Chez Delicious

I hit Chez Joly up for the last night of the four course meal for $2o.09 a couple of weeks ago. I was impressed.

Pâté Made With Marsala Wine and Pistachio. Served With Crostini and Cornichons: Smooth, creamy, mild, rich.

Oignon Gratinee - Slowly Sautéed Caramelized Onions and Herbs with Baguette and Gruyere Cheese: Beef broth, sweet onions, melty cheese, chewy bread.

Poulet Romarin - Roasted Chicken Breast and Leg Rubbed With Fresh Rosemary With Sautéed Haricot Vert and Roasted Potatoes: Crispy skin chicken, with bright rosemary taste throughout the moist meat. Potatoes crispy and few - just the right amount.

Galette de Pommes an Fromage - Apple and Goat Cheese Tart: Small piece of delight to end the meal.

The service was great and the meal was really fabulous. I can't wait to go back and try more of their dishes. This was a really good deal for $20.

All the Single People..and family people... and lonely people... and everyone else, too.

Sometimes the benefits of single life are debatable. Sometimes they are not. On this particular night, I didn't feel like being at home. It was 9:00 and I had no commitments, no one waiting for me at home. I drove through downtown. Nothing really looked inspiring. I drove across the Hawthorne Bridge. Then I remembered. The late night fry cart.

Next to the car dealership at 12th and Hawthorne, across the street from Burgerville, a semi-circle of food carts glowed in the dark, like a camp of covered wagons. There was more than a fry cart. There was a creperie and Mexican food and BBQ and Italian. It looked a little intimidating, even for me, who is not afraid of heading out alone on the weekend.

I texted my friend Jen and we conspired to meet up in 40 minutes when she got done with work. As we approached the camp, loud music was playing and there was quite a few people standing around - some munching on fries.

The Potato Champion cart had some interesting offerings: Poutine (fries with gravy and cheese curds) and regular fries, with so many sauce options it was dizzying. We ordered the Poutine because hello, fries+gravy+cheese? Then we ordered some regular fries and the tarragon anchovy mayo and the rosemary truffle ketchup. Who thinks these combos up? Because I wouls like to kiss him. Or her. Or at least give them a really big hug.

There was one guy, who was finishing up his fries and we watched him jealously while he finished the last of them. Then when he got up, we snagged his seat. And. Delightful. The picnic table has holes in it! To hold the cones of fries. Genius. It was windy and cold, so thank heavens for the outdoor heater they had going on.

As we sat chomping on our fries, a cute little family came up to the cart - now mind you it was 10:30 at night by this time - with two kids and a dog, the kids probably 10 and 12, or something like that. Adorable and out for a late night treat. What cool parents. That's gonna be me sometime. If my ovaries don't expire first.

The fries were crispy and hot and creamy inside - the sauces were a nice exploration of flavor and I want to try all of them. I think it was $8 for everything and we were pleased with our choices. The Poutine was a bunch of carmelized onions, with a little gravy and cheese curds - it tasted like MY onion gravy that I make, so I loved it!

Meanwhile, a couple rode up on bikes. He was wearing a tux. She was wearing a floor length formal with some flats. Did I mention they were on bikes? They ordered crepes from the next door crepe cart after debating fries or crepes.

Another group wandered up. "I think it's kind of weird to have a place that ONLY sells fries," said one guy, who had clearly never eaten anywhere except Applebees and Macaroni Grill. "But they are really good!" The girl was losing the argument. Finally, they decided to order fries and also get some take out on the way home, because the guys felt that you couldn't have just fries. You definitely needed something else.

We actually decided that, too. So we ordered some crepes. I ordered chocolate and pear. "Do you want the Frangelico with that?" Dancing crepe making girl asked, as the music blared from their cart. I looked at Jen. "That's alcohol," she said. I started laughing. Yes! Give me the Frangelico. Jen promised to take my keys if I got tipsy. (See previous incident in my life involving rum cake.) They put a very small amount of Frangelico in the crepe, which was cooked on the circle hot plate thingy while they added pears and chocolate. Jen ordered lemon and sugar.

Amazing. Delicious. Perfect end to the night. We headed back to my car, where we finished up our crepes, wadded up the paper wrapping they were in and hollered as we threw them over our shoulders, into the garbage can... I mean my back seat. "Single girls can eat fries and crepes for dinner at 10:30 at night!" Jen was right. We can do whatever we want!

But that night we had seen a family, a single person, a couple on a date, and a group of friends. It made me happy that we can all, no matter our circumstances, enjoy some excellent treats late at night, outside in the cold.

SE Twelfth and Hawthorne Food Carts



Perierra Crêperie

Open from 8pm - 3am, Wednesday through Saturday

My Tongue Is Delighted

The first time I had a macaron from Ken's Artisan Bakery, it was a favor from a baby shower. I picked up my chocolate spice macaron on the way out the door. It looked so enticing that before we were out of the driveway, the little cellophane bag was open and the fluffy sweetness was in my mouth.

As I was licking my fingers, some of the other guests walked past us on their way out, seeing my tongue fleet in and out, not allowing one iota of sugar to escape. But I didn't really care. The taste of the cookie was too creamy, chewy and chocolate-y to be squashed by embarrassment. From that moment on, I wanted more.

Saturday, my new roommate and I decided to head to Ken's to check out the morning fare of baked goods. My tongue was practically jumping out of my mouth as I saw that they had Apricot Macarons, in addition to the Chocolate Spice ones. I ordered one of each and a cannele. Oh and a fresh cherry tart. Ansley ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a macaron of her own.

As we sat, not so discreetly eavesdropping on the people beside us plan their business floorplan, and eating our sweets, the wind blew through the open retractable wall and I savored the sweet summer morning. The cherries were tart atop a sweet cream, and the cannele, a sweet spongy mini bundt cake-like pastry was just perfect. The macarons - I took them home, only to savor them after my lunch later on in the afternoon. Even though I had tasted them before, they properly stunned my tastebuds with their subtle spiciness and their overtly first-place-in-the-world-of-macarons chewy sweetness.

The grilled cheese, which I was so grateful to have a bite of, was gloriously gooey and cheesy - a french cheese, similar to brie, generously slabbed and melted atop walnut bread and toasted with a panini press. This was heaven. Finger-licking heaven.

Thanks, Ken. Please don't ever leave Portland. Please.

Will You Marry Me? Okay. Fine. Then take me to Lucier instead.

"So I promised the valet that I would go back for a drink. You guys want to meet me there?" I was hesitant. The 4th of July. I was not dressed up. No, in fact, I think you could say that I was definitely dressed down. Lucier is rumored to have a dress code. And a river running through it. (Now that would be very Robert Redford-ish if there really was!) Not the place I would go in my grubbies after sitting in the dirt watching the fireworks on the waterfront.

Laura seemed confident though - "Oh they'll let us in, it's just the bar." Why the hell not. Sure. Let's try it. We greeted the valet, who remembered Laura. Wait. Stop right there. If the evening had ended right then, it would have been enough. The valet was as hot as the 4th of July. And it actually WAS the 4th of July, so I can verify the accuracy of that statement. I reflected on my own appearance as I stared at him.

My eye makeup was of course smeared from the heat and the business of the day and by 10:30 I looked like a full-fledged heroin addict, with ripped jeans and a t-shirt and a red fleece blanket crumpled in my arms from the fireworks show. Ah well. Sometimes it's hot to just be yourself, yes? (The correct answer is: YES. Thanks for playing.)

The valet, darling as he was, assured us that we were not underdressed. "You know there's no dress code here. It says 'business casual', and this is Portland after all. You guys are fine."

We wandered to the patio and I caught a glimpse of the dining room on our way. H. O. L. Y. Did the architects know they were building a restaurant in PORTLAND? The chandeliers, tablecloths and flowers made me cough a little and cover up, as if I was exposing some part of myself.

We found the perfect place to sit - a couch and two cushy chairs around a coffee table. Mmmm. The menu was short. And French. My eyes went straight to the truffled parsnip chips (parsnip chips gratinees, black truffle-infused oil, bra tenero cheese). And some kind of fried cheese things (Fourme d’ambert cromesquis, fourme d’ ambert cheese croquette sauternes & honeycomb syrup). My friends ordered all manner of desserts.

The waitresses all wore uniforms of silky/satiny halter tops, black slacks and high heels. Malibu Barbie was our waitress. The original Barbie was in there somewhere, too. But all the Barbies were nice and friendly and spot-on waitresses. I'm only calling them Barbies because I'm jealous. Truly. They were all as hot as the valet. I began to wonder: Am I really in Portland or am I on a strange drug-trip to 90210?

Sigh. The food was A-mazing. The parsnip chips? Yah. Could have eaten the plate of them all myself and maybe even a second plate of them. The deep truffle flavor and salt permeated the delicate parsnips and it all came together with the cheese that was melted on top. Think hoity-toity nachos that rock. Thank goodness my pride was a little on guard that night and I refrained from the desperation-second-order. There was no need, really. The desserts, which included a black pepper cheesecake and jasmine creme brulee and then a chocolate fancy dish, had really interesting flavor combinations. I liked them and thought that the the pastry chef must be intriguing. I am really more of a salt person, though. I could have stuck with the chips and cheese and been so so happy. Instead, I pushed it a little farther and was stuffed.

Right about the time I was going to go into a food coma, Malibu Barbie came by and told us that it was last call. Sara and Chelsea went to the bathroom and came back all agog and with a beautiful brown fancy-dinner-napkin like paper towel as a souvenir.

As we were leaving, the waitress gave us a tour of the dining room. Gasp! There IS a river running through it. Not kidding. Well, it is really more of a trickle in a tiled moat around the dining room. But still. A river runs through it. She was talking about the symbolism of the different styles and walls and how it all reflects Portland, but I just kept thinking that I needed to run home and shower and put on some really nice clothes before I could understand anything that she was saying.

It is really, really beautiful. The food is rich and flavorful and memorable. I really want to go to dinner there, but it's going to have to be an occasion that's worth it. This is not a Friday night, restaurant group kind of a place. It's a 50th anniversary place. Or a my book just got published place. Or OMG I just got a $5,000 bonus at work place. Or a marriage proposal place.

But I don't put it past myself to dress up one night and pretend that one of those things is happening to me, just so I can eat dinner there.

Le Provence Bistro and Bakery (15964 Boones Ferry Road, Lake Oswego)

After a long massage on Saturday morning, I sauntered into Le Provence in Lake Oswego to get a muffin. The line at the counter was long. There was no line for seating. So I sat.

I was craving the Eggs Benedicte, which is on a croissant and historically has been extremely filling and satisfying. The service was very fast. So fast that my Eggs Benedicte was (is it was or were?) cold. Why was it cold? It was strange. I mean it was less than 5 minutes before they brought it out. Did they accidentally make an extra one? Did someone send it back? Don't know. But it was cold.

I love Le Provence. But I do not love cold eggs. Also, for a place that is so uppity in price and location, I think it's odd to have a basket of gold-wrapped butter and made-100-years-ago jam. Don't you? Why wouldn't they bring you fresh butter on your plate and a choice of fresh jams and jellies?

Also, the potatoes were especially oily this time. What happened to you, Le Provence? Were you just having a bad day? I understand. But snap out of it, will you? There are people who need a good breakfast and cold and oily just doesn't do the trick!

Le Bistro Montage (301 SE Morrison)

Do you remember when your mom used to yell at you to come in the house when you were at the neighbor's house? "Elizzzzzaaaabbbeeetttthhh!" Yep, that's the sound. We had only been on the waiting list at Le Bistro Montage for about three minutes when the hostess, one foot inside the restaurant and one foot out, cupped her mouth and shouted my name in a mad-mom voice. Turns out, she wasn't really mad. It was just time for us to be seated.

We skipped the appetizers because they were out of black-eyed pea fritters and only had alligator and froglegs left. We went straight to the meal. Fried chicken breast with garlic mashed potatoes and vegetables, including broccoli, peas and greens cooked in some kind of yummy sauce. The chicken and potatoes were lacking a little salt, but other than that, it was perfect. I had a taste of the macaroni and cheese which was nice and saucy and also tasted the pork loin in apple chutney. Divine.

We were so excited to get the leftovers, which we had seen people exiting the restaurant with, wrapped creatively in tin foil sculptures. What would we go home with? A very eager to help waiter (maybe he was new) with long dredlocks came over and said "Let me move some of this stuff for you, so you can have a little more elbow room." That was nice. He took my plate, upon which I had painstakingly left a small portion of everything to be wrapped up. Splat. He grabbed the other plates and plopped them right on top of my carefully preserved potatoes. He took my friend Karen's plate and carried it separately from the others. Oh good, we thought. Karen is visiting from out of town and it will be nice that at least SHE will get a tin foil sculpture of her leftovers, which were quite a lot, actually.

Five minutes went by, 10 minutes. No sculpture. The same waiter came over and filled up our water glasses again. No sculpture. Our leftovers were gone forever. Now we HAVE to go back and eat more delicious food and leave even more on our plates so that we can get cool sculptures, like everyone else.

Le Happy (1011 NW 16th Ave.)

I (with my friends) arrived at Le Happy in NW Portland around 12:15 on a Sunday morning. The dark, candle-lit room was casually buzzing with friendly jabber bouncing off of the colorful walls. A group of about 10 people in the corner, all wearing very stylish skirts and suits leaned into a table, wrapping up a night out. Another couple was chatting quietly with a woman, their table up against the wall where three paintings of fried eggs hung. The woman, a lanky blonde wearing jeans, motioned to us and then said loudly over the chatter "Sit wherever you want - I'll be right with you."

She took her time finishing up her conversation and then wandered over to where we were sitting in the tiny restaurant. Behind us, a group of three women were showing the bartender their shoes, laughing loudly as he made smart-ass comments to them. The waitress squatted next to our table and asked us how we were doing. We looked tired, she said. We were. But we wanted crepes.

We ordered, amid the laughter, the loud music and entrancing candlelight that was slowly lulling me to sleep as we waited for our food. My friend picked up the candle and swirled the watery wax until the candle went out. The waitress, noticing that our table had gone dark, brought us a replacement.

For my dessert, I chose the most decadent crepe, called Spectac. And it was! A light, melty crepe filled with Nutella and bananas, in a puddle of Grand Marnier. Flambe. The Grand Marnier married the hazelnut and banana flavors perfectly in my mouth and then burned my virgin throat. I thought to myself that I could not possibly finish such a gluttonous dish at 1:00 in the morning. But the crepe seemed to be feeding me small amounts of giddy energy as I consumed bite after bite and laughed more and more at the rather dull conversation going on between my friends and I.

My friend took my car keys from me, said goodbye to our new friend the waitress and we headed home, markedly happier than when we had arrived.