crust slowly made its way down to my stomach. It took about 5 minutes or so.

Mr. Transient II, sitting on the sidewalk behind us, spat on the ground 4 or 5 times.

Truthfully I don't know if it was the pizza or the transient situation, but my digestive experience at Escape from New York was not a pleasant one. I think next time I will take shelter at Pizzicato across the street. Between the almost vomiting and the spitting and the hands in the horseradish, well, it will be a while before I go back. Sorry, New York.

Take Out: Tastebud Joy

Every time I go to the Portland Farmers' Market, I get a slice of pizza from the Tastebud people. Fresh, brick-oven baked pizza. Always with interesting toppings - ricotta cheese, greens, ham, roasted vegetables - always delicious.

I was delighted the other week to put two and two together and realized that Tastebud opened a restaurant over on SE Milwaukie. That is especially good, since the Farmers' market that I like to go to at PSU is not open right now.

So after a long week, on my way home on a Friday night, I picked up a pizza to go from Tastebud. Braised kale, Italian sausage, tomato sauce and mozzarella. I was a little late picking it up, so it wasn't piping hot, which actually ended up being perfect - I could eat it on my way home.

The crust was not as thick as it usually is at the market - but it was still crunchy and chewy and good. The kale had a distinct spiciness and slight crunchiness after being baked on the pizza. The sausage was just flavorful enough. There was a bit of grease that dripped down my arm as I ate it. I think from the sausage. But that didn't bother me one bit.

I have heard some good things and not so good things about the restaurant. I plan on going there at some point to experience more aspects of the food and service. But for right now, that pizza in the box hit the spot.

I want to wash my hands, my face, my hair with snow

This weather is crazy! It has been one week since my post about being snowed in, and it has been one hell of a week. I actually made it to work every day, though going in late and coming home early most days to avoid dangerous roads. By the time Friday came along, I was exhausted from treading cautiously across parking lots and driving slowly down snowy/icy roads, and the thought of spending one more night at home seemed unbearable. Since the roads were mostly clear on Friday, with an impending snow storm coming Saturday, it seemed necessary to find some new scenery and new people to look at.

I knew that I wanted to see a movie, so I parked in the SmartPark at 10th and Yamhill by the Fox Tower and started looking for a place to eat. All I knew was that I wanted to try something new. As I walked down Taylor, I was overwhelmed by the scent of garlic. I half slid/half walked down the street until I saw Porto Terra Tuscan Grill. Italian. Perfect!

I warmed up in the lobby and was seated almost immediately. I sat at a little table, facing a wine cabinet. It wasn't crowded at all - not surprising since it was snowing outside. Lucky me, they had a special Symphony Inspired Dining menu from 5-6:30. An appetizer, entree and dessert for $25. Excellent! I chose the Pappa al Pomodoro Soup to start off. I asked the waitress if she could make me an interesting non-alcoholic drink and she said, "Sure, how about a Virgin Mary?" Well that sounded seasonally appropriate and I had never had one, so I said I would try it.

The Virgin Mary arrived with a toothpick full of olives and a wedge of lime on the salted rim. Mmm. Spice is what I needed to keep me warm in the snow, so I sipped it slowly while I waited for my soup. They brought me some soft, chewy, warm bread with olive oil, salt and olive tapenade. Tangy, salty and delicious.

The soup was almost as thick as a marinara sauce, with crispy grilled croutons and fresh basil on top. It warmed me through from my eyelashes to my toenails. It was rich and I was grateful that it was a small bowl. Between the soup and the Virgin Mary, I was glad I had not ordered something with tomatoes for dinner.

So my chicken arrived next. Crispy chicken, filled with asparagus, kale and boursin cheese with a creamy toasted fennel sauce over caramelized onion whipped potatoes. The chicken was surprisingly crispy and incredibly juicy on the inside. The kale, aparagus and cheese was all melted together in a cheesy, green mixture and added a nice fresh bite to the dish. And the sauce, though slightly lacking in salt, was so creamy and fennel-y. The potatoes, well, they were average, I'm afraid. The red onions were not quite cooked enough for my taste (still crunchy) and the potatoes needed a little loosening with cream, I think. But all in all, it was a good dinner, and quite filling!

I was so so so full. But being the Syphony Inspired Dinner menu, I already had dessert coming. Chocolate bread pudding with caramelized bananas and vanilla gelato. I loved the bananas, crispy with sugar and sitting on the sidelines of the bread pudding, lathered in caramel sauce. The vanilla gelato was a good pallette cleanser to finish the meal.

So so so so full now, I headed out the door to the movies. I saw Slumdog Millionaire, which was equally as soulfully rich and filling as the meal I had just had. It's been a long time since I've seen a movie with so much color, vibrant music, a multi-layered storyline that ripped at my heart. It was so beautiful - and unexpectedly so. I am still thinking about it. As soon as the weather clears up, I will be up for seeing it again. It fed my soul, so deeply. And it's good to feel soulfully full.

Come on and save me.

In a way it was appropriate that we were eating at a restaurant that used to house fire trucks and the like and where people who saved lives on a regular basis used to reside. I was feeling a little like I needed saving. My bank had just been seized by the federales and I was (and still am) so over my head in projects that I have volunteered for that I was practically hyperventilating as regularly as I drink Diet Coke. (That's a lot.)

Me and a few of my friends met up at Firehouse, a newish upscale pizza/Italian restaurant in NE Portland to eat dinner, take a break from work and discuss the downturn of the economy. Hmmm. It smelled good - Brick Oven fired pizza. That was what I wanted.

But my pizza plans went out the window as I stared at the menu. I asked the waitress what her favorite appetizer was. Before I even finished my question, she said the beet greens bruschetta was her favorite, hands down. Beet greens on top of tangy goat cheese on a big hunk of toasted bread. Yeah. It was not only delicious, it was memorable like a surprise visit from a friend that I haven't seen in a really really long time. I must figure out how they make it. I've been thinking about it ever since then.

The roasted chicken was delicious as well - very flavorful and crispy. My friend let me have a bit of her pizza with fennel sausage - house made fennel sausage. Sweet and licorice-y and salty. Only a few pieces atop a thin crust with tomato sauce and mozzarella. A bite of happiness, to be sure.

Oh yes. I almost forgot. I had dessert. Apple and fig crisp with buttermilk sorbet. Not too sweet, tangy, cold sorbet over fresh, sweet, crisp apples, figs and buttery topping. Lovely fall crunch.

I was so tired when we were done eating. Tired enough to go home and go to bed. Where I slept so well, without the interruptions of bad dreams or stress.

The antique firemen on the wall at Firehouse are still useful - they saved me from my own thoughts and a likely night of nachos.

My Life with Bread

I've never been to Italy. Pretty much the extent of my expertise in Italian food is that it has been my favorite kind of food since I was very little. In kindergarten, when my class wrote a cookbook, I wrote a recipe for spaghetti, which included directions to pour the water and pasta "in a big green bowl with holes in it."

I still love making spaghetti, even though I use a silver colander now, instead of a green one. I think bread is a necessity when eating pasta of any kind - that's a given. But what kind of bread is the key. When I was still making spaghetti with a green colander, I loved the squishy French bread, loaded with an inch of butter and garlic and parsley, pre-loaded at the grocery store, of course. I loved it when I took a big bite and the butter would run over my lips and down my chin. And I could get my tongue to stretch all the way to the bottom of my chin to get it all.

Then sometime in college, I discovered the wonders of sitting on the living room floor with a loaf of crusty bread and some butter, a step up from the squishy pre-loaded kind, always followed with a good vacuuming of the thick, shaggy, cheap apartment carpet.

One day after I had moved to Portland, I discovered a yeasty, beast of a bread soulmate on an afternoon payday excursion to bring dinner home to my parents.

This little Italian grocery store in Lake Oswego, in a strip mall on State Street. Unassuming. Port City Pasta. The first time I walked in, I was overwhelmed with my favorite scents - bread, tomatoes, warmth, and my favorite sights - bread, fresh pasta, Italian deli meats, cheese. I was in absolute heaven. I'm not sure what happened, but before I knew it, I had spent $40 for dinner. And part of that $40 was a large round of salt-blistered focaccia bread, with shards of garlic and rosemary baked into the slightly glistening surface. It was chewy and crispy and so so SO perfect.

My love for bread soared to a whole new level. The doughy, loafy herbed focaccia bread from Fred Meyer died in my heart. There was no room for any other kind of bread. It was no longer bread and pasta, but bread and salad, bread and chicken, bread and pizza. It didn't matter what the main course was, Port City Pasta focaccia bread always paired marvelously.

For a while, I would stop on a regular basis and get two rounds of focaccia. One for me. One for dinner. I was obsessed. Their focacciasandwiches - hearty, so flavorful, and touched with that crunchy salt and olive oil and finesse. At some point, I got a hold of myself and remembered that there were other cuisines out there. Then I moved a little further away. My visits became less and less and finally, not at all.

Though I haven't been to their store in a long time, every time I go to an Italian restaurant and order focaccia bread, I'm silently comparing it to Port City Pasta, like when you just can't get over an old crush who has moved away. And every time, the restaurants fail to live up to my saintly memory of Port City Pasta.

I'm going to have to bolster my reserve self-control and run over there for a little visit this week. My salivating-inducing memory will haunt me until I do.

Me and Benedict Eat Breakfast

Johns Landing is quiet on Saturday mornings. A few joggers here and there, but overall, it's peaceful and kind of empty. Tucked away from Macadam on Virginia Ave, Porcelli's Restaurant, a former grocery store, seems quaint and homey. And on a Saturday morning, is also peaceful and kind of empty. I opened the door with a little too much force and didn't quite step far enough inside. The door whacked my heel, as well as my behind, sounding a loud THWAP. The one couple eating there stared at me. The waiter just inside the door stared at me. "Sorry... I guess is didn't take a big enough step." I laughed nervously as they all continued to stare at me. After what seemed like several seconds, the waiter finally asked if I was okay. I nodded and made apologies again.

I sat down on the other side of the dividing wall, so that I wouldn't be forced to stare at the couple who was staring at me. I heard them leave a few minutes later. There was soft music playing, but my thoughts were much louder than the music, and I was starting to feel the pressure of solo dining.

The menu was long, but sounded good. There were no words like "fresh" or "organic" or "herbs" anywhere in sight. It was kind of a relief to be honest. I just wanted breakfast without the pretense of the high-end foodie culture in Portland. I ordered orange juice and my good old friend, Eggs Benedict.

It's one thing to eat in a restaurant alone. It's quite another to be the only patron in a restaurant when you are eating alone. There was no people watching. There was no loud music. There was just my thoughts and me. The chef was rearranging glasses at the bar. He stopped just to make me breakfast. Nice of him! Took only a few minutes, then he returned to the bar to finish his task.

Benedict arrived and looked pristine. Creamy, hot. The potatoes were shimmering and spicy. Honestly, it was the best Eggs Benedict I have had in a long time. I enjoyed it and didn't want the taste to end. Though the awkwardness of being the only patron only got worse. Especially when I went to cut through the ham with my knife and fork and my hand slipped. My knife scraped loudly against the plate like nails on a chalkboard and a few potatoes jumped to the floor. Oops.

I hurried and finished my breakfast, rushing out of the uncomfortable feeling as quickly as I could, trying to savor the taste of my Benedict all the while. The waiter came to take my plate and eyed the potatoes on the floor. Damn. He found them. I would have made a joke, like: "Just call me clutzy Carrie!" and then laughed cleverly, but after the door incident, I'm pretty sure he already knew the current state of my clutziness and was not pleased with it.

Slightly flushed and ready to not be alone in an empty restaurant, I paid the bill ($11.75 for Eggs Benedict and Orange Juice), and walked out. They were probably relieved that the awkward, clutzy solo diner was leaving. I know I was.

Add about 10 or 15 people to the surroundings and I'm sure this place is a good place to enjoy the food, which tasted really really good, the little part of the menu that I sampled. So when you are sure you are going to be there, call me, k? I'd like to check it out again, buy my soul can only handle so much solitude under the observation of a chef and a waiter.



Open for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner
Seven days a week

Margo-rita Incites Jealousy, Lust

We all wanted a piece of her blistered, crunchy skin, slathered in tomato sauce and garlic, shimmering with mozzarella and fresh basil. She was beautiful. And she was all mine. Okay, fine, she belonged to my team, not just me.

There was nine of us all together, so we decided to break up into three teams and order three different pizzas around the giant square table in the back of Apizza Scholls. My team included Sara and Dave. Sara, a veteran diner of the restaurant, acted quickly. We should get the Margo-rita, she said. We agreed. First dibs on the pizza with the best personality - simple, but mature and well-seasoned. (Huh, that sounds suspiciously like me...)

Not that the other teams ordered shabby pizza - to my left was the Bacon Bianca, with fresh cheese and housemade bacon. And to my right was the pizza unknown - I can't remember what it was, because I didn't actually taste that one, but it was pretty.)

After we had each had a piece of Margo, the tangy tomato sauce, with the sweet fresh basil atop, we decided to be nice friends and share. "I wish I would have gotten that." "Margo sure is delicious." And other such comments were heard around the table. We were the champions of pizza. We had made the opposing teams jealous as they lusted after our prize pizza and wished there was enough for everyone. Simple tomato and mozzarella beat out bacon. Now that's an accomplishment, because really, doesn't bacon usually beat out anything? (Maybe that's only in my head, but I'm pretty sure I've heard Paula Deen say that once or twice.)

Of course, the other pizzas got eaten, too - in fact the Bacon Bianca was really great - A big strip of bacon right down the middle of my piece of pizza. Yah - I'm not going to find anything wrong with that.

At Apizza Scholls, they take only one reservation a night. We were lucky and scored a night that was free. Their service was prompt, their food was delicious. The crust, crispy and fresh from their volcano-hot ovens. In fact, I've been craving it ever since I left the restaurant. If I could have just one more piece of that Margo-rita. Mmmm. Yes. That is what I want out of life. One more piece.




**Thanks for the pictures, Sara!

Iorio (912 SE Hawthorne)

Iorio. A charming dinner at the bar. Beet salad, with shredded beets, red and golden, goat cheese and Oregonzola. Fresh seasonal ravioli. Warm foccacia bread with butternut squash spread. Friendly service with a waiter that sings while he works.

I am looking forward to going back. What? They have cooking classes?! Sign me up. Oh and you should make reservations, cause they were packed for the night, they were just nice enough to squeeze us in at the bar.

Café Castagna (1758 SE Hawthorne St.)

For so long I have been hearing on all the foodie discussion boards and blogs about how Café Castagna has the best burger in the city of Portland. A couple of weeks ago I decided to verify that statement.

And I declare: it's true. Thick, beefy burger cooked medium rare, with pickles that tasted homemade. It was delightful. And the mess of fries I got with it - crispy and thin. Just right.

I don't actually eat burgers very often because I don't find them to be a particularly interesting food. But when done right, they can be very tasty. And I found this to be extremely tasty.

I know some of you might be saying, "Wait a minute, missy! How can you say if this is the best burger in Portland when you just said you don't eat them very often?" And to you I say, Well, because it tasted better than any damn burger I have had pretty much anywhere, so in the world of Lizzy Dishes, I say it is the best.

My friend ordered the house-made Italian sausages - one very smooth, one not so much. Both of them very good. I can't describe the taste very well, because, well, the memory is blotted out by the memory of my burger. I do remember thinking that they were excellent, though.

I do remember the taste of the chocolate pot de creme that I ordered for dessert - a rich, dark chocolate with the mellowing touch of whipped cream, served with a fennel shortbread. A great finish to the meal. Sigh.

Ristorante Roma (622 SW 12th Ave.)

I'm not really into politics anymore. I am disenchanted by politicians. But somehow, when you get a group of friends together, at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and the discussion becomes a little passionate and political over a tartufo or a panna cotta, well, things just get a lot better.

Such was the other night at Ristorante Roma. I wasn't too hungry, so I had minestrone soup, which was deliciously bean-y and chock full of vegetables. I tasted the spaghetti carbonara, peppery and bacon-y, the ravioli, rich and flavorful and the pappardelle, sweet and creamy with sausage.

We jabbed politicians, confessed our reasons for voting for _____ and confessed our confusion, while we tasted the exquisite desserts. The tartufo, a chocolate powerball of hazelnuts and some kind of creme, and the panna cotta, looking beautiful with the nectarines and caramel sauce. We agreed it looked much better than the "vasectomy on a plate" as the waitress at the Wonder Cafe called it one time. As the conversation turned a bit more... um... sexy, the lights were turned down and the closed sign up just as they gave us the check. Great timing. There is nothing better. Here's to good friends!

Tabla Mediterranean Bistro (200 NE 28th)

It didn't start out well. Our table was uneven and every time I touched the table, it bobbled. We were seated next to a loud and obnoxious couple on a date. Not good vibes going for us. My friend told the waitress about our table. I didn't really think they would do anything about it - I mean every place has those uneven tables. But within 2 minutes, they had actually replaced the table! They moved our drinks and napkins and place settings off the table and swiftly replaced it, then re-set our table. Nice. Eating dinner on a stable table is much more pleasant than bobbliness.

The menu at Tabla Bistro was really mouth watering. I was back on my order-salad-but-feel-free-to-sample-other-people's-dinners diet. Even so, the Endive Salad I ordered with salt-roasted beets, black currents, sheep's milk feta and caramel vinaigrette made my mouth water all on its own, without any help from chicken, pasta or steak.

The house-cured mixed olives I ordered to start were beautiful. And when I started eating them, they were spicy, salty and meaty, living up to the visual perfection they began with. It was a hefty dish of olives, too - with the Pearl Bakery bread we had with it, well it could have been my whole meal.

But thank goodness I wasn't being THAT sensible! The beets and feta worked together to tickle my mouth with flavors both sweet and tangy, the caramel vinaigrette shimmering on the plate was the perfect mix and I couldn't get rid of the notion that I was eating salad with caramel sauce on it. Though vinaigrette was much tastier than caramel sauce, there was a bit of sauciness to it.

Kristin ordered the sea scallops and Portuguese chourico with chick peas and braised kale. I've never loved seafood. But these scallops - they tasted like steak. They were tender and matched with the bold chourico, it was they perfect combination. The chick peas and bright green kale - such a sight to see and to eat. Mmmm.

I probably could have eaten both Kristin's dinner and mine, they were both so delicious. And the service - I mean seriously when have you ever eaten at a restaurant where they replace your table because it's wobbly? Serious customer-centered service was evident throughout our meal. And the date next to us? Well they entertained us the whole night. There's nothing like eavesdropping on a date conversation, especially when it's awkward, loud, and a little bit drunken.

Pinocchio (1005 SW Park Ave)

We went to Pinocchio the other night, after seeing the Oregon Symphony Gospel Christmas (which was excellent!). I ordered the antipasto vegetable platter and some garlic bread. Kristin ordered the chicken special. The waitress was very nice and seemed to know a lot about the food. The vegetables were okay. Not great. The broccoli raab was way overcooked. The garlic bread was just too much. It was dripping with a ton of butter and garlic and parmesan cheese. So much that a tiny little crumb fell on my shirt and now my shirt is stained. Sometimes it's best to just leave a good thing alone, instead of trying to make it better. The bread was crispy and chewy - perfect probably on its own. But weighed down with so much effort, it was just mediocre.

I was interested to try this place after reading this. I'm glad I tried it. Wasn't really impressed. Might go back to give it a second try. Might not.

Nonna Emilia Ristorante (17210 SW Shaw, Aloha)

A group of my friends and I went to dinner a couple of weeks ago at Nonna Emilia. And, well, it was pretty bad. The waitress was not pleasant to deal with. She emphasized that she could not split the check. (Totally fine.) Then she said we all had to order at the exact same time (we were still waiting for people to show up) because even a 5 or 10 minute difference would mean that the food would all come out at different times. She was cranky.

I had a grilled chicken breast and salad. The chicken was dry and almost inedible. The salad was from a bag. My sister ordered spaghetti, which she said tasted like Ragu. Plus they served ginormous (I can say that because it's actually in the dictionary now!) portions. Each person had enough to eat for two or three meals. What a waste.

They did have an accordion player wandering around. I wanted to sing along. I really did. But he was in the other room every time he played a song that I knew. So it would have been more like me performing for my table and well, I just didn't want to jeopardize those friendships.

If Nonna Emilia was running against The Olive Garden in a presidential election, The Olive Garden would beat Nonna Emilia. But that's not to say that the country wouldn't suffer from tremendous indigestion. Either way, you're going to be sick.

Mississippi Pizza Pub (3552 N Mississippi Ave)

Have you ever seen the movie My Fair Lady? At the very beginning, Audrey Hepburn, a vagrant, is selling flowers on a London sidewalk, trying to earn her keep. An old man, a professor, is on the other side of a streetlight, writing down each word she says, in phonetics.

The other night at Mississippi Pizza Pub, we listened to the Flat Mountain Girls, a spirited bluegrass band. The room was super crowded and it was difficult to maneuver in and out if you had to get a drink or pizza, or make a trip to the restrooms.

There was a woman at our table who got up at least 5 or 6 times, despite the difficulty, to get another drink. She was there by herself - a 50ish woman. She was quiet and would occasionally yell out in support of the band. She had a little notebook and wrote in it nonstop before the concert, during the concert and during the breaks. What was unnerving was that she would look up every couple of minutes and look straight ahead - at us - and then keep writing.

After some time of her looking at us and writing, I wanted to shout out, just like Audrey Hepburn did in My Fair Lady, "That woman's taking down every bloody word I'm saying!" Doesn't that sound fun? Alas, I could not do it, but the urge was strong.

So back to Mississippi Pizza Pub. Their pizza is good. Thin crust and good toppings. It's always crowded. They have excellent music shows there and I think for the most part the cover charge is pretty cheap, $5 or so. If you are already sitting in the bar when the show is about to start, the pub girl walks over to you with a pitcher full of money she's collecting and asks you to pay your cover charge. Then, she draws a little red heart on your hand, instead of the usual ugly stamp, to show that you have paid. I think that's nice.

Good atmosphere, good music, good pizza.

Caro Amico Italian Cafe (3606 SW Barbur Blvd)

Caro Amico Italian Cafe is okay. Not anything spectacular. The entrees don't come with salad and even the cheapest side salad is $5.50. When you are paying $13.00 for Canneloni, it ends up being quite a lot for an average meal. The service was slow, but friendly. The Canneloni was good, but average. There was an ant on my table.

And that's pretty much all I have to say about that.

Laurelhurst Theater (2735 E. Burnside)

Everytime I see one of my friends, he asks me what movies I have seen lately. He thinks that because I am a movie buff and have seen a lot of movies in the past, that I go to the cinema a couple of times a week. Well, it just isn't so, as much as I would like it to be. Time, as well as the price of movies keeps me out of the cinema on a super regular basis.

One movie that I have been eluding for a while is The Last King of Scotland. For the past couple of months, every time I see my friend, he says, "Have you done your action item yet?" My action item - to see The Last King of Scotland. I was waiting to be in a really up mood before I took on a serious drama.

The Laurelhurst Theater was showing The Last King of Scotland a couple of weeks ago and my roommate and I decided to brave the Ugandan coup and see what Forest Whitaker won so many awards for.

It's a $3 admission price for any movie at the Laurelhurst. The smell of cheese, fresh baked crust and pepperoni overcomes me every time I walk in the doors and it's almost as if I'm on auto pilot to go stand in the sometimes very long pizza line. The pizza is about $3-4 a slice, depending on what kind you get. They also have a wide variety of tea, soda and beer that you can order and a water cooler available to everyone at the end of the counter.

The artistic chalkboards over the entrances to the theaters tell you which movies are playing in which theater and reminds me of when we were kids and I used to have movie night for the family, with fake tickets, a fake marquee (made out of a chalkboard) and fake theater seats (folding chairs with pillows and blankets on them). However, these seats are probably more comfortable than the ones I made as a child. The Laurelhurst even has tables in front of the seats for the back half of each theater, so that you can eat your dinner while you watch the movie.

We got there too late for a table, but had plenty of room to stow our plates at our feet after we were done eating. I, for one, was glad I finished eating before the movie started, since it was pretty violent and gory and I might have had a bit of gag reflex problem had I tried to multi-task eating and watching The Last King of Scotland. Forest Whitaker deserved the awards he got. And Portland deserves an award for the most awesome movie theater concept around. Pizza. $3 movies. Dinner and a movie for $6, $12 if you are paying for your date. Bargain.

P.S. Don't forget your ID when you go to the Laurelhurst - it's strictly 21+.

Bella Faccia Pizzeria (2934 NE Alberta St)

The view of Alberta Street is perfect from the front tables of Bella Faccia Pizzeria. Lots of hipster men with square glasses, longish hair and bags slung over their old-sweater covered shoulders. It's a good thing it is a good view, too, because we waited an hour for our pizza. Sitting in Bella Faccia for an hour, smelling the garlic, the onions, the cheese, the smells so pungent tickling my nose and instigating saliva streams in my mouth...well, I became desperate for the pizza to be in my mouth. So when the pizza finally got there, we all devoured it messily and immediately. I don't remember now what kind we got. I think one had chicken on it. It doesn't even matter. The smells were such glorious foreplay that the pizza itself was devoured in a frenzy, leaving me wanting more. That was my one night-stand with a pizzeria.