The guy who played Barney the purple dinosaur is alive and well. So is the dude from Blue's Clues—and he hasn't been to rehab. They're doing just fine, despite the urban legends.
Minds are blown at the table inside the cramped Hogan's Goat Pizza off Northeast Sandy Boulevard (note: it's now inside La Buca on 28th). "When you think about it, we wanted to believe that," says a 20-something California transplant wearing a Nike jogging suit because he didn't get up in time to buy matching pajamas with his roommates. "We wanted our childhood to die, so that we weren't just abandoning it."
This is the moment when the first Wake and Bake brunch at HunnyMilk officially feels like a success.
The stoney pop-up within a pop-up is a longtime dream of chef Brandon Weeks, a former pastry chef at the Painted Lady and Renata, and his girlfriend, Alexandra Franzen. Most weekends, the couple does a delightfully twee brunch—$20 gets you a drink, savory course and sweet course chosen from eight to 10 options. The rotating menu includes miso-inflected quiche, duck egg and pork hash, and a carrot cake waffle topped with cream cheese mousse. Every table has homemade coloring sheets and crayons. Drinks include a guava mimosa and a cup of caramel hot cocoa topped with a thick layer of marshmallow that drinks like a sundae.
Last weekend, HunnyMilk closed for its first Wake and Bake brunch, which featured the same menu I had sampled sober the week before, but turned into a cannabis-aided experience, complete with a projector showing episodes of The Care Bears and DuckTales. Tickets were $42, and attendees got a generous goodie bag that included two pre-rolls and a selection of three 1-gram samples from local growers—about $50 in product.
You aren't allowed to even vape in a space that has a liquor license—bored and overpaid officials continue their senseless jihad against cannabis—so HunnyMilk arranged to have the yellow High Five tour bus out front as a pre-meal smokers' lounge. I took a hard toke off the pre-roll of Platinum Girl Scout Cookies from Ten Four Farms and half-hits off the other joints passed around. Then I went inside.
Turns out, brunch is better when you're high.
Everything about HunnyMilk demonstrates Weeks and Franzen's careful attention to detail—this is a place where the biscuit plate comes with a little note bearing a Gandhi quote about biscuits. But that mindfulness became especially conspicuous with a light buzz.
Take those cartoons. The reel wasn't just some random episodes transferred from VHS, but a carefully curated selection that even included a commercial for a Chuck Norris Karate Kommandos doll starring Franzen's brother. I happened to be standing near her when it rolled. "That paid for his college," she said quietly.
The revelations went beyond the surprising crudeness of '80s cartoons. I also better appreciated the way the baby Dutch babies in their square cast-iron pans grew chilly under a scoop of creme brulee ice cream. And the way the yellow yolk of a poached egg oozed so slowly into the silky smooth grits and oily chimichurri as I gnawed through the meaty dry-rubbed, sous-vide and fried rib plated with it. And I took some time to ponder the "open face croissant-donut sammy," which was neither a croissant nor a doughnut nor a sandwich, but rather rich and buttery dough topped with a sunny egg and gooey cheddar.
The menu changes every few weeks, so you might not find the same options. Don't worry too much: Everything we had on both visits was good.
But it was better high. Sign up for the Wake and Bake mailing list, and you'll get the details on the next event, scheduled for April 20. If tickets are gone—the first batch sold out in 15 minutes, and we can't even blame scalpers this time—swing by the dispensary, then cue up some classic DuckTales.
The actor who voiced Scrooge McDuck, scarcely understandable to adult ears through his burry brogue? Alan Young, who's still alive at age 96.
GO: HunnyMilk, 5222 NE Sacramento St.,40 NE 28th Ave, Portland, OR 97232. (Inside "La Buca.") 320-7805, hunnymilk.com. 9 am-2 pm Saturday-Sunday.
Willamette Week