Yam
Yam's 112
NE Killingsworth St., 284-1272.
11 am-1 am Mondays-Thursdays, 11 am-3 am Fridays and Saturdays.
Inexpensive.
Picks:
Pork rib dinner, fried okra, yams, peach cobbler
Nice touch: Inside, the walls form one gigantic community
bulletin board.
Although barbecue is most often considered the official grub
of summer cookouts, it assumes a new significance during the
chilly season. All those calories, all that excess fat so
endemic to the cuisine--both insulate the bones from the shivering,
damp cold and aid in the process of hibernation by inducing
a deep, satiated sleep.
For many a soul strangled by sheer vanity, such pound-packing
requires an unthinkable leap of faith. But if you can punt
the misguided no-carbo craze or escape the evil clutches
of your support group for one hedonistic splurge, then Yam
Yam's in North Portland will gladly have you for an authentic,
Southern meal.
An eye-catching former gas station turned pink-and-purple
rib shack, Yam Yam's has been running strong for nearly
three years and has established a reputation for consistent,
dependable soul food. This time of year it's mainly a take-out
joint, but even without sit-down diners the place is always
packed with hungry mobs.
The small entry room gives off the vibe of a community
center as folks shoot the shit and fill the air with a gossipy
din of chuckles and gasps. In the background, Yam Yam's
kitchen drives the mood of the crowd. From radio-friendly
soul to thumpin' beats, the jams get pumped up to make customers
tap their feet and, I suspect, to keep the cooks moving
through the multitude of orders that come in at all hours
of the night.
This hubbub takes place amid the abundant smoke unique
to pork barbecue that circulates throughout Yam Yam's. It
has a pungent smell that commands immediate attention for
its subtle hint of pepper that tickles far up into the nose.
The pork rib dinner is the most popular meal here, and that
tasty, foglike smoke could explain why.
At $9.25, this dinner comes with four ribs, two side dishes
(from a list of eight) and two pieces of plain-Jane sandwich
bread. It's by no means a small amount of food, but the
package could use an extra rib or two to really maximize
that satiated barbecue buzz so cherished by indulgent Southerners.
As far as authenticity and flavor are concerned, though,
Yam Yam's is on the money. The slow-cooked pork falls off
the long bones with only the slightest pull. Not rubbery
or overcooked, the meat is happily swallowed, leaving behind
the peppery, sugar-infused sauce to swish around the tongue.
Those two random pieces of white bread thrown in aren't
just takin' up space, either. Standard issue with a genuine
barbecue dinner, they are used to sop up the extra sauce
that pools beneath the ribs or the salty, leftover runs
from the perfectly boiled collard greens.
Another popular feast at Yam Yam's is the dinner special
($13.50), which sports a quarter-chicken, two pork ribs,
two beef ribs and two sides. It's enough for two people,
although the fried chicken makes a smarter choice than the
barbecued variety.
An experienced customer behind me made the right move and
ordered the primo-looking fried fowl with his dinner special,
and I watched the kitchen work it up. It just looked more
balanced than the total 'cue option, probably because the
dry, crispy crumbles on the chicken fell into the sauced-up
pork and beef ribs. Yum.
As for the sides, the mac and cheese is mushy and forgettable
(literally forgotten on one trip), but the same cannot be
said of the divine fried-okra nuggets. They are both crisp
and tender in the same bite, lightly breaded and herbed.
And yet these nugs remain only the second-best side dish
at Yam Yam's. The best, by no small margin, is the scoop
of mistakenly named yams, which, technically, are sweet
potatoes and not yams at all. True yams are native tropical
tubers that are rarely marketed in the United States because
sweet potatoes are so similar and readily available. As
a rule, yams also contain more natural sugar than sweet
potatoes, although the cooks at Yam Yam's make up for this
by upping the brown-sugar quotient on their side dish and
dusting it with cinnamon. These are smooth taters, almost
to the point of creamy.
Even more amazing, these sweet potatoes are not quite dessert.
That honor goes to Yam Yam's nearly pornographic peach cobbler,
which takes us even higher into the sugar stratosphere.
Good cobbler usually looks like a nice little pie with
its face punched in; the mess at Yam Yam's fits the image
to a tee. This discombobulated ode to sugary chaos means
you're liable to get a chunk of crispy and a glop of moist
in every bite. The paradox is addicting and does not let
you stop to notice that one mouthful of this peachy keenness
is as rich as eating the whole thing.
Don't wait for summer as your big excuse to experience
the fulfilling gluttony of Yam Yam's Southern comfort. Instead,
call in a hideously large order for din-din. Eat up. Get
really full. Sleep and be warm.
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Willamette Week | originally
published December 15,
1999
|
