Futility Now

So, here are the places we went with friends last night:

Matchbox Lounge,

Pok Pok,

The Pix on Division.

Hazel and I have, in the past, made several concerted efforts to love The Matchbox. It’s fairly close to us, and its cocktails vary from pretty good to quite good. Also, the house drinks are all enormous. The service, however, is pretty shoddy, even by Portland’s rather relaxed standards, and through the filter of forgiveness provided by my many years in service. Also, everything we have gotten to eat there has been pretty unremarkable. It does, however, make a totally suitable place to sit while you wait for a table at Pok Pok.

Pok Pok is hilariously set up. I’m not sure if it’s the result of whimsy or expedient, but by the time you get to your seat in that place you’re expecting to be seated next to a guy with a bull’s head. We were very happy with both the beverages and the snacks there. I guess I had one quibble, which is that I got a negroni that was a bit heavy on the Campari. Campari is a real nuance killer, so you have to ration it rather closely in mixed drinks. Once you’re over the line, no amount of punt e mes is going to bring you back, and the whole thing may as well have been Campari and soda. Which I guess is great for sixty year old Italian ladies, or something. Also, whole fish is almost always awesome (alliteration!)

Pix is, of course, very charming. The one we went to is a bit close, which was exacerbated last night by the fact that approximately 8 MILLION people were in there clamoring for confections of various kinds. I have been made to understand that the proprietor of the Pix empire is trying to unload it. While it definitely seems like a low-margin store, this is probably more of a too-much-work problem more than it is a not-enough-money-problem. I hope that the outcome to this situation is that things stay largely as they are, which is, I suppose, a positive sign in itself.

As huge fans of The Savoy, we’ve been sort of offhandedly considering going to Broder for a while now. In fact, we tried to go there Friday night, but they aren’t open for dinner any more. Hard times all around.

Instead, we went for brunch on Sunday. It was very nice.

As you can see, there’s a bit of a premium on presentation. You might also notice that compared to the somewhat ridiculous portions shoveled at you from any kitchen running before about 4 in the afternoon, there’s a reasonably edible quantity of food here.

The other good thing about the food is that it’s, well, good. Or “well good,” if I were some old limey. At any rate, things were definitely delicious, and having acorn squash instead of potatoes is a cool idea (not that I have anything against potatoes, but variety is the metaphor of cliches, or something.) The bloody mary there is also excellent, although it had a lot of straw-blocking stuff floating around in the bottom of it.

Also, we sat at a counter facing the tiny kitchen, and the one guy who they had doing all the grill work was a real titan. At any rate, we were deeply pleased. The end.

It seems sort of nice when you don’t have to hear it. In a sign of America’s increased optimism in the face of non-retarded leadership the place was packed this weekend, and it definitely projected a melodious soundscape, rich in the tones of freedom and, umm, tequila.

Part of the reason that we’re trying to escape, however, is that La Carretta has become the least of it. There’s a new development going in right next to that venerable booze-house, and it’s going to be called, get this, “The Shops at Brooklyn Yards.” I guess there’s not a lot to add once that’s out of the way. Where was that tequila again?

Although this happened before we went to beautiful Canada I decided to post it immediately afterward for some reason, and that reason was not the opportunity to put some kind of fake Scheme expression in the title field, I promise.

AT ANY RATE, this is a sandwich I made from a broad cross-section of leftovers we brought home from Christmas Eve dinner:

Ham, artichoke hearts, 2 kinds of salami, sun dried tomato and (although you can’t see them) green beans. It was pretty unbelievable.

So we went to Vancouver B.C. (not WA) for New Year’s Eve. Vancouver is pretty cool. It has reasonable architecture, a marvelous waterfront, and some really weird birds.

In lieu of the sort of festivities you young people are all so in favor of, we stayed in and cooked short ribs.

They were delicious, and we didn’t have to listen to anyone shout “wooo!” at the top of their lungs, or vomit. I’m not a huge fan of vomit.

Here’s a picture of C sitting pensively at the dinner table.

Luckily that ominous atmosphere is just a trick of the light. Nobody’s life was tragically and bloodily snuffed out in the immediate aftermath of this picture’s being taken.

Happy New Year.