Kuppi Teetä

The first full phrase I learned in Finnish was “kuppi teetä, kittos,” which means “cup of tea, thank you.” It was really the only phrase I needed. I’d slide my little tray down the cafe line, pick up a pulla from the case and order my tea. After counting out my euros and lamenting the cost a bit internally (upwards of eight American dollars for a tea and a pastry) I’d sit and take in the quiet, cool Helsinki landscape. I don’t remember much about what I would think or how long I would sit, but it was my favorite moment of the day.


Lessons from Portland, the city that doesn’t want to serve you

Recently mom and I went on a little mom/daughter trip to Portland and spent forty eight hours doing whatever we damn well pleased, which was mostly watching Project Runway, chatting about everyone we know and eating.

My parents have a joke with some friends that Portland is the city that doesn’t want to serve you because you wait a long time for EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE in Portland. You wait to be seated, you wait for drinks, you wait for someone to take your order, you wait for your order to come out, you wait for your bill – you get the picture. And while this theory didn’t stand up in every situation – it did apply to the vast majority of our dining experiences.

An exception to the rule was Imperial where we ate the first night because I heart Douggie. While service was slow – but acceptable to us as we were taking our time, we were seated right away partly because unlike many other locations in Portland, you can make an actual reservation. We learned three important lessons.

  1. Grilled meats should be cut at an extreme angle with a serrated knife. Mom & I were seated at the Chef’s table (see number three) and were able to watch incredible grilling/smoking action up close and personal. Although neither of us ended up ordering any grilled beasts – we did watch a number of plates come together. Every steak, chop and chicken breast was cut beautifully at a deep angle with a serrated knife and then placed on top of necessary sauces, sides, etc.

    Imperial Flank Steak photo via OpenTable

    This is how all grilled meat should be cut always and forever, it is most beautiful. Now, every time something comes off the grill at home I cut it a la Imperial and Matt rolls his eyes. But even with a healthy dose of skepticism he agrees meat looks better cut this way.

  2. Pickled Watermelon rind = big thumbs up, smoked then pickled mushrooms = big thumbs down. Enough said.
  3. OpenTable offers valuable insight on guests if the host would only bother to use it. I consistently rant and rave (wait till I get my New York post finished) about being seated at TERRIBLE tables in fine dining establishments due to what I can only assume is ageism and my inexplicably youthful vibe. When I’ve made a reservation you can be assured of two things ONE, I really want to eat here and TWO, I’m going to spend some money. AND YET I am consistently seated at the tiny uneven table next to the bathroom and service entrance. However, at Imperial – we were assigned one table by the host, then after a quick glance down at what I can only assume is my OpenTable profile – he said, “no, wait – seat them at Chef’s Table.” I don’t know what it says in there but I wish more hosts paid attention to it.

The next morning Mom and I waited almost two hours to eat at Broder Nord. We had little else to do that day except make it to Powells and a movie – so didn’t mind so much, particularly because the food was epically delicious and epically scandinavian (is my bias showing?). A few important take aways here though:

  1. Dark bread and smoked fish should really be the staple of every breakfast. Imagine how happy and healthy and productive people would be if this is how they started their day? Just saying.
  2. Just order the Swedish Breakfast Bord. Anyone who’s spent any time in Scandinavia will be immediately and happily transported back by this excellent and authentic spread.
  3. Do not take your family of five to brunch at a restaurant in Portland that is über hip, über Portland and über unwilling to take reservations. We watched a family of five from Boston literally melt down waiting to be seated at this tiny, slow restaurant. At the point Mom and I were starting to get antsy (and were still 20 minutes away from a table) these folks were told it would be another hour and a half. Chaos ensued. Make good food and vacation choices people.
  4. Will someone please invest in a Scandinavian place in Seattle? I’m available for consultation.

Our final major meal was another brunch at The Woodsman Tavern, which is a little off the beaten path and takes reservations (in Portland….whaaatttt???).

  1. Pickled collard greens are delicious. I never, ever thought I would want to eat pickled collard greens but seeing them on the menu served alongside shaved ham, blueberry jam and a cheddar biscuit – curiosity over took me. The entire ensemble was delicious and great compliments to one another. Pickled collard greens for breakfast = thumbs up. Smoked then pickled mushrooms = still big thumbs down (they were really awful).
  2. Everything hip is noisy and I’m tired of it. I loved the food on this menu, I loved the feel and style of this place and I HATED the noise. Top offenders in Seattle include Crow (although the pictures I am seeing now show big plushy curtains – so improvements perhaps) and Oddfellows. I am not sure why modern restaurants feel the need to drown their guests in the presence of exceptionally live space, but there are some ways to mitigate this – not the least of which is FOAM under ALL HARD SURFACES. Does it feel a little weird when noticed? Yes. How many people will notice? Not many. Will everyone hear the people at their tables better and have a generally more pleasant meal? YES. Worth it. Foam. Take it under advisement.

Of the three, Broder is the only place I must eat at again  – if accompanied by very patient companions. We just scratched the surface of the city that doesn’t want to serve you. Looking forward to the next round and future lessons. Who’s with me?