Restaurant Guide 2009: All listings

3 Doors Down

This 15-year-old Hawthorne-neighborhood restaurant doesn’t miss a beat, from its talented staff, many of whom have been there for years, to the fresh, mostly Mediterranean menu. The top-selling and always delicious house pasta is the tortiglione in a slowly simmered, spicy vodka-spiked red sauce with sweet Italian sausage. Although entrees and pastas are substantial here, don’t forgo salads and starters. The bibb lettuce salad with chives, bacon and a creamy garlic aioli dressing is worth a trip alone, and the potato gnocchi with just-sliced, creamed corn and pickled peppers with a glass of rosé is summer incarnate.
Order this: Pan roasted chicken with smoky bacon, chanterelle-studded creamed corn and a pile of just-picked cherry tomatoes.
Best deal: Starters, including half-shell oysters, seared scallops, truffle potatoes and brothy clams.
I’ll pass: The complimentary white bean spread with bread is so thick with rosemary it tastes perfumed.

Acadia

If you’re looking for a tasty Cajun meal without flying a couple thousand miles to Louisiana, this candle-lit Irvington eatery is your place. A small plate of poached gulf shrimp or the boudin sausage croquettes are both good places to start from the appetizers menu. But there’s no need to fill up on those small starters, since Acadia’s entrees are doggie-bag plentiful. The blackened catfish with pickled corn relish and citrus-mint butter is melt-in-your-mouth tasty. And, of course, be sure to order the jambalaya with smoked chicken, tasso, Andouille, crawfish tails and gulf shrimp. If you’re uninitiated in Cajun, be ready to order at least a couple of beers to cool down the heat.
Order this: The blackened catfish.
Best deal: A side of red beans and rice ($4) is a must-have complement to any entree.
I’ll pass: The sautéed Louisiana shrimp with fried eggplant and smoked tomato butter could have used more than three shrimp.

Al Forno Ferruzza

This Alberta Street pie joint, opened in late February, sprang from a popular food cart near Portland State University specializing in thin-crusted, freakishly good pizza, calzones, scarpetta and stromboli. Owner Stephen Ferruzza, whose dad was born in Sicily, favors high-quality ingredients, such as the Argentine reggianito that’s sprinkled on just about everything that leaves the kitchen. No matter what bubbly baked thing you order, the dough is filled or topped with a medley of 10 or more rotating ingredients: northern propeller clams, caramelized Walla Wallas, salami, roasted black olives and sun-dried tomatoes are just a few. Al Forno’s decor bucks the polished-concrete minimalism of many newer restaurants. A worn couch and comfy chair in a corner strewn with books share the floor with mismatched tables and chairs and an open kitchen with a counter made from reused wood pallets. Big murals and burlap coffee sacks adorn the walls. It’s a cobbled-together joint, run by a group of friends, that happens to serve incredible food.
Order this: Stromboli, a sesame seed-encrusted pizza pocket filled with salty cured meats, vegetables and cheese.
Best deal: Kickass pizza on super-thin crust.
I’ll pass: The cannoli sounds good—with blended maple syrup, ricotta, Valencia orange and bourbon vanilla—but is heavy and grainy.

Alexis

You don’t come to this weathered West Burnside standby for fancy fusion entrees or kiss-your-ass service. You come for a giant helping of old-school Greek “opa”—complete with lemony hummus, sharable plates of tender braised lamb, oregano- and olive oil-rubbed roast chicken and shot after shot of sharp, anise-flavored ouzo. It’s all about tradition here at the Bakouros family’s 29-year-old Mediterranean taverna. Gorge yourself on sesame seed-sprinkled hard bread and giant plates loaded with crisp, deep-fried calamari and tart lamb-stuffed dolmathes. Save a single for the belly dancers—they come shake their sequin-covered goodies every Friday and Saturday. Yiamas!
Order this: The spanakopita, with its delicate layers of spiced spinach and feta is a phyllo-dough phenom.
Best deal: A titanic Alexis appetizer platter and a $22 bottle of piney Retsina wine (it tastes like lighter fluid, in a good way).
I’ll pass: The moussaka is a gummy, bland eggplant letdown.

Alu

Alu changed hands and pretty much everything else but its name when it reopened in July. The exposed closet of a kitchen is headed by Sean Temple, formerly of Paley’s Place, and the food produced within is generally on the small side, too. The thinly sliced duck prosciutto drizzled with olive oil and served with a mince of peach and rosemary is really good, as are the young potatoes with fava beans, bacon and poached egg in an onion-blossom-studded vinaigrette. Alu serves hard-to-find wines and fantastic cocktails. The Fleur d’Agave cocktail with Milagro Silver, lime juice and housemade triple sec in an agave and Maldon sea salt-rimmed glass is so good it hurts.

Order this: Maine lobster and fresh mint pita with lightly dressed arugula.
Best deal: The Salacious martini made with Broker’s Gin and halved and speared Castelvetrano olives topped with specialty salts from the Meadow.
I’ll pass: “Destination of discovery” PR-speak pervades the menu.

Andina

Probably the best reason to set foot in the Pearl District, Andina serves up dishes that are as superb as they are unusual. While Portland is rife with praiseworthy Euro-Northwest restaurants, there’s little Peruvian fare, and Andina stands a head taller than the best of its scant competition. Though its meat-starch-veggie entrees are reliably excellent, and everyone should try the potato-and-cheese timbales that accompany Andina’s rack of lamb once, it’s more fun to stick to seafood-heavy tapas, available in small, medium and large portions. Try a half avocado stuffed with crab and prawns, the creamy green flesh a perfect vehicle for the shellfish. A puddle of garlic-lime butter leaks from plump diver scallops, seared nutty brown top and bottom. The meaty bite of grilled octopus is deftly accented by rocoto-and-caper chimichurri. But no visit is complete without a taste of Andina’s anticucho de corazon: rare-grilled beef heart, tender and flavorful as fine steak, and dipped in huacatay-peanut sauce.
Order this: Beef heart, it’s what’s for dinner.
Best deal: $4 happy-hour skewers.
I’ll pass: Cured tuna loin was dry and salty, especially compared with the fresh, bright flavors of most of the menu.

Apizza Scholls

The next time one of your East Coast immigrant buddies whines about Portland’s shortage of thin-crust pizza joints, slap him, hard, across the face. Then take him to Apizza Scholls, where the lightly charred 18-inch pies are worth every second of the infamously long waits. Apizza’s crust is extraordinary—light, crisp and chewy, like cotton candy made of wheat. Toppings are tops: fresh whole-milk mozzarella, housemade bacon and sausage and really good olive oil. Don’t balk at the $20 price tag. These pizzas will stuff two, with a couple slices left over for lunch tomorrow. For those craving more than just a nice pie (what’s wrong with you?), Apizza’s antipasti plates are among the best in town: like the pizza, big, fresh and tasty.
Order this: House antipasti plate ($12): preserved olives, peppers, tomatoes and artichokes; mozzarella; and a delicious pink pinwheel of cured meats.
Best deal: A plain cheese pizza ($19).
I’ll pass: Like hell I will.

Autentica

Planted at Northeast 30th Avenue and Killingsworth Street, scant blocks from a handful of excellent cheap taquerias, Autentica sets itself apart by elevating Mexican cuisine above plastic trays and counter ordering to elegant fine dining. Owner and chef Oswaldo Bibiano marries his roots in Guerrero, Mexico, with an impressive culinary résumé including stints at Southpark and Pazzo. Under his direction, familiar fare takes on a new sophistication of flavor, like pastor tacos with a slow-burning heat and the cooling cut of onion and cilantro. With a pair of enchiladas and a chile relleno, Autentica’s Platillo Mexicano might sound like a Chili’s combo platter, but the delicate battering of the relleno, the subtly smoky tang of the enchilada sauce and the superb quality of ingredients justifies Autentica’s reputation and price point. But no dish embodies the restaurant like its pollo en mole Guerrerense, or chicken mole: a half-bird, meat falling off the bone, smothered in rich, rusty-purple mole sauce. With more than 30 ingredients, from chocolate to chiles, anís and plantains, the flavor of the mole unfolds more like fine wine than anything else, new layers revealing themselves as you savor each bite, just as Autentica reveals culinary layers of Mexican food missing from even the best burrito stand.
Order this: Tostada con puerco frito, chicken mole.
Best deal: Carnitas tacos at $3 each.
I’ll pass: Pulpo macho—diced octopus lacks the satisfying bite of larger chunks, and no $13 appetizer should be served with saltine crackers.

Bamboo Sushi

Southeast Portland’s Bamboo Sushi, the first Marine Stewardship Council-certified independent sushi restaurant in the United States, is tackling the question of whether sushi can still wow and delight using seasonal and sustainable ingredients. The answer is a resounding yes. There’s no unagi, bluefin toro or octopus here, since Bamboo only serves items that can be either safely harvested from species with healthy populations or farmed in a manner that doesn’t harm the surrounding environment, but it doesn’t seem like much of a sacrifice. The MSC-certified albacore tuna nigiri is as buttery-funky as any piece of tuna belly could wish to be, and while the sea-eel roll may lack the sticky-sweetness of kabayaki (sauce-laden unagi, or freshwater eel), the briny subtlety of the anago (saltwater eel) paired with cucumbers is a refreshing change. Mixed seafood and vegetable tempura is hot, airy and nearly greaseless, the tempura batter enhancing rather than obscuring the ingredients. The MSC-certified black cod is glazed with roasted garlic and cooked with smoked soy. It’s ridiculously good. Who knew responsibility could be so tasty?
Order this: The black cod. Dear lord, the black cod.
Best deal: The organic mixed greens with champagne miso-mustard vinaigrette, poached egg and goat cheese ($10) could stand alone as an entree.
I’ll pass: Switch out the firm tofu in the agedashi for softer stuff and we’ll talk.

Bar Avignon

Bar Avignon’s date-night ambience, packed wine racks and long, L-shaped bar suggest a pop-in, pop-out place that treats food as one more excuse to order another drink. But with concoctions like the Division Street Cooler, which tastes like a California lawn soaked in vodka (in the very, very best way), who needs food? On the other hand (which, if you’re doing things right, should be holding a glass of something else by now), with dishes as well-executed as the pan-seared pork chop, cooked to tender perfection and served with sweet summer squash and chimichurri, who needs drinks? It’s a wonderful conundrum of Western profligacy with a very simple solution: You need both. Cheese and meat boards offer a fun match game for five bucks per selection. The solicitous wait staff can guide you to a piquant union of prosciutto, pecorino and peaches, or, if alliteration isn’t your bag, you can devise your own combo. Go for the drinks and stay for the food. Or go for the food and stay for the drinks. It doesn’t matter, so long as you go.

Order this: Pan-seared pork chop.
Best deal: At 10 bucks, the Niçoise salad is an affordable and well-balanced meal all its own.
I’ll pass: The Calabrese is decent, but it doesn’t justify the cost-to-quantity ratio.

Bar Mingo

Antipasti is what it’s all about at Caffe Mingo’s more affordable, less formal, sexier next-door neighbor, Bar Mingo. Ten-plus generously proportioned small plates feature everything from fresh discs of pillowy chèvre in a spicy tomato sauce, served with bruschetta, to sautéed fresh-from-the-sea calamari with scallions, garlic, lemon and parsley to big, brawny lamb meatballs that fall apart at first touch, drenched in a punchy mint-and-oregano red sauce. There’s also flat-iron steak with onion rings, smoked-trout salad in a citrus vinaigrette and the catch of the day for one-plate people. Bar Mingo’s complimentary bread service with a mini pitcher of oil and kosher salt is crucial, since there are lots of tasty sauces to sop up.
Order this: Housemade tonnarelli pasta with Manila clams, pancetta, chiles, garlic and parsley.
Best deal: Three antipasti for $21. (Otherwise they’re $8 each.)
I’ll pass: On the disjointed decor and artwork.

Bastas Restaurant and Bar

Yes, the Northwest 21st Avenue Italian bistro’s Swiss Miss roof does betray its beginnings as a Tastee-Freez, but its interiors are appealingly warm, earthy, dark and date-friendly. When Bastas opened in 1992 it was Portland’s favored spot for upscale Italian, but it hasn’t always kept pace with Portland’s burgeoning restaurant scene, and the menu has been somewhat uneven; among the entrees, for example, the excellent ciuppin (the heartier, less-spicy Italian progenitor of San Francisco’s cioppino) abuts a bland, musty tuttomare al cartoccio—spaghetti and shellfish baked in a pastry-covered dish. The “Pasta Pollo” is still well-balanced and the clam pastas consistent, but lately the real reason to come here has been for the wide-ranging, all-evening, generously portioned happy-hour food menu, ideal for sharing—like an Italian-version tapas menu.
Order this: Ciuppin if it’s winter, carpaccio, spaghetti alle vongole.
Best deal: The $5 pizza bianca, with capers and anchovy, could feed two.
I’ll pass: The aforementioned tuttomare, the oversour caper-sauced flank steak.

Beaker & Flask

When Kevin Ludwig announced plans in 2007 to leave his job as bartender and front-of-house manager at Park Kitchen and open his own place, most of Portland’s foodie community assumed it would be a craft cocktail bar in the mold of Teardrop Lounge, with plenty of attention paid to housemade tonic and bitters and whatnot but not so much to food. This wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. The cocktail revival was just getting into swing in Portland, and a hot-shot bar (Ludwig is one of the few local bartenders with real name recognition) on the east side seemed like a sure bet.
    The idea of Ludwig’s venture as a bar and not much more persisted, even as Beaker & Flask was delayed again and again by construction as well as the permitting and licensing process. But Ludwig started bartending at Wildwood and has been working in restaurants—not bars—ever since, at Paley’s Place, Park Kitchen and Clyde Common. And then there was his secret weapon: chef Ben Bettinger. “The intention was definitely to be a restaurant from the time Ben signed on,” Ludwig said. “It would have been stupid to waste his talents.”
    It would indeed. Bettinger, a muscular, baby-faced Vermont native, started his kitchen career as a teenage dishwasher. In 2001 he moved to Portland to attend Western Culinary Institute and moved straight into an internship at Paley’s Place. Within two years he was appointed sous chef. “[WCI] used to have a poster of me in the office—I’d have interns come in and say, ‘Hey, you’re the poster guy,’” Bettinger says. After six years at Paley’s, Bettinger decided it was time to move on. “At the going-away party, Kevin sidled up to me at the bar and said, ‘What are you doing now?’ And I signed on then.” Eighteen months later, on June 25, 2009, Beaker & Flask finally opened. The immediate reaction from Portland’s food bloggers was, in essence, “Great cocktails. But, dear lord, the food!”
    Bettinger’s education at Paley’s shows in his affection for underrated meats—pork cheeks, pork belly, lamb neck—mushrooms, bacon and pickles, and in perfectly plated concoctions such as grilled pork cheeks with braised peppers, pickled octopus and aioli. He is, like the Paleys, intimately in tune with the seasons. “We’re definitely in the swing of fall,” he said in early October. “We’ll see a lot of chanterelles and delicata squash. As far as proteins are concerned, braises. We have a lot of kale.” But Bettinger has a style all his own: His pork-belly kale, squash and apple, a Northwest cuisine standard, is braised in maple syrup. The feta in his grilled romaine salad is smoked. His flawless quail comes with peaches and candied pecans. His mackerel is grilled and smoked. And the prices—nothing on the menu costs more than $20—are a world away from the bistro on Northwest 21st Avenue.
    While the food shines, the drinks do not disappoint. Ludwig is joined behind the bar by Tim Davey, the former bar manager for Clyde Common, and a handful of the city’s expert cocktailians. All are improbably enthusiastic about spirits and have crafted a thoughtful menu of house concoctions that reaches beyond gin and bourbon to scotch, aquavit, shochu and sherry. A standout is Joe McCar-thy’s Ghost, a warming blend of aquavit, Carpano and apricot brandy. Drinks are served in a charming array of mismatched glassware Ludwig has collected over 10 years.
    There’s room for improvement, of course. Service at Beaker & Flask can be very slow, though never when it’s time for the check. The reservation system can be confusing. There’s still no sign, though Ludwig says it’s on the way. But these are quibbles. Sitting at the restaurant’s semicircular bar with a cocktail and a plate of pork cheeks, looking out the curved glass window onto Sandy Boulevard? That is bliss.

Beast

Do not go to Beast on a first date. A dinner at Naomi Pomeroy’s bijou restaurant requires you spend well over two hours with your dining companions, with no opportunity for escape. It’s not so great for the third, either. While the low light, blue tile, glittering glassware and quiet R&B are certainly romantic, the six-course marathon of animal fat (we consumed five different species at a recent dinner) will leave you too food-drunk for nookie. The deliberately intimate restaurant is best enjoyed in the company of old, comfortable friends who won’t be offended by your overenthusiastic devouring of the renowned charcuterie plate—which includes steak tartare with quail egg, a thick chicken-liver mousse, rich pork pâté and a decadent “bonbon” of salted foie gras—or lip-smacking over the cheese plate. In such company, loud, tipsy and teetering on the edge of gluttonous euphoria, Beast is magical. BEN WATERHOUSE.
Order this: You have no choice. The menu changes weekly, and substitutions are forbidden.
Best deal: Brunch.
I’ll pass: The optional wine pairings are nice, but expensive. At $35 for six half-glasses, you might as well just buy a bottle.

Belly

I’ll keep it simple: Belly would rank among the best dinners in Portland at double the price. As it stands, the place is a model of affordability and craft. In an open kitchen that warms a plain wooden bar, Cameron and Linda Addy have trimmed their modest seasonal menu of any weak links and focused on precisely complementing each regional ingredient. Try anything with the salty, tender duck confit; it’s especially good in a potato salad that includes frisée greens and a poached egg. The orecchiette pasta, with sausage crumbled into the chile-cream sauce, is just as intricate and balanced. And I don’t think any praise of mine would do justice to the contrast of the cold sour-cream pound cake against warm sautéed peaches. Moderation is the new excess, and Belly is exquisite belt-tightening.
Order this: Every bite of the pork loin—every taste of meat, jus and vegetable—is perfect.
Best deal: A small bowl of the orecchiette is still satisfying.
I’ll pass: The burger is solid, but c’mon, order something new.

Belly Timber

The bang-for-the-buck ratio at Belly Timber is so tipped in your favor that you may begin to feel as though you were stealing from its proprietors. The menu in this beautifully restored Victorian home on Southeast Hawthorne Boulevard boasts a nice collection of small plates and sides, and all of the entrees can be ordered as half-portions. This means diners who want to try a little bit of everything theoretically can. Sunday brunch is especially nice here, where a tenner will net you a beautiful stack of earthy wild mushrooms on hash browns with a perfectly poached egg perched on top. A poppy-studded kaiser roll hosts smoky house bacon or sausage, egg and cheese alongside some stellar home fries, draped with caramelized onions and fennel. Living within your means has never tasted so good.
Order this: When they’re hot out of the oil, Belly Timber’s fries are the best in town, hands down. The luscious bone-marrow aioli that accompanies them doesn’t hurt, either.
Best deal: Sunday brunch is such a good deal it’s criminal.
I’ll pass: The bar here puts out delicious cocktails but pours them pretty stiff. Be careful.

BeWon Korean Restaurant

Foodies may consider it anathema to make any sort of ethnic cuisine accessible to the less adventurous, but when the results are as balanced and satisfying as they are at BeWon, such things are easily overlooked. The go-deung-uh, broiled, salt-encrusted mackerel, is a fine example. The dish maintains the natural briny flavor of the fish without the heavy gloss of rendered fish fat that might be encountered elsewhere, and the charred bits along the edges are a smoky treat. The Korean marinated-beef-and-onions staple bulgogi is perfectly seasoned with a slightly sweet sauce that is a fine foil for the salty, briny and funky bits found in the array of dried and pickled side dishes (banchan) that come with the meals here. Other Korean restaurants in town may serve dishes that are more salty, or spicy, or fermented, or whatever criteria the authenticity police are using as a metric, but it’s doubtful their spaces are as elegant or their servers as informative.

Order this: The bulgogi.
Best deal: Any of the entrees, each of which comes with nine dishes of banchan.
I’ll pass: Right by it unless I know where to look. BeWon’s sunken-into-the-sidewalk location can be tough to find.

Bijou Cafe

Bijou Cafe is a hidden gem, the type of place you pass on a daily commute without ever noticing. Once you’re in, though, the airy, naturally lit space feels homey and sophisticated at the same time. From the long breakfast bar to the winking waitresses, there’s something of a throwback diner vibe, even while the food is decidedly healthy and light. The various hash dishes (including a twist on the classic corned beef that uses roast beef instead) are wet and sharp, and the crimini mushroom variation comes topped with a corn salsa that offers a nice kick as well as texture. This being downtown, the Bijou is also a fantastic people-watching location. A lot of the best voyeurism happens while you look around at the cafe’s regulars.
Order This: The farmer’s omelette, served French style with a fluffy egg loosely wrapped around thick potatoes and crispy Heritage Farms bacon.
Best Deal: Delicious bacon with eggs, served with potatoes, green salad or a slab of french bread.
I’ll Pass: I have to nitpick over the teeny glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice here, because the entrees are great.

Biwa

In Japan, an izakaya is a traditional drinking establishment—a place businessmen go to toast each other over snacks and copious amounts of sake. In Portland, an izakaya is a restaurant that, well, also serves snacks—or, rather, small plates in the style of Spanish tapas—and features an extensive sake and shochu selection. Biwa’s menu is divided into four sections: izakaya (“cold,” “hot” and “basics”), yakimono (wee individual skewers of meat, fish and vegetables), soup and noodles (miso, udon and ramen), and set meals, of which there are three. Be warned that prices can add up quickly here, so it’s best not to arrive famished. That said, the spare, stylish dining room is a great spot to meet up with a group of friends or co-workers, order a flight of sake or one of Biwa’s clean, crisp cocktails (try the Medoyeff vodka and cedar-aged sake with thinly sliced daikon radish), and toast each other over plates of Asian pickles, gyoza and Japanese-style fried chicken.
Order this: Sake flight.
Best deal: Yakimono skewers with meat or vegetables ($3-$4 per skewer).
I’ll pass: $9 for a bowl of ramen? Really?

Bluehour

Chef Kenny Giambalvo is an Italian-American from New York trained in classic French technique, but the focus on regional (and regionally popular) ingredients at Bluehour lets you know you’re in Oregon. Think salmon, beets and lobster mushrooms. Many dishes on the constantly changing menu are classic and familiar, but the thoughtful combining of complementary elements keeps them interesting: Porchetta is served with a hunk of pork confit, just-picked beans and a meaty grilled cipollini; salmon tartare comes with avocado and housemade gaufrettes (potato chips). Like the food, the soaring, loftlike dining room is formal enough for a special occasion while still being comfortable and welcoming.
Order this: Melt-in-your-mouth porchetta is what pigs dream of being when they grow up.
Best deal: Prix fixe menu with salad, entree and dessert ranges from $30 to $35. Tack on an after-dinner sherry for four clams.
I’ll pass: Salty risotto.

Blueplate

Welcome to heaven, where mashed potatoes are butter-yellow, salads are just an excuse for creamy dressings and, praise the Lord, egg creams and chocolate malteds never went out of style. Yes, crossing Blueplate’s threshold is a bit like stepping into the Twilight Zone, where life seems too good to be true until fate sideswipes your luck, but the only cruel twist here is a labored waddle back to work. This lunch spot’s much-ballyhooed Northwest sliders are perfect little hand grenades of juicy beef and Tillamook cheddar smeared with basil mayo and dished up with a side of those possibly illegal potatoes (if they aren’t a Schedule I controlled substance, they should be). A rotating specials menu features a different sandwich every day. Friday’s affair, exalted by the same basil concoction that puts the sliders over the top, comprises skillfully stratified bites of thick Texas toast, lettuce, tomato, and generous yet manageable slices of moist meatloaf. You’re half-assing it if you don’t indulge in one of the fountain classics or three-scoop shakes. Remember, this is a place beyond reason, where a butterscotch milkshake topped with nuts and granola (they call it the “R.P. McMurphy”) makes divine sense.
Order this: The Northwest sliders—Blueplate’s specialty and possibly the best thing available for lunch downtown.
Best deal: Friday’s special, the meatloaf sandwich, obviates the need for dinner, and possibly breakfast the next morning.
I’ll pass: The meat in the roast beef dip is just fine, but the accompanying jus is overwhelmingly salty.

Broder

The adorable Swedish cousin of Southeast Clinton Street’s Savoy Tavern has received much attention for the novelty of its presentation—dishes come out in square cast-iron pans like oversize Easy-Bake trays nestled on wooden boards, or in paper hot-dog trays on long platters. Now, we appreciate funky dishware as much as the next alternative newsweekly, but we have to contend that the real reason to hit up Broder is not cuteness but cost: Nothing on the menu of Scandinavian-inspired breakfast treats and sandwiches costs more than $10. Most Portland brunch joints, especially the well-decorated ones, would charge you $12 to $15 for a large baked scramble of smoked trout and red onion. Not here! And the restaurant doesn’t make up for its low, low prices with shoddy service. No, these guys know the list of esoteric European beers up and down, and treat you with the warmth of family.
Order this: The Surf Bord, a 2-foot platter of smoked trout, pickled herring and housemade cured salmon with good pickles, bread and horseradish sauce.
Best deal: Breakfast sandwich with ham, Gruyère, tomatoes and marjoram cream, topped with baked eggs, $8.
I’ll pass: Pickled beets have no place in a mixed-green salad.

Cafe Castagna

Cafe Castagna is, at its core, an any-night-of-the-week neighborhood standby next door to the white-tablecloth, more special occasion Castagna. But beyond the burger, flat-iron and mac-’n’-cheesy offerings, there’s magic to be had in this svelte, minimal dining room. A late-summer spot-prawn starter serves up three of the sweet and briny critters butterflied, sautéed and grilled for crispy head and roe-to-tail eating with saffron aioli, fried new potatoes and thinly sliced cured lemon. Another starter of chopped and sautéed octopus, fingerlings, olives, garlic and tarragon served with lightly dressed citrusy arugula is delicious. There are always a few pizzas to choose from as well as pasta, seafood, lamb and tasty housemade-sausage-studded entrees.
Order this: Baked Gruyère, cheddar and Hatch chile penne topped with breadcrumbs and an egg yolk.
Best deal: Tasty starters such as risotto fontina balls, corn soup and chorizo bunuelos.
I’ll pass: The Portland famous burger is good, but not amazing.

Carafe

Portland’s answer to the archetypal French bistro, Carafe resides inconspicuously on an obscure block in downtown Portland directly across from the Keller Auditorium. While Carafe is an ideal way to start or cap a night out, it’s also a destination in and of itself. One night’s special appetizer arrived as a mound of chanterelles sautéed with shallots, spilled over grilled bread and topped with a poached farm egg. Sopping up mingled yolk and mushroom pan drippings might be the best use of bread ever. With a deft balance of savory and sweet, duck confit was a fitting follow-up, the ruby-fleshed breast perched atop a buttery potato cake and ringed with grilled peaches and Padrón peppers. Carafe’s burger, served on a Ken’s Artisan Bakery bun with custardlike housemade mayonnaise, consistently earns high marks, but on our last visit it was far too salty. Perhaps the addition of bacon and white cheddar were to blame. Try it first at happy hour when, salty or not, it’s a steal at $4.95. Don’t forget to scope the wine list, which is full of bottles under $30, and watch for Carafe’s rotating three-course prix fixe menu, only $25.
Order this: Crispy outside, moist inside duck confit.
Best deal: Burgundies and local pinots under $35, some of the lowest markups in town.
I’ll pass: Carafe’s over-salted burger.

Carlyle

Come here because you’re serious about dinner. They will ask you how you like your pork cooked. They’ll give you hot bread (who does that anymore?) and more silverware than you’ll know what to do with. Preparations and presentations are impeccable: The succotash upon which your luscious, ultra-fresh diver scallops rest is as delicious and attention-grabbing as the main event. Both the wine and cocktails are worthy of the food (except for maybe the “Obligatory Pink Vodka Drink”—see? They have a sense of humor, too). Don’t come here if you’re looking for a happening scene. The out-of-the-way location screens the loudmouth idiots, making for a peaceful dining experience—be sure you like your dining companion, because there’s not much in the way of distraction.
Order this: The juiciest pork chop ever on heavenly milked-corn polenta.
Best value: $5 for housemade seasonal ice cream.
I’ll pass: The milk chocolate panna cotta is on the stiff side.

Castagna

This candlelit corner of Hawthorne Boulevard makes for a romantic date night if you’re not worried about your wallet. The sautéed sea scallops saying hello to fennel and grapefruit in your mouth is the perfect start to the evening. In a meatier mood? Try the tender lamb Milanese with tomato, basil and mozzarella if you don’t mind your meat breaded. If you’re still hungry for dessert, a Tahitian vanilla crème brûlée and chocolate pot de crème is a sweet finish to the evening. And if you’re feeling guilty about the calories, stroll to the Ladd’s Addition rose gardens for a romantic, stargazing wrap-up. HENRY STERN.
Order this: The sautéed king salmon and crawfish.
Best deal: Grilled octopus and potato with arugula ($12) as a starter.
I’ll pass: The caramel ice cream with cookies lacked much caramel flavor.
[Editor’s note: Castagna just announced major changes to its menu, including the introduction of such innovations as horseradish snow and sheets of smoked fat. Look for a review in the regular edition of WW in a month or so.]

Chennai Masala

It may not look like much—actually, it looks like a New York City deli misplaced in a suburban strip mall—but Chennai Masala is a true diamond in the rough, and well worth the drive out to Hillsboro to experience. Upon entering, one finds the restaurant’s plain, family-friendly appearance is betrayed by the exotic smells pouring from the kitchen. It’s best to start your Chennai Masala experience with one of its many dosas, elephant-ear-sized fluffy crêpes loaded with anything from spicy chutney to potatoes or cheese. We recommend the spinach masala dosa, which tastes something like a tender, spiced twist on the best pot pie ever. Chennai Masala has most Indian standards, like the incredibly rich, dark orange chicken tikka masala that sticks to the ribs and leaves you wishing you lived in the ’burbs. In fact, can’t we build a new MAX line that goes straight to Chennai Masala’s front door?
Order this: A serving of thick, gloopy lamb koorma may look small, but it’s rich enough to serve two.
Best deal: Chennai family dosa, a 3-foot soft crêpe served with a host of chutneys.
I’ll pass: Really? You will? Because I’d happily eat anything on the menu.

Ciao Vito

One doesn’t always expect to find a classy, timeless dining experience among the taco carts and secondhand stores of Alberta Street, but Ciao Vito is classy digs. Whether you’re dining on the sidewalk or in the dimly lit, L-shaped main dining area, Vito feels nice rather than pretentious. On our visit, that sentiment was backed up by an attentive wait staff who didn’t scoff when we asked what “Parmigiano-Reggiano” meant. Aside from the comfortable atmosphere (a long curtain separates the dining area from the kitchen, giving the delivery of plates a dramatic flair), one can expect an impressive combination of visual and edible artistry from the menu. As appetizers, both the slightly tart spinach and polenta plate, topped with pine nuts and breadcrumbs, and the sweet roasted-beet salad, which tastes somewhere between a thin fruit salad and an apple pie, delivered knockout blows. It’s nearly impossible to look at Ciao Vito’s menu without ordering three courses.
Order this: The gigantic, juicy double-cut pork chop with corn salsa ($19).
Best deal: Dessert! The huge bowl of apple-’n’-huckleberry fruit crisp with thick, freshly whipped cream only set us back $8.
I’ll pass: The eggplant Parmigiano was rich and creamy, but it could have used some crisp texture somewhere.

Clarklewis

Lunch and happy hour—that’s when to frequent the former capital of the fallen Ripe food empire. Sure, you’ll miss seafood starters (scallops with sweet corn and chanterelles), toothsome antipastos (arugula, burrata, yellow beans and grilled peaches) and heartier entrees (roasted pork shoulder with figs), but you can still sample a decent menu for a lot less cash. Try these sandwiches: peppery lamb bacon with grilled eggplant or in a BLT on the blue-plate special; roast chicken salad with Gruyère; an Italian grinder with olive dressing. Salads (watermelon with feta) seem less bold these days; most desserts don’t wow.
Order this: Any housemade pasta, like tagliatelle with lamb ragu. The smaller plate is ample.
Best deal: $6 happy-hour hamburger.
I’ll pass: Insipid soup and plain sorbet don’t beef up the lunch special. Get the sandwich alone instead.

Clyde Common

It’s fun to pretend to be European for a night. Few places in Portland give you as much opportunity for continental fantasy as Nate Tilden and Matt Piacentini’s stylish hangout in the Ace Hotel building, where any night you’re more than likely to see a local celebrity downing a cocktail or two. The long communal tables and even longer wait (at peak hours) only add to the ambience. The food stacks up as well, with a menu that constantly shifts to reflect the seasons. On a recent visit, highlights included the flat-iron steak, beautifully presented on whole lettuce wedge and surrounded by indelible, rich smoked grape tomatoes and crumbly Cabrales cheese. Clyde Common picks and chooses from the best European traditions, but this is one mutt you can always trust.
Order this: Tagliarini; anything with meat in it.
Best deal: French fries served with harissa and crème fraîche for only $5.
I’ll pass: The dessert board, which is just too much food to stomach.

Country Cat

Adam Sappington’s warm, Deep South-by-way-of-Montavilla pork palace has earned a pack of slavering fans since opening in 2007, much thanks to the butchery-happy, overall-sportin’ chef’s “The Whole Hog” plate. It fairly groans with a greatest-hits trio of Sweet Briar Farms pig bits (crisp rolled belly, tender smoked shoulder and an epic brined chop). The Hog also comes atop a mountain of grits, but don’t skimp on the other sides. You deserve a Paul Bunyan-sized helping of smashed spuds drowned in bacon gravy or a creamy vat of old-school green-bean casserole, too. While the Cat’s dry halibut and lackluster pasta dishes have disappointed in the past, if it once squealed, clucked or mooed, order it immediately. And nab a whiskey or bourbon from the friendly bar while you’re at it.
Order this: Moist cast-iron skillet-fried chicken. Now the Cat serves it with toasted pecan spoonbread at brunch every single day.
Best deal: The Whole Hog lives up to its oinking, fat-coma-inducing name.
I’ll pass: Until pigs start naturally producing pasta somewhere in their bodies for Sappington to harvest, skip the odd noodle dishes.

Daily Cafe

To most Portlanders, the Daily Cafe is a Pearl District diner landmark—though they have two other locations—with mix-’n’-match $14 prix fixe morning fare (scarily, they call it “price-fix,” just like the petrol companies do) ranging from Korean bibimbap to eggy hazelnut pizza to candied ginger pancakes. The decor is Edward Hopper diner gone cosmo-casual, with windowed garage doors. Dinners are often sparsely attended to the point of creepiness—nobody knows they’re serving it, apparently—and deserves much greater recognition as a mid-priced neighborhood option for heartwarming comfort food like pork chops with peach barbecue sauce or housemade pesto tagliatelle.

Davis Street Tavern

Since it opened last fall, diners and drinkers have flocked to this window-wrapped Old Town bistro where both menu and space are split between formal fine dining and top-tier pub offerings. A convivial atmosphere fairly spills out the door; one gets the sense everyone is laughing and leaning in to clink glasses or swipe a bite from someone else’s plate. It’s hard to abandon the front room’s delightful and affordable “Tavern Menu,” on which dishes break only a sawbuck. A jumble of shoestring fries nestle against a lamb burger layered with flavors of the Mediterranean: mint yogurt, pine nuts, feta, dried apricot. The Thai influence, though incongruous amid the rest of the Euro-Northwest menu, doesn’t detract from an ample pile of mussels, peeking through a broth of galangal, kaffir and coconut milk. If you make it to the dining room, you’ll find sturdy elegance in both decor and menu. Still, the dining room’s conventional appeal is no match for a tour of tavern-side small plates.
Order this: Roasted asparagus with poached duck egg.
Best deal: Heaping bowl of sautéed mussels ($9).
I’ll pass: The dining room just can’t compete with the tavern.

Del Inti

To the right kind of eyes, no more enticing pair of words can be printed on a menu than “beef heart.” There’s a savage appeal to ingesting a bloody symbol of another animal’s vitality, which by its very name seems so much closer to the lusty, violent truth of carnivorousness than most of the disembodied cuts we encounter. Plus, it tastes like really good steak. At Del Inti, the heart comes sliced, skewered and seasoned with a chile-heavy rub. Grilled rare and dressed with citrusy salsa criolla, this dish is reason enough to book a ticket to Lima. Del Inti’s aims are more modest than Andina’s, its preparations and presentations simpler, but the flavors remain bold and vibrant. Scallops, seared to a buttery rare and drizzled with balsamic reduction, surround a hearty lentil “tacu tacu” patty piled with wilted spinach. The petite hanger steak looks less impressive than it tastes, laid next to a pile of what appear to be home fries, but are in fact perrullade papas—creamy mashed potatoes patted into cubes and fried crisp.
Order this: If you haven’t already noticed, we really like beef heart.
Best deal: Rotating ceviches ($10-$11).
I’ll pass: Side dishes of fingerling potatoes and mushroom crostini seem like filler, bland and disappointing.

Departure

From the purple-octagon foyer—which I swear was stolen from the Space Mountain queue—to the murals mapping imaginary islands, the aerial gem of Sage Restaurant Group’s adventures in the Nines hotel looks like it was designed by kidnapping Disney’s Imagineers and getting them sozzled. A backhanded compliment? Depends on your mood. The 15th-story rooftop lounge can make for a fantastic evening (with a strong chance of glimpsing visiting B-list actresses and NBA teams, if that’s your bag), as long as you know how to navigate the menu. Best plan: Bring friends and dine like Japanese assassins in town for a hit, ordering straight whiskey shots and meat on sticks. That’ll give you access to the bar’s excellent well—and keep you away from the specialty drinks flooded with simple syrup—while allowing you to sample the pork small plates. The Korean-style short ribs with kochujang sauce are tops, followed closely by the juicy pork buns, which stuff Sweet Briar Farms belly into soft rolls. Most of the standout dishes are available on the late-night menu, so hail the elevator after 11—it’s the best time to gape at the lights of Broadway, which never looked so striking as from this star-deck.
Order this: The Kobe meatballs are filled with slivers of superior beef, crowned with a dollop of foie gras.
Best deal: At $6 a plate, both the yakitori chicken and those pork buns are larceny.
I’ll pass: The Dungeness crab tobiko rolls certainly have a lot of rice.

DOC

Last summer’s addition to Micah Camden’s foodie fiefdom at Northeast 30th Avenue and Killingsworth Street (he’s been opening restaurants annually) gives a first impression of infuriating quirkiness. Diners enter by walking through the tiny kitchen, which fills the restaurant’s storefront. The menu lists only ingredients, giving no indication of how your “sardine, potato, cauliflower” starter will be prepared. There are no capital letters to be found. It takes a fair amount of faith to overlook the restaurant’s eccentricities, but your trust is well placed—DOC is one of the most delightful date-night destinations in Portland. The 8-by-12 dining room is intimate by necessity and can get quite loud, but heavy black chandeliers and plenty of candlelight make the place seem downright peaceful. The two-man kitchen team produces lovely dishes inspired by Italian classics with Northwest accents: A recent meal included brined, roasted pork loin with roasted peach and collard greens; tagliatelle with rich lamb sausage and Padrón peppers; and a flourless chocolate cake with cacao-nib ice cream. Waiter-sommelier-manager Austin Bridges deals with up to 30 diners at a time, dashing back and forth between the outside tables and the wine closet at the back of the restaurant, but he does so with grace and efficiency. I imagine he sleeps like a baby. .
Order this: Wine pairings with your dinner. Whether you order the tasting menu or à la carte, Bridges will pick an extraordinary glass to go with your dinner. At around $11 a glass, they aren’t cheap, but they are really good.
Best deal: The $8 salads, which are neither too large nor too small, and deftly prepared.
I’ll pass: On a whole vacuum pot of coffee. You can’t just order a cup.

Du Kuh Bee

The most exciting dinner show in the Portland area is at a tiny Chinese-owned Korean joint on a dull street on the edge of downtown Beaverton. Duck inside the faintly marked door—it’s the one next to the hair salon—and grab a seat across from the kitchen. Inside, Frank Wong and his crew fling woks, tongs and knives around with impressive speed. There is noise, steam and occasional bursts of flame. Du Kuh Bee is the only restaurant we know of where you can watch the cooks stretching noodles by hand, pulling strings of dough into fine, chewy strands with a spin and a snap. These are turned, through a chaotic alchemy involving pepper, oil and a lot of clanging, into the best plate of pasta you’ve ever eaten; try it with squid. While the noodles have attracted the attention of Portland foodies, Du Kuh Bee also offers excellent soups, veggies and Korean barbecue.

Order this: The best bok choy you’ve ever eaten. It’s tender, smoky and supremely satisfying.
Best deal: A pile of chewy dumplings ($4).
I’ll pass: No Hite for me, thanks.

East India Co.

Some meals start out looking promising but wind up disappointing. A recent meal at East India Co. was the opposite. Our server was friendly but inept, running to other tables halfway through questions, seemingly as clueless as we were about the description-less “House Specials” menu; she looked like a deer in the headlights when asked for recommendations. When I handed her my menu and she answered, “Arigato,” I felt a sense of impending culinary doom. Yet moments later, exceptional samosas arrived at our table: crisp and airy shells cupping subtly spiced potatoes and dressed with delicious dueling squiggles of mysterious white and purple sauces. And though the lamb vindaloo was hardly “blazing” as the menu promised, its slow-burning heat was enough, without overpowering the rich red gravy’s competing flavors. A biting hint of ginger cut through coral-colored butter chicken, saving it from the heaviness that is the prime pitfall of Indian food in America. When dishes did start to weigh down the palate, intense, mustard-heavy Indian pickles were the ideal antidote.
Order this: Lamb vindaloo.
Best deal: $2 for roti, and many house specials around $12.
I’ll pass: Cilantro-spiked mango margarita. Too much fusion.

EaT: An Oyster Bar

The New Orleans-inspired menu of this North Williams Avenue taproom is racked with fried, stewed and spiced Cajun fare like shrimp étouffée, surf or turf po’ boys and fried pickles. The real deal, however, is farm-direct raw oysters. Owners Tobias Hogan and Ethan Powell don’t mess around with middlemen. They’ve got oyster deliveries throughout the week from Oregon Oyster Farms, Hama Hama Oysters, Taylor Shellfish Farms, Chelsea Farms and others. And that makes Eat’s briny bites as fresh as it gets in Portland. Step inside and check out the chalkboard by the bar for the day’s raw selection. The space is mainly concrete, warmed by a mahogany back bar stocked with a prime selection of bourbon, whiskey and absinthe. Beer is poured in 10-ounce frosty mugs from old-school kegerators behind the bar. Furniture is tastefully mismatched and tables are topped with bagged saltines and hot sauces, from Louisiana and Crystal to a housemade, chile-infused vinegar.
Order this: The catfish po’ boy, layered with breaded catfish, dill-pickle chips, tomato and shredded cabbage on a mustardy-mayo-slathered hoagie bun, is worth a trip on its own.
Best deal: Oysters for a buck apiece all night on Tuesdays.
I’ll pass: The roux could be darker and punchier. It’s a little tame for N’awlins fare.

El Gaucho

Most of us can’t afford a $54 sirloin, or even $27 baby-back ribs, especially when said steaks come virtually unadorned. So thank goodness El Gaucho has a happy hour. This money-saving meal is a great way to try the food without emptying your sparse bank account. Order the steak frites ($14) for a 6-ounce piece of sirloin with just as much dry-aged complexity as the $54 option. Sure, it’s topped with béarnaise instead of lobster and comes with fries instead of scalloped potatoes, but who needs all that extraneous decadence when the steak is juicy and the fries are the perfect blend of crisp and tender? The enormous burger, which comes with peppery bacon, pickled onions, cheddar and garlic aioli, looks almost absurdist, covered in red-and-white checked paper, set far left on the plate with a small pile of cornichon pickles stacked on the right. On the “healthier” side of the menu, the wedge salad tastes like crunchy blue-cheese dressing (don’t they all?) and could have used more bacon bits, but the beet salad was flavorful and refreshing, if a bit creatively stale. KATE WILLIAMS.
Order this: Steak frites, beet salad, red wine special. Or splurge and sip on the $240 Louis Sidecar cocktail.
Best deal: 319 Burger: juicy, well-seasoned beef topped with almost all necessary food groups ($8).
I’ll pass: Why order bruschetta at an American steakhouse?

Farm Cafe

This longtime favorite of Portland vegetarians has been holding down a corner on East Burnside Street for six years, and the joint just keeps getting better (and, with a recent renovation, bigger). Skinny-jeaned college kids and baby-toting young couples pack in for the best fish and produce Oregon has to offer, prepared in reliably delicious (if not particularly innovative) combinations. The great food and moderate prices might send you into spasms of ecstasy on all their own. Should you need a boost, the intimate rooms, muted earth tones and flickering candles should do the trick. Want to guarantee a post-dinner bedroom workout? The sunken chocolate soufflé is hot, gooey sex in a ramekin.
Order this: The wild-mushroom gnocchi are beyond reproach—light pillows of paradise.
Best deal: The half-pound farmhouse veggie burger ($11), composed of eggplant, breadcrumbs and cheese, doesn’t bother emulating meat. This is a good thing.
I’ll pass: The farmhouse cheese ball is very nice, for a cheese ball, but it’s still a cheese ball.

Fats

The British are coming, but at Micah Camden’s new English corner pub, just doors away from his other Killingsworth-area restaurants, Yakuza and DOC, the deep fryer is their weapon. So far the new pub, a charming navy-and-taupe chamber dominated by a wall of old telephones and a massive, gleaming wood bar stocked with every beer from Ninkasi to New Castle, is having its bright, decadent way with formerly leaden Brit standards. From Scotch woodcock—buttery soft-scrambled eggs decorated with cherry tomatoes and bright, oniony “gentleman’s relish” atop perfect toast—at brunch to huge, possibly heart attack-inducing portions of excellent, vodka-battered cod with truffle-scented fries or bangers and mash with Guinness gravy at dinner, it’s enough to make you start spelling savory with a “u.”

Order this: Sturdy English pancakes topped with sour cream and fresh berries; creamy, crunchy, so-wrong-it’s-right chicken liver and red onion sandwich, the best (fried, sausage-wrapped) Scotch eggs on either side of the Atlantic.
Best deal: Not a what, but a when: Fats’ gargantuan all-night happy-hour menu boasts Welsh rarebit sandwiches, bubble and squeak, sausage sarnies and shepherd’s pie, among other pint accoutrements, all for $5 or less.
I’ll pass: Those Scotch eggs; not because they don’t taste good, but because I want to live.

Firehouse

Still the new kid on the preternaturally popular wood-fired pizza scene, Firehouse recently celebrated its first anniversary, holding an open house to show off its historic Dekum firehouse digs. And indeed, Firehouse has done right by the building—the soaring ceilings, preserved brick and rustic wood add a sophisticated drama unmatched by vaunted brethren Ken’s and Apizza Scholls. While Firehouse gamely attempts to balance its menu with an array of non-pizza-related main dishes (gnocchi, rockfish, hanger steak and rotisserie chicken, to name recent examples), don’t be fooled—the yellow-tiled wood-burning oven looming in the main dining room betrays the restaurant’s raison d’être. While the pies’ perfectly charred crust features the light, chewy texture wood-fire devotees love and expect, a watery fresh-tomato sauce results in slices so soggy one has no choice but to eat them with a knife and fork. While this can get messy, the opportunity to dip chunks of leftover crust in a pool of tomato juice and olive oil isn’t exactly unwelcome.

Order this: Pizza margherita and one of the thoughtfully executed seasonal desserts.
Best deal: Iron City stubby ($2.50).
I’ll pass: Salads are anemic and overpriced.

Fratelli

This cucina has staying power. After an 11-year, inconspicuous run in the Pearl, chef Paul Klitsie’s still at the helm. Fratelli’s Bar Dué boasts a happy hour offered not once but twice daily: first until 6 pm and again after 9 pm. Deals from the mesquite wood-fired oven include pizzas (though the green grape, olive and rosemary one lacked verve) and mix-and-match antipasti (pick the chicken-liver mousse and the better-than-hummus chickpea purée with arugula pesto). Among small plates, try the tangy, tender boar ribs; skip the porchetta sliders (all bun with little pork). The dinner menu trumpets local sources: grilled baby romaine with albacore tuna Caesar dressing, a Mountain Shadow Farms strip steak. How solid is Fratelli’s locavore street cred? Co-owner Tim Cuscaden even grows some of the produce himself, such as the beets braised with the black cod.
Order this: Braised boar ribs with balsamic glaze.
Best deal: $5 happy-hour pizzas and antipasti.
I’ll pass: Mixology (e.g., the Cello Drop) isn’t stellar. Consult the polished wine list instead.

Gilt Club

One of Portland’s most perplexingly under-hyped restaurants, Gilt Club is a quietly glamorous lounge that happens also to serve amazing food. It may not be one of Portland’s culinary media darlings, but it deserves to be. The flavors are true, the preparations inspired, and the staff professional without trying too hard. The French-influenced, contemporary American menu emphasizes dramatic juxtaposition of flavor and texture: foie gras torchon with baked apples, or crisp chocolate-meringue cookies with savory-sweet pistachio gelato. Linger late with playful cocktails starring house-infused spirits. New chef Chris Carriker is thinking big—like whole-goat big. Keep an eye on this one.
Order this: The charred bavette steak with smoked-onion relish is one of the tastiest in town.
Best deal: The cowboy-sized “petite” pork loin (which also comes with greens and a juicy grilled peach) makes us afraid to see the “regular.”
I’ll pass: The roast chicken, while generous, is less exciting than other items.

Gracie's

Laboring under the false assumption that a dab of old Hollywood glamour classes up the joint, Gracie’s effortful decor is a veritable semaphore of warning to skedaddle up the street for less ostentatious (and expensive) digs. In other words, the ghost of Louis B. Mayer isn’t booking a reservation anytime soon. Which is too bad, because this gem off the lobby of the Hotel deLuxe makes up for its lack of visionary design with culinary surprises like the Gorgonzola cheesecake, an uptown version of a cheese log that shares its sweet namesake’s consistency, but that once tasted manages to sidestep gimmickry altogether. The goat cheese-stuffed chicken breast is paired, somewhat incongruently, with pancakes and chutney, and while the two sides of the plate never quite cohere into a perfect dish, the tender chicken, with its delightful rosemary-heavy filling, is beyond reproach. So, yes, there are a few kinks here, but ain’t that what Hollywood is all about?
Order this: The goat cheese-stuffed chicken breast, if you can figure out what to do with the pancakes that come with it.
Best deal: And best indulgence—the Gorgonzola cheesecake.
I’ll pass: Seared tuna, served lukewarm with a rubbery bean salad and bland potatoes.

H50 bistro and bar

If you want an adventure in high-concept international fusion cuisine, this is the place for you. From the menus, encased in Plexiglas cubes nestled in a bed of grass, to the sexy lounge area with a bench shaped like a head, the atmosphere screams contemporary glam sophistication. Dishes like duck breast with purple five-spice mashed potatoes, or spinach salad with kumquats, blue cheese and fried fennel never fail to surprise and delight. This is a great place for a first date—each plate is a conversation piece, so awkward silences are hors de question. Dishes are served tapas-style, so order a few and let the three-ring circus of dinner commence.
Order this: Diminutive Dungeness crab fritters are full of buttery, crabby deliciousness.
Best deal: The BLT is wee, but it comes with a haystack’s worth of shoestring potatoes.
I’ll pass: Sushi rolls, while large, are mostly rice.

Heathman Restaurant & Bar

See and be seen at the Heathman, where state and local power brokers break bread and form partnerships alongside tourists and West Hills mavens and their men. Portland’s answer to the Four Seasons in New York, the Heathman, on the ground floor of the hotel by the same name, is flanked on one side by tall windows facing Broadway, which offer views of downtown Portland that never cease to entertain. Inside, solicitous waiters do the same as they eagerly refill water glasses and replenish bread plates, even when there’s plenty of both. The menu at the Heathman changes according to the season—on one recent visit, the dinner menu included pesto-crusted salmon, halibut cheeks and several varieties of oysters. Of course, seafood is not the only specialty on offer. The menu boasts an extensive selection of entrees with chicken, beef and lamb, making it the kind of restaurant a twentysomething or thirtysomething Portlander might take visiting relatives (with traditional tastes) to celebrate a special occasion. Best of all, perhaps, the restaurant’s location puts diners within close proximity to the Schnitz and downtown movie theaters. Order dessert and you’ll still have time to walk to your concert.
Order this: The halibut cheeks came with a rich risotto.
Best deal: Forget about dinner. Head to the Heathman for lunch and save, on average, $10 per entree.
I’ll pass: The Caesar salad. By any other name, the salad would be a couple of leaves of lettuce with little pizzazz.

Higgins

This Portland institution’s longevity owes as much to its ability to reflect the attitudes of native Portlanders as to the quality of the food it puts in front of them. Greg Higgins’ eponymous restaurant has been preaching the gospel of local and sustainable for nearly a decade and a half, and the ever-changing menu here does its best to showcase the benefits of his philosophy. A late-summer Niçoise salad, a small loin of oil-poached tuna sitting atop perfectly dressed greens, was replaced as the seasons shifted by an earthy, warming combination of marinated artichokes, tabbouleh and yams. Risottos here are excellent blank canvases for whatever Chef Higgins may have found intriguing at the farmers market. A recent variation sported smoked salmon and leeks. If the white-tablecloth dining room isn’t your speed, the cargo-shorts set will appreciate the warmth and fabulous people-watching of the bar.
Order this: Higgins is definitely deft with meat, but the kitchen also has a surprising facility with vegetarian items, which often outshine everything else on the table.
Best deal: $7 will net you a lovely bowl of one of the two soups of the day and bread, perfect for a light meal.
I’ll pass: If you’re not sharing, skip the focaccia on the bistro menu. It’s delicious, but it’s a starch bomb that’ll put you to sleep for the rest of the day.

Hiroshi

A lot of subtlety has been lost from sushi as a cuisine during its transition into the mainstream. If prepackaged grocery-store California rolls or salt-and-sugar bombs at the local sushi-go-’round have blunted your appreciation for raw fish, a trip to Hiroshi is just the tonic you need. While the menu will certainly be more spendy (nigiri orders are for individual pieces rather than the pairs found in other shops), each deftly assembled item will be of the utmost freshness and quality. Any garnish or embellishment is designed to complement the flavor of the fish rather than drown it out. Wild Tasmanian salmon aburi, seared and touched with ponzu sauce, dissolves on the tongue while the aji (horsetail mackerel) is proof positive that when handled properly, something that tastes fishy can still be considered sublime. The best seats in the house are at the brightly lit bar, where you can watch Hiroshi himself or one of his assistants rekindle your love affair with sushi.
Order this: Toro aburi, with one caveat: It’s really hard to stop ordering it.
Best deal: Seared tuna with chile miso ($8).
I’ll pass: It tastes delicious, but the watery-custard consistency of the chawanmushi may not be for everyone.

Indish

A lighter, more authentic North Indian cuisine than that on offer at typical Indian restaurants, Indish’s dishes forgo the usual curries and naan in favor of a variety of smallish plates, some of which actually require a knife. The peanut salad appetizer, basically just peanuts with pico de gallo, is more than the sum of its parts. Breaded eggplant with tomato sauce is unexpected and pleasingly meaty. While thin chapatis are less satisfying than pillowy naan, they leave room for a lush mango-coconut cheesecake or chai-rum latte at meal’s end. Nearly a year after opening in October 2008, there are still some new-restaurant kinks to iron out, but the staff’s earnestness and generosity make up for the occasional bungle. Bonus: Comfy couches at many of the tables are particularly welcome after a long day.

Order this: Fragrant lamb tikki makhani.
Best value: Peanut salad is under $4, and good with a creamy London porter. Just sayin’.
I’ll pass: The chapatis are merely OK. Opt instead for flavorful Bombay potatoes.

Karam

If one were spotting Portland locations for a chick flick, and a romantic-but-quirky restaurant popped up in the script, longtime Portland Lebanese joint Karam would fit the bill quite nicely. The cozy downtown restaurant is warm and inviting, with classy traditional decor that forgives the blighted real-life scene outside the window (a barren parking lot and the side of a building). Sweet touches abound—house cocktails and a luxurious wine list among them. Upon delivering your wine, the waiter pours just a little out—presumably for the dead homies—and offers a friendly “cheers.” Our fictional Hollywood couple would have no problem filling up on the elaborate veggie mezza plate with salad, hummus, falafel, a fresh-made pita and more easy comfort food. But they probably wouldn’t fall in love until their forks crossed while cutting into the flaky, honey-dripped baklava, which forever redefines one’s expectations of that dessert.
Order this: The gorgeous chicken couscous, delivered with a side of light chicken gravy, satisfies both your carnal and aesthetic cravings.
Best deal: The veggie kebab ($14) is a sprawling plate; its succulent mushrooms in particular are the perfect balance of crispy and juicy.
I’ll pass: On the street kids and their goddamn adorable dogs scoping out my grub while passing by. Stop haunting my food!

Ken's Artisan Pizza

Anyone who’s driven near the intersection of Southeast 28th Avenue and Pine Street on a Friday or Saturday night has undoubtedly witnessed the spectacle of around-the-block lines, traffic jams and diners loitering in the street after being warned of an hourlong wait. All this for pizza? one might ask. Yes. Arguably already the best wood-fired pizzas in the city when they debuted as a Monday-night special at Ken’s Artisan Bakery, Ken’s pies have since been elevated to a form befitting the “artisan” label. For instance, late August featured several variations on the classic margherita: Here it is under a bushel of fresh arugula or a translucent veneer of Proscuitto di San Daniele; there it is piled high with housemade fennel sausage and caramelized onions, or mounded with discs of peppery sopressata. In spite of this, appetizers are not given short shrift—try the seasonal bruschetta with colorful sliced heirloom tomatoes on toasted Ken’s Bakery bread, or the oven-roasted calamari with spicy tomato sauce and garlic crostini.
Order this: Margherita and arugula, fennel sausage and onions.
Best deal: Anything off the pizza menu ($11-$14).
I’ll pass: Lamb and pita? Here?

Kenny & Zuke's Delicatessen

In the two years since blogger Nick Zukin pulled chef Ken Gordon off of Hawthorne Boulevard into a high-windowed deli at the base of the Ace Hotel, superlatives have been lavished on the signature house-cured pastrami. It seems like there are no accolades left to describe it. Well, let me give it a try. Kenny & Zuke’s pastrami is the unicorn of meats, but real. (And kosher.) Flaking, fatty, flavorsome: This smoked flesh is what bacon wants to be when it grows up. It is good on cheese fries, great on a cheeseburger and terrifying on the Meshugaletta sandwich, where it is piled atop salami, turkey and roast beef. But it is best when served plain—and piping hot—at the counter, on rye bread with a splotch of Russian dressing. If you don’t feel like pastrami, the open-faced pot roast sandwich is nice, what with the tomato-and-onion gravy. But don’t shit me, kid. You feel like pastrami.
Order this: You want I should draw you a map? Pastrami on rye.
Best deal: The latke and blintz plates.
I’ll pass: The turkey’s a little dry, if we’re quibbling.

Kir

This shabby-chic space feels like an old friend’s living room. In a flyspeck kitchen, chef-owner Amalie Roberts, the former wine director at Clyde Common, works her Mediterranean magic, assembling generous plates (a cornucopia of Manchego and cured meats, fragrant bowls of steamed mussels) for $10 or less. Sit at the Art Deco slab of bar and let bartender Russell Smith guide you. The chalkboard emphasizes affordable Old World vintages, particularly rosés. Or sip a cava-elderflower liqueur kir royale. Stunning late-summer surprises included a new pickle plate and large slabs of smoked trout beside a sunny salad of cherry tomatoes and haricots verts. Save room for the homey desserts, like the delicate plum hazelnut cake. Then find yourself becoming a regular here.

Order this: Mussels steamed with corona beans and chorizo.
Best deal: Charcuterie and cheese plate.
I’ll pass: Mixed olives, toasted pistachios (the least alluring of the snacks).

Kurata

The best sushi shop in the Portland area is one you’ve probably never heard of. Kurata, a small mom-and-pop operation in Lake Oswego, offers great nigiri, sashimi and maki items, but it also delivers far more than raw fish. Kurata’s rolls are well-balanced in flavor and texture. The Kurata No. 1 has some surprising twists and turns: The sushi rice is slightly warm, with a touch of vinegar that complements the spicy tuna and egg. The slight crunch of tobiko (flying-fish roe) gives the roll one last delicious flourish. You’ll often find interesting nigiri, too, like kazunoko (herring roe), or madai (Japanese red snapper). There’s also udon and soba noodles, and even a salad of fried soft-shelled crab served with greens and a rice wine vinaigrette. This place is a little oasis of calm—though it’s pleasant to know that in addition to Zen, you’ll also find great sushi. Why else would you drive out to Lake O?
Order this: Takoyaki, fried octopus croquettes, a favorite Osakan snack.
Best deal: Kani nigiri ($4.95), with generous heaps of real, sweet crab. I often ask Kurata-san for this dish as a handroll to finish off a meal.
I’ll pass: Inari. The best fried bean-curd pockets still belong to Tanuki.

Laurelhurst Market

We’ve already written at length about how much we love the food at Laurelhurst Market, the heroically renovated former mini-mart that Ben Dyer, Jason Owens and Dave Kreifels, the men behind Simpatica Dining Hall and Catering and Viande Meats, have transformed into the city’s best steakhouse. The juicy moules frites, the perfect steak tartare and the surprisingly complex side dishes are all worthy of the highest praise. But little has been said about the innovatively democratic nature of the restaurant. Most steakhouses, at least the good ones, are monuments to wealth. The white-aproned captains, extravagant wine lists and immense cuts of meat that cost a day’s wages are calculated to make diners feel like kings, sequestered away from the masses in dimly lit, luxuriously outfitted halls. And that’s nice, sure, but there’s something to be said for popular enfranchisement in dining. At Laurelhurst Market, the menu is designed to be accessible to penny-pinching students and West Hills lawyers alike. It is easily possible to have an excellent, satisfying dinner for two with wine for $40, and just as easy to drop $100. The restaurant’s shared entrance with the deli, the dining room’s immense sliding glass walls and the outdoor bar tucked in the corner of the lot are all designed to be inviting, to make the building seem open to all comers. Want a beer with your steak? No problem! Want an appetizer for your entree? Feel free! If you’re unfamiliar with, say, plugrá or guanciale, you’ll get an explanation without a drop of condescension. This is a brasserie for everyman. The only downside? Everyman will have to wait a while for his check.

Lauro Kitchen

Sitting at a bar stool, beneath the chalkboard scrawled with daily specials, splitting a dish of olives and a half-carafe of something red, Spanish and spicy until a table opens up—that’s how one ought to start a meal at Lauro. It allows a person time to watch the flame and sizzle of the kitchen’s open line, time for the amber lighting and the red wine to settle with a pleasant heaviness, time to ogle passing dishes and catch appetizing whiffs from neighboring tables. Give it 20 minutes, then you’re ready. Opt for one of the many window tables at this glass-wrapped corner space, and start with a copper egg of mussels spiked with chouriço sausage, roasted peppers and cilantro, fresh from Lauro’s wood-fired oven. Counter their steamy heat with a refreshing summer salad of melon, feta, pine nuts, olives and a brisk dusting of mint. Order more wine. Then look toward entrees like the culotte steak with potato and arugula salad, or Lauro’s signature main course, a plump chicken breast oozing goat cheese and dressed with jammy quince sauce. Or go lighter and order a pizza margherita and crème brûlée with rosemary shortbread. And maybe a little more wine.
Order this: Shellfish—mussels, clams or what else the kitchen has to offer, all toasty from the wood-fired inferno.
Best deal: A few small plates won’t stuff you but won’t break the bank either.
I’ll pass: Smoked-salmon ravioli was heavy, starchy and boring—uncharacteristic of Lauro.

Le Pigeon

This, my friends, is a sure thing. The Jenna Jameson of the local restaurant world, Le Pigeon is that rare place that turns normal people into true omnivores, ready to stick the restaurant’s mismatched silver forks into whatever chef Gabriel Rucker tells ’em to. And that’s a good thing, because the man and his crew can turn just about anything into a refined-yet-rustic food orgy. Last time it was a lesson in cognitive pork dissonance—the tender pig served with both sweet peaches and a crunchy tangle of pickled peppers (trust me, it worked). The list goes on: after-dinner-mint-size pesto gnocchi paired with tender niblets of frog legs; a woodsy trio of shell beans, sweet corn and chanterelles snuggled up to a crisp-skinned poussin; a hunk of seared hamachi balanced on a bed of crunchy green beans and hard-boiled eggs à la salad Niçoise. The cramped, boisterous space welcomes curious eaters and industry insiders with the same easygoing charm. It won’t take you long to recognize the staff—portraits of many of them, from line cooks to dishwashers, hang on the restaurant’s brick wall right now, crafted out of yarn by Le Pigeon server Jo Hamilton.
Order this: Ask your server. And get that rightfully lauded maple ice cream-topped bacon cornbread for dessert.
Best deal: The burger. Sweet Jesus, the burger. At $9, it’s a meat juice-oozing, slaw- and onion-topped, eat-with-a-knife-and-fork monster.
I’ll pass: Not everything needs to contain foie gras. I’m looking at you, profiteroles.

Lincoln

If only all of our forefathers looked so good: This metro-woodsy dining room manages to be both sexy and convivial, filled with helpful servers and an eye-catching painting of a giant, black cock (rooster, people). Lincoln’s a little Northwestern, a little Mediterranean, but it’s all chef Jenn Louis, whom you can spy in the kitchen doling out perfect hanger steaks paired with feather-light onion rings, richly spiced pork ragu with toothsome tagliatelle and burn-yer-fingers-hot roast chickens. Her partner in crime, David Welch, works the front of the house—he’s a charming pusher of excellent value wines and plates of hot, chewy thyme flatbread. With a menu filled with recognizable entrees elevated by clever flavor twists, count Lincoln as a go-to choice for both Meet the Parents and Seduce the Date dinners. Plus, although Louis is all about the meats (the woman once baked an apple pie with a bacon-lattice top), her vegetarian nods, like a panzanella that turned out to be a colorful, puckery crunchfest of nutty toast, heirloom tomatoes, blue cheese and shallots, sing with an earthy vibe that’s tough to match.
Order this: A texturally miraculous dish of eggs and Castelvetrano olives baked in cream, topped with herby breadcrumbs. Best thing I ate last month.
Best deal: Entrees are big and shareable. Close your eyes and pick one.
I’ll pass: The North Williams eatery was nearly packed on a recent Tuesday night. Does that mean I won’t be able to get in on a Friday?

Lovely Hula Hands

Dining at Sarah and Jane Minnick’s place is like paying a visit to your balmy Victorian aunts: From the pink walls and lace curtains to the paper lanterns on the back patio and the fresh-cut wildflowers on each table, every dainty detail leads you to expect stories about gentleman callers who used to pitch woo before the Great War. Then the food arrives and kicks your ass down a flight of stairs. Strapping and salty, Lovely Hula Hands’ locavore cuisine isn’t for the faint of heart—or the high of blood pressure. The menu changes incrementally each evening: The Carlton Farms pork chop that floats atop a riverbed of French green lentils on Thursday might be replaced the next Sunday with a piercingly sweet Kurobuta pork belly. In either case, the pig is served alongside a wrap of braised cabbage stuffed with mustard and bacon—a typical expression of the restaurant’s principle that the only thing better than an Oregon vegetable is an Oregon vegetable pan-fried in some kind of animal fat.
Order this: The chicken breast, surrounded by ricotta gnocchi and spiced string beans, is the golden mean of golden crusts.
Best deal: The grilled radicchio with bacon glaçage finally unites chicory and hickory.
I’ll pass: The house-mixed soft drinks are even more sugary than the decor.

Lucy's Table

This adorable little restaurant hasn’t changed much over 11 years of holding down its Nob Hill corner. The black curtains, blown-glass light fixtures and glittering glassware still lend an air of casual romance; the black-clad waiters are still quick, efficient and chatty in a pleasant way; and the menu, full of pomegranate glazes, wasabi granita and other Northwest-fusion touches, looks to have been transported intact from 1998. But, hey, why not stick with what works? The meat-laden menu is a tad heavy for the warmer months, but you could hardly ask for a better winter warmer than the super-tender baby back ribs.
Order this: The goat-cheese ravioli ($9) is a customer favorite for a reason. The thick, cheesy bites of pasta are dressed with ridiculously rich brown butter and shallots.
Best deal: Lucy’s boasts one of the cheapest happy hours in town, with a large menu of small plates for $3 to $4 and $4 glasses of wine.
I’ll pass: The tomato and butter lettuce salad reconstitutes the fruit, with layers of lettuce and cheese stacked between slices of tomato, all held together with a skewer. It’s a clever presentation, but too cumbersome to be worth the effort of eating.

Meriwether's

With produce grown on its own Skyline Boulevard farm and an impressive roster of sundry local suppliers, the only thing Meriwether’s lacks is an altar to Michael Pollan. But don’t fret: If it’s worship you’re after, the televisions in the bar are tuned to sports. Food origins are a big selling point here, but a hefty helping of ethics would amount to squat if the dishes didn’t deliver. Praise Pollan they do. The epic selection of starters includes the strangely satisfying chickpea fries, which occupy an odd zone between falafel and Burger King french-toast sticks. It shouldn’t work. It does work. Braised farm greens are served over a slab of grilled bread that lends a pleasantly charred kick while soaking up the rich garlic and anchovy broth. The entrees reward appetizer moderation with hearty dishes like the Dungeness crab risotto, which uses crab as a refreshingly gentle flourish and lets the summer squash and subtle butteriness come to the fore.
Order this: Dungeness crab risotto.
Best deal: A plate of harissa chicken wings makes for a suitably modest and messy bar meal.
I’ll pass: The toast with anchovies and tomato is a bit bread-heavy, taking up stomach space that should be reserved for an entree.

Metrovino

Wine snobbery got a little more accessible this spring when MetroVino opened across from Tanner Springs Park. The restaurant offers all of its 64 wines by the 1.5-ounce taste or 4.5-ounce glass, thanks to the high-tech Enomatic wine system, a giant behind-the-bar dispenser that keeps wine fresh for weeks by filling the bottles with argon gas after each pour. So if you really want to try that 2001 Barolo but don’t have a spare Ben Franklin, you can settle for a somewhat less steep $11 taste or $33 glass. Although MetroVino’s wine service is fantastic, it doesn’t eclipse the food. The asparagus starter is a handful of sweet and crunchy grilled spears in a brown-butter anchovy sauce topped with a tiny grilled anchovy along with the prize—a breaded and fried poached egg. If you’re after a flavorful big plate, the lamb T-bone with housemade lamb sausage delivers. Pour us another taster, winebot.
Order this: Grilled wild Alaskan halibut with bottarga-aioli bruschetta over clam broth with plump corona and scarlet runner beans and freshly shelled peas.
Best deal: A mere $10 markup on retail bottle price for wine consumed in-house (all in-house wine is also for sale to go).
I’ll pass: On the dining room. The bar is super comfortable with a nice view of the constantly flowing wine, and more relaxed, but with expert service nonetheless.

Mother's Bistro & Bar

Don’t let the pictures near the door of President Bill Clinton and Gov. Ted Kulongoski’s visits here put you off: Mother’s is all about homey comfort. The sun-drenched (weather permitting) dining room and unpretentious lounge are like a second home to regulars who line up on weekends to feast on chef Lisa Schroeder’s justly famous brunches, from scrambled eggs with prosciutto, roasted garlic, tomatoes, basil and provolone to a Greek frittata with feta cheese and kalamata olives. Dinners are just as hearty with dishes like slow-stewed chicken with herbed dumplings, Carlton Farms pulled pork with smashed red potatoes and steak frites topped with herbed butter, fries and sautéed spinach. A solid selection of draft beers and fresh-squeezed juices round out the comfort-food bliss, capped with a Thomas Kemper root beer float. Clinton must have been in heaven here.
Order this: Wild salmon hash.
Best deal: “$15,000 Dungeness crab cakes” for $18.95.
I’ll pass: Macaroni-and-cheese du jour. Will this fad never end?

Navarre

Navarre, in northern Spain, is considered an “autonomous region,” and Portland’s Navarre, something of a pan-Continental tapas restaurant, has likewise cultivated its own autonomous gastronomic space. The spices are exceedingly simple—salt and pepper, say—to let the actual flavor of each ingredient come through, and the presentation is just as simple: to order, you mark the various dishes you’d like on a little paper menu, sushi-style. In the tiny hardwood space the kitchen feels more open than most—it’s as if you’ve been invited over for dinner. The food shifts weekly, but some stalwarts are the sterling crab cakes and the parchment trout, which must be unwrapped like an Old World present. I’ve never had a bum dish—and for a small-plates restaurant, that’s a hell of a compliment.
Order this: Parchment trout, crab cakes, anything with mussels.
Best deal: Anything, really—just order the small instead of the large and it’s likely to be around $5. You can get out of here for under 10 bucks or rack up a fortune, depending on mood, hunger and impulse.
I’ll pass: I repeat: Never. A bum. Dish.

Ned Ludd

Ned Ludd, the mythical inspiration for the Luddites, famously opposed the automation of industry in the 19th century. Nothing quite so contentious comes to mind when considering the newish North Portland restaurant that shares his name, where co-owners and chefs Ben Meyer and Jason French celebrate Ludd’s low-tech methods rather than revolution—and create stellar food from humble ingredients in the process. Ned Ludd’s menu, esoteric on the surface but easily decipherable, is divided into small plates, or “bits,” and entrees, or “plats.” “Forebits” fulfill the traditional appetizer role, featuring charcuterie, cheese plates and housemade pickles. “Kaltbits” are salads. The “warmbits” and plats are where the alchemy of wood smoke and fire really shine. The “elbows, peas and cheese” is a deeply satisfying bowl of comfort, with tender tubes of pasta bathing in milky, salty cheese and coated with buttery breadcrumbs. Of the plats, standouts included a half game hen rubbed with berries and served over a simple green salad.
Order this: Anything featuring Ned Ludd’s lovely, luscious pork belly.
Best deal: Stick with the kaltbits and warmbits to build yourself a fabulous mini tasting menu for not too much cash.

Nel Centro

Restaurateur David Machado’s latest enterprise, the house restaurant for the recently renovated Hotel Modera, is a departure from Lauro and Vindalho, his two casual, moderately priced restaurants in Southeast. Nel Centro occupies prime corner real estate in the heart of downtown’s banking district, with full-length windows looking out on the Unitas Plaza and the hotel’s own lovely garden courtyard. The 150-seat dining room, designed by Holst Architecture, is stunning: strips of chocolate brown paneling and white columns accented with blond wood and gleaming glass light fixtures. The large open kitchen prominently features a large rotisserie (fire is a Machado signature) that turns out excellent roast chicken and lamb. The menu, inspired by the food of Nice and Genoa, is a notch more expensive than Lauro’s—entrees average $21—but equally broad in appeal. The pastas are excellent, meats moist and desserts delicious. And don’t skimp on wine—David Holstrom’s wine list is exceptional.
Order this: Anything rotisserie. The half chicken and panzanella salad is a huge, hearty entree.
Best deal: Ravioli Niçoise with butter and Parmesan ($15). Rich, beefy perfection.
I’ll pass: The salt-cod croquettes are fine, but don’t compare to the fritters at Laurelhurst Market or Toro Bravo.

Noble Rot

Noble Rot has undergone serious changes this year. Last February, the acclaimed wine bar and small-plates pioneer left its home on Southeast Ankeny Street in favor of rooftop digs on lower East Burnside. With high ceilings and a glossy sheen, the new window-wrapped space is a far cry from its former dim and intimate refuge. But that’s not all bad. In the move, Noble Rot gained a rooftop garden and twinkling views of the Portland skyline (marred only by the garishly uplit KPOJ billboard across the street). The move also put Leather Storrs, husband of co-owner Courtney Storrs and the restaurant’s original chef, back in the kitchen. (His ill-fated concept restaurant, Rocket, the space’s original tenant, folded last November.) Despite his hiatus/debacle, the food proves Leather hasn’t lost his touch. One night’s incarnation of the Rot Meat Plate combined house-cured ham, steak tartare and smoked duck breast with peach mayo, all tasty takes on charcuterie classics that paired nicely with a $12 flight of earthy Chilean reds. The onion tart, long a favorite of regulars, was sweet and nutty, with caramelized onions melting on the palate. And the richness of an endive and hazelnut salad dressed with blue cheese was balanced by the briny tang of pickled beets. A ham-and-cheddar panino was fairly boring even with the accompanying mango chutney, but still well-executed. The space (and clientele) may have become slicker, but the food maintains its understated excellence.

Order this: Onion tart, Rot meat plate and lots of wine.
Best deal: $10 to $12 generously poured flights.
I’ll pass: Ham and cheese doesn’t do this place justice.

Nostrana

Perhaps 20 years spent in Genoa’s shotgun kitchen left Cathy Whims with a crippling case of claustrophobia; how else can we explain the staggering enormousness of Nostrana? The restaurant, which Whims co-founded in 2006, resembles a homey aircraft hangar. Dozens of small tables sprawl across the barnyard-kitsch dining room (a tree grows near the two-story bar, which is home to several taxidermied chickens), and the kitchen seems to go on without end. If the space is a little too Old Spaghetti Factory for your taste, grab a seat on the garden patio—it’s lovely. The food is farmhouse Italian: pizza, pasta, salads and a handful of meat and fish, much of it cooked in the restaurant’s enormous wood-fired oven. It’s great, modest fare with modest prices, prepared to Whims’ exacting standards of freshness, worth tolerating the crowds and occasional service snafus for.
Order this: Whims makes gnocchi on Thursdays, and it is divine: sweet, viscous pillows that melt on the tongue.
Best deal: Pizzas, made in the same style if not quite to the same standard as Ken’s, are quite large for one, and start at $9 for a marinara.
I’ll pass: The butterscotch budino, a layered cup of caramel, custard and whipped cream, is too much fat for one man, or two. You’d better share it.

Nuestra Cocina

When Portland’s parade of beet salads and seared halibut entrees grows tiresome, there’s one place I turn: bright, cheerful Nuestra Cocina, where chef Benjamin Gonzales turns out excellent ceviche (often rockfish with lime, onion and chiles), juicy pork tacos on handmade tortillas and nice big pieces of meat sauced in the same earth tones as the restaurant’s walls. The aggressively friendly wait staff can answer all of your inevitable questions about the various gradations of mole, chipotle and salpicon, and the origins of some of the menu’s more obscure offerings, like grilled goat cheese in banana leaves. Don’t skimp on drinks or dessert: The bar offers seven takes on the margarita, and the chocolate cake with cinnamon ice cream is not to be missed.

Order this: Cochinito pibil, a spiced hunk of braised pork with pickled red onion and black beans that tastes of meaty divinity.
Best deal: A generous bowl of lime-chicken soup will cost you only $6.
I’ll pass: Don’t bother with a glass of sangria—order the pitcher instead.

Paley's Place

Vitaly Paley’s place helped define early on what Portland’s restaurants would eventually be known for—local, fresh, seasonal food, attentive to each individual ingredient, served in a Continental style adventurously adapted to its surroundings. Almost alone among Northwest cuisine’s pioneers, Paley remains the same chef at the same restaurant—that little old house on Northwest 21st Avenue—that has never once faltered. He’s confident enough that his Parisian “Maison de Qualité” plaque is hung jokingly in the bathroom. The steak tartare is still here, so too the sweetbreads and pork belly, but the restaurant evolves its menu day by day to suit the season—a recent summer standout was chilled Washington oysters with an achingly delicate apple-mint mignonette. Paley’s Place is simply a testament to true epicureanism, which never meant excess but rather a light and salutary sensuousness. As the receipts say, “Peace. Love. Foie Gras.”
Order this: Any soup, chilled oysters, the sweetbreads and pork belly.
Best deal: If this is your worry, don’t even think about it. Even the half-portions nuzzle $20.
I’ll pass: $6 french fries.

Pambiche

Few places do one-pot meals better than Pambiche. The Northeast Portland favorite does the Cuban staple ajiaco some serious justice: a hot cauldron simmering with moist corn dumplings, slices of pork and beef so tender they fall apart in your mouth, tropical roots and a delicate topping of white rice. Pambiche’s dishes are simple but never slight, with saffron-infused rice and gooey black beans fighting for plate space over most entrees. You might have to wait for a table or fight your neighbor for elbow room, but a few bites can relieve any awkward moments that come from the close confines.
Order this: Hot pot of ajiaco.
Best deal: An awesome assortment of appetizers, including six types of empanada.
I’ll pass: The flan, which is disappointingly ordinary compared with everything else on the menu.

Park Kitchen

Those old men bending their knees in the North Park Blocks don’t know how close they are to deep-fried bacon. If they did, they’d drop their bocce balls and head for Park Kitchen’s dumbfoundingly delicious, lightly battered and fried bacon and green beans, served in a cone with tarragon aioli. The duck confit-and-basil-stuffed crêpe in a rich, frothy sauce with cubed feta and pickled cherries is tasty, too. Park Kitchen’s constantly changing menu of mostly small plates makes you feel adventurous even when you order something as minimal as lamb with three nightshades.
Order this: Grilled and chilled razor-clam salad with julienned seaweed and agretti.
Best deal: Tender baby octopus sautéed with agretti in “angry” sauce—a spicy, red arrabiata.
I’ll pass: On $4.50 bread service, even though it is Ken’s Artisan bread.

PastaWorks Hawthorne/Evoe

We aren’t entirely sure that this narrow cafe in the awkward storefront adjacent to the Hawthorne PastaWorks can accurately be called a restaurant. PastaWorks calls it an “enlightened snack bar,” but a more useful description might be “that place where two cooks bring you great, cheap sandwiches and small plates but close really early.” Evoe has no waiters and no printed menu; you pick your meal from the frequently changing list chalked over an entire wall of the room and give your order to the cook (Kevin Gibson, formerly of Castagna), who brings your food to you as he finishes it. You eat the simple, Spanish- and French-inspired dishes (Padrón peppers; albacore and white beans; fingerling potatoes with red-pepper tapenade), sip a nice glass of Eyrie pinot gris and watch the crowds stroll by outside. When you’re finished, you pay at the PastaWorks checkout counter. Just don’t stick around too long—the joint closes at 7 pm.
Order this: The surprisingly beautiful cheese plate, a wooden cutting board spread with fruit, nuts and generous portions of three excellent cheeses.
Best deal: The sandwiches ($7-$8) are large and very tasty. Try the Gallego, with anchovy, fennel and red peppers.
I’ll pass: Leaving a tip with your credit card is a hassle—the cashier gives you cash from the register, which you run in and leave on the counter—so just bring cash.

Patanegra

It’s no wonder restaurants of all cuisines are appropriating the small plates format of Spanish tapas. The variety of dishes and the casual, convivial atmosphere they encourage make it the best way to eat. So it’s not surprising that Patanegra, named for the finest grade of Spain’s vaunted cured ham, is an exceedingly pleasant place to eat. There’s a tangible sense of excitement as dishes arrive one after another. The ample ramekin of pimentos del Padrón—mild, bite-sized Spanish peppers—are proof that good olive oil, sea salt and heat are all you need to be happy. Tender, grilled baby squid defies any chewy preconceptions and proves that even with invertebrates, babies taste better than adults. Salt cod fritters are addictive crunchy tidbits—classic tapas. And no visit would be complete without a bite of namesake ham; try the cured-meats platter for a tour of Spanish charcuterie. And plenty of wine with everything.

Order this: Baby squid and anything with ham.
Best deal: Sharable portion of Padrón peppers
I’ll pass: Chorizo with cider felt heavy and salty.

Piazza Italia

In Portland, which lacks any tradition of family-run Italian cuisine—or any notion of tradition at all—the truly courageous move is to buck the silly notion that only nouveau-cuisine whimsy should prevail and instead open an old-school Italian trattoria (in the trend-addled Pearl, no less) serving simple, rustic, casual meals. No obligatory Northwest fennel salads, no misguided “bold” fusions, just a bunch of guys with Italian accents serving up old-country fare in a fanatically fútbol-friendly environment (AC Milan scandals be damned). The sort of place where old Italian men nurse their vino rosso in the early afternoon, the waiters flirt loudly with their tables, and the kitchen serves up one housemade pasta specialty (pappardelle, excellent), a note-perfect Bolognese ragu and an even better squarciarella. Remember that? That thing they used to call…charm?
Order this: Linguine squarciarella, pappardelle with boar ragu.
Best deal: Free Italian lessons if you ask nicely.
I’ll pass: The green salads are an afterthought.

Ping

It’s fitting that the Chinatown squat that once housed Hung Far Low, bastion of bad Asian food and hard drinking, is now home to Ping, bastion of very good Southeast Asian street and bar food, and its own fair share of hard-drinking Jinro and beer guzzlers. Pok Pok’s elegantly ramshackle sister operation branches out from Thai dishes to highlight vividly spiced and sauced plates from neighbors like Vietnam and Malaysia, with a big list of grilled skewers at its heart. Ping gets a lot of buzz, both good and meh, for its out-of-the-ordinary offerings, from liver and heart skewers to quail eggs wrapped in bacon. But don’t overlook the “normal” stuff. The lime-zingy baby octopus and grilled pork-collar skewers—peppery, juicy, char-crunchy bits of pig marinated in ginger, honey and soy—are both habit-forming. Despite the fact Ping’s street food costs sextuple what the original country would bill, this fun spot’s the cheapest trip to Southeast Asia you’ll ever take. All that’s missing (thankfully) is the humidity and uncomfortable, ankle-high plastic stools street vendors are so partial to.
Order this: Give the server $20 and ask ’em to choose a selection of skewers, from funky Thai fish balls to fish-saucy Viet short ribs. And order some sticky rice to dip in those amazing sauces.
Best deal: Chinese tea eggs. Kuaytiaw pet pha lo, a humongo bowl of aromatic comfort in the form of thick rice noodles, stewed duck leg and mustard greens, flecked with a dynamite sour yellow chile dip.
I’ll pass: The Malaysian-Indian lamb curry soup’s purported “lamb riblets” are actually “lamb bones bereft of meat and flavor.”

Podnah's Pit

Every five years, Texas Monthly publishes a list of the top 50 barbecue joints in the Lone Star State. This requires months of research, driving across the Hill Country to outdoor smokers that run out of meat before noon. Also, it means living in Texas. Finding the best barbecue in Portland is much easier: Head up the Prescott ridge and follow the scent of slow-cooking coming from behind an unembellished doorway. The only sensible ’cue dispute in this city is which of Podnah’s meats is the best; I’m partial to the pork spareribs, which have so much flesh that they must come from the pig equivalent to Barry Bonds. Others swear by the brisket—especially as served with tortillas and pinto beans on the Plato Tejano—or the pulled pork. The only people who won’t be in hog heaven are vegans (they can’t even be consoled by a divine sour-cream potato salad). But who are we kidding? Like atheists in foxholes, there ain’t no vegans in Podnah’s.
Order this: A half rack of spareribs will nourish your family for generations.
Best deal: The Frito chili pie has higher-quality meat than corn chips have any right to deserve.
I’ll pass: The black-eyed pea salad tastes like Fergie.

Pok Pok

The sheer number of Portland Thai restaurants is matched only by their general mediocrity. Pok Pok is an exception. Its menu and aesthetic sit a tier above your average travel poster-adorned pad Thai purveyor—as does its price point. But dip charcoal-grilled boar collar in fiery chile-lime-garlic sauce and it becomes clear Pok Pok is worth every cent. Dishes like khao soi kai curry noodle soup and grilled giant prawns—suck the delicious juice from their still-attached heads!—are ideal for sharing, but you might want an order of the addictive, salty-sweet chicken wings, caramelized with fish sauce, all to yourself. For Pok Pok regulars, it’s tempting to order and reorder favorite standards, but don’t miss specials like a recent whole tilapia, fried to perfection with skin crackling around flaky flesh, piled with cilantro, lime, bird chiles and cashews. Wash it down with a sweating pint glass of the best gin-and-tonic in town.
Order this: Boar collar—evidently the collar is the best part of the boar.
Best deal: Take the Pok Pok Special to go—half a lemongrass-rubbed game hen, papaya salad and rice ($11).
I’ll pass: Papaya salad. It’s great, but it’s not as unusual as most of the menu.

Portobello

Observe the contortions of your favorite vegan’s face next time they’re enthusing over a new animal-friendly restaurant. You will witness a glorious emotional duel between heartbreak—“why can’t all restaurants be like that!?”—and desire—“I want to be there right now, dammit.” Vegans have had a historically rough go of it restaurant-wise, so this electric thrill of discovery is justified, never more so than when the ethical eater in question is raving about Portobello, which might just be making the finest vegan victuals in town. It is imperative that you order and devour the fig-and-rosemary crostata, a perfect sweet vs. savory showdown staged on an impossibly buttery crust. The melon with olive oil and basil is a simple delight that allows the constituent flavors to come to full, fuss-free life. It matches nicely with one of the fruity wines from Hip Chicks Do Wine, who produce their juice just short of three miles from your table. For dessert, try the tiramisu. It’s not the traditional airy confection, but the dense, cookielike cake is a wonder all its own.
Order this: Fig-and-rosemary crostata. Is it an appetizer, a dessert, or something in between? Does it matter? It’s amazing.
Best deal: Half-servings of the entrees are six or so bucks. Order two!
I’ll pass: Heirloom tomato and watermelon salad. These two great tastes don’t go great together.

Red Onion Thai Cusine

Aside from Pok Pok, locals take Thai cuisine for granted as a takeout, comfort-food standby. But in May, Chef Aut “Dang” Boonyakamol’s Red Onion forced us to sit down and take notice. The new restaurant, from the former chef-owner of Chaba Thai and Dang’s Thai Kitchen, is a direct flight to Northern Thailand hunkered down across the street from the emergency entrance to Legacy Good Sam Hospital. The stylish lime-and-brick-colored dining room serves a long list of off-kilter favorites, from soupy, shallot-y khao soi curry to salad rolls packed with sweet Chinese sausage and topped with Dungeness crab—all served in sharable portions. But it’s what Chiang Mai native Dang didn’t put on the menu that garnered him a following of Thai expats over the past decade; until recently, regulars would call him to special order deep-fried squid tubes stuffed with cilantro-laced ground pork and shrimp or homey nam prik oang, a tomato and minced pork dish that’s the Thai equivalent of spicy spaghetti sauce. He’d make his own lemongrass-and-kaffir lime Chiang Mai sausage by hand, top mounds of puckery shredded green mango with crisp-skinned rainbow trout and doctor up chile pastes with special Asian cumin seeds only found at Lily Market. Then, earlier this summer, Kenny & Zuke’s Nick Zukin convinced Dang that Americans were ready to broaden their borders. The new specials menu’s been a hit (although it still bears the legend “No refuse, no return” at the bottom). Chef Dang, 51, has been cooking since he was a kid—forced to grind chile paste for his mom in the kitchen instead of going outside to play, he says with a grin. The love and care he still takes in making this complex, deftly spiced fare is evident—it tastes just like home ought to.

Saucebox

It’s still easy to hate on Saucebox’s sleek aesthetic—that melting-ice-cube logo, the dark-roomed club-beats-meet-fusion-food ambience. But really, aside from its woot-woot Chachi/Trixie weekend crowd, Bruce Carey’s Saucebox has slid from aggro-urban-pseudohip to real Portland mainstay, not least because of the tempering of the crowd brought on by its popularity as an after-office happy-hour haunt. The pan-Asian/island cuisine is understated and welcoming, particularly the Korean baby backs, the downright pretty tapioca dumplings and the stellar Javanese salmon with soy, pepper, garlic, lime and palm sugar, which has evolved into a signature dish. Along with beer and wine, Saucebox’s deep beverage menu includes brain-numbing cocktails, good midrange sake and, heck, for that island-survivor feeling, coconut juice served in-shell.
Order this: Tapioca dumplings, Javanese salmon, hamachi and avocado sushi.
Best deal: One of the best small-plate mix-and-match happy hours in town.
I’ll pass: Hamachi and avocado roll aside, the sushi feels mostly like a superfluous sidebar to the dinner menu.

Screen Door

Three years into this Southern-food joint’s tenure on East Burnside, and the brunch lines are still around the block. Online reviewers frequently extol items on the menu as the best they’ve ever eaten, and the dining room’s tables and blue vinyl booths fill to capacity even on weekday nights. Is it the buttermilk-battered fried chicken? The rotating menu of local, organic options, such as summer squash griddle cakes with “bodacious” corn? The crispy-skinned pork belly melting into a puddle of peach-bourbon sauce? The impeccable service? It hardly matters, as the menu holds little opportunity for error. If the decision seems overwhelming, choose the Screen Door Plate, which allows a choice of three items from the House Sides menu (don’t skip the red beans and rice, the most authentic this reviewer has tasted outside Louisiana) or the produce-centric Local Organics menu, served alongside a sizable chunk of Southern cornbread. If you’re somehow still able to walk afterward, a full dessert menu awaits. We recommend the banoffee pie.

Order this: Crispy fried buttermilk-battered chicken with tasso gravy and mashed potatoes.
Best deal: Screen Door Plate ($12.95)—your choice of three house sides and/or selections from the Local Organics menu.
I’ll pass: Desiccated fried pork chop.

Serratto

Here rustic, straightforward Mediterranean cooking lets seasonal ingredients do their thing with minimal interference. With three large seating areas, a bustling bar and private rooms, Serratto is good for groups and people who don’t like to wait. Portions are wonderfully generous—two can easily fill up on one shared entree combined with a pasta dish or one of the signature brick-oven pizzas. Pick a hearty Northwest or Old World wine to make the fare’s flavors hum. And leave room for dessert—seasonal treats like a hot Oregon berry cobbler with vanilla gelato are too good to pass up.
Order this: Toothsome fresh pappardelle with slow-cooked wild boar and a hint of orange.
Best deal: A huge pizza del giorno for $13 ($8 at happy hour)—the hot oven teases deep flavors from the day’s produce.
I’ll pass: The Caprese salad is good, but nothing you couldn’t replicate with a trip to New Seasons and a knife.

Siam Society

Whether you’re dining outside on the back patio or inside this spare, high-ceilinged space that was once a power substation, it’s hard to go wrong when you order in this Thai restaurant. Begin off the appetizers list by trying the grilled sausage in cabbage wraps served with ginger and roasted peanuts—a unique mix of crisp cabbage with tender sausage. The farmers market stir fry of seasonal vegetables goes well with the chicken, one of several options that include a seafood mix, prawns, salmon or tofu. All the dishes are filling, but that’s especially true of the curries—we liked the massaman chicken curry as a velvety and rich mélange. If you’re looking for a lighter menu option, try the lychee salad.
Order this: The pan-seared halibut in green curry and topped with fresh mango.
Best deal: Spicy green beans ($6.95).
I’ll pass: The calamari comes closest to a pass, not because of taste—it’s got plenty of bite—but because there are equally good appetizers for a lot less than $11.95.

Silk/Pho Van

Sister restaurant—a really sexy sister—to the local and delicious Pho Van chain of restaurants, Silk hosts a younger, fancier clientele than most Vietnamese joints in Portland. But one can’t blame the restaurant and bar itself: Silk may be good-looking, full of sharp angles and IKEA-influenced minimalism, but it’s not pretentious. It knows the value of a sweet happy-hour menu (one can order gorgeous-looking, midsize $5 to $7 entrees between 4 and 9:30 pm on the bar side) and a real-deal Vietnamese menu that has some of the vermicelli- and rice-based favorites Pho Van is known for, plus a handful of fancier fare. The cá hà noi, a smooth noodle dish topped with pillow-soft pineapple-braised salmon, will run you $19. One might go to Silk to be seen, but it’s also a great place to drink—the kumquat gimlets are light and tangy—and be merry.

Order this: The lunch menu features a sob-worthy bánh xèo, which is basically a pork-’n’-shrimp salad stuffed in an oversize crispy crêpe.
Best deal: The Pho Van chain’s signature dessert, Vietnamese bread pudding (banana-bread pudding swimming in rice pudding), is a downright revelation best split with a friend.
I’ll pass: Those accustomed to thin strips of white meat may want to avoid Silk’s chicken dishes, which feature round chunks of juicy (sometimes stringy) flesh.

Simpatica

Simpatica serves you on its terms. That means you eat what they make at fixed-menu dinners ($35 plus wine and gratuity) on Fridays and Saturdays. And you’d better get a reservation early, because they go fast. But Simpatica can get away with this heavy-handed approach because the food is just that good. And if you really feel stifled, Simpatica offers less planning and more choice at its Sunday brunch, which creatively reinvents classic combinations like chicken and waffles and biscuits and gravy. A recent Friday-night dinner began with a sure-handed take on a Spanish classic: gleaming mussels and chorizo fired in a wood oven—briny, salty, smoky and delicious. A lovely Caesar-like salad followed, combining romaine with artichoke hearts and a “creamy lemon dressing,” its richness well balanced by the citrus. The main course was a combination incapable of failing—steak and bacon. Add local chanterelles and roasted tomatoes to the hanger steak and thick-cut smoky chunks and you get a very quiet dining room, everyone’s focus narrowing to the next bite. Let them tell you what to eat. They’re right.
Order this: Simpatica does the ordering, but it’s in your interest to obey.
Best deal: $35 for four superb courses ain’t bad.
I’ll pass: A chocolate soufflé cake for dessert was solid, but who has room?

Southpark Seafood Grill and Wine Bar

If you have any flush out-of-towners in your charge who have cash to burn and are eager to burn it on you, Southpark could be your best bet for an Oregon-for-beginners dining experience that you, the Portland lifer, will still enjoy. Chalkboards loom over the capacious dining room, announcing fresh seafood and local farm suppliers.  Heed their call and begin with a selection of Pacific oysters, which are served with a refreshing cucumber and verjus granita (in English: slushy goodness). Energized by that taste of our fine sea, move up the ocean’s food chain with the king salmon. Paired with a pool of sage-dominated pesto and sweet-corn-and-zucchini croquettes, it’s everything your troupe of tourists could want: adventurous but not too radical, filling but not debilitating, and a taste of what Portland does best. Your only challenge as ambassador will be staying sober, as Southpark’s extensive wine list offers a number of fine Oregon wines to help your family dinner go down easy.
Order this: King salmon with corn-and-zucchini croquettes and sage pesto.
Best deal: Lamb-shoulder tagine, a hearty stew that serves two.
I’ll pass: The bland and rubbery crab cakes, which even creamy citrus saffron can’t save.

Tabla Mediterranean Bistro

The Mediterranean fare at Tabla is impeccable, but this anchor of Northeast 28th Avenue’s restaurant row remains the most underhyped restaurant in Portland. It’s not that Tabla’s warm-hued decorated dining room, open kitchen and reliably excellent cuisine aren’t perennially acclaimed by the foodie press. But Tabla has never quite been enveloped in the chattering cloud of buzz that hovers around Portland restaurants of the moment. Perhaps that’s for the best; hype bubbles invariably burst, but Tabla, simmering along with a devoted customer base, won’t overheat. Its modest profile means one can still get a seat at the amber-lit bar on Friday nights, and the $24 pick-your-own three-course deal—perhaps the best value in Portland fine dining—survives. Start with heat-blistered Padróns, those mild green Spanish peppers suddenly ubiquitous on Portland menus, paired with delicate lemon mousse, cherry tomatoes and a dusting of coarse sea salt. It’s hard to pass on Tabla’s signature ravioli: a single, plate-filling pocket of handmade pasta dressed with wilted chard, ricotta and poppy-seed butter concealing a perfectly poached egg. Other pasta options are equally rewarding. Rich mushroom and sherry agnolotti ($18) draw balance from the tart kick of pickled chanterelles. Tabla’s deft duck confit pairs crisp-edged fowl with velvety chive whipped potatoes and orange poached in port. See? Impeccable!
Order this: Tabla ravioli.
Best deal: $24 three-course menu; add generously poured course-by-course wine pairings for $16.
I’ll pass: On the complimentary bread—don’t want to fill up prematurely.

Tastebud Dining Room

Wood-fired baking fanatic Mark Doxtader was a farmer long before he opened this tiny, bright pizza-and-bagel joint just south of Powell Boulevard. Take a glance at the menu and you’ll see his roots are showing: What makes the pies at Tastebud so appealing isn’t just the chewy crust—which is very good, with a flavor similar to that of Ken’s Artisan, but thicker and saltier—but the surprising combinations of excellent, impeccably fresh produce. Ever had a peach and pancetta pizza? How about sausage and shiitake? Salads and appetizers (try the corn on the cob if it’s available) taste like they were tossed on the way in from the garden. The one-page menu is rounded out with oversize fruit crisps (superb) and a smart selection of affordable beer and wine, heavy on Hair of the Dog and bright Italians.
Order this: Vegetarian pizza with artichokes, mozzarella, ricotta, Parmesan and arugula.
Best deal: Enormous pile of clams with garlic and toasted focaccia ($10).
I’ll pass: Padrón peppers are better fried than roasted.

TEMPORARILY CLOSED Sel Gris

There’s no doubt about the food at Sel Gris, WW’s 2008 Restaurant of the Year and a culinary inspiration in an unassuming section of Hawthorne. But Sel Gris is so much more than a restaurant—it’s an opportunity to watch master chef Daniel Mondok at work. The best seats in the notoriously small dining room are at the bar, just a few feet from the kitchen, where you can observe the preparation of each dish before it’s served. Mondok specializes in rich, decadent offerings: “salt-and-pepper” calamari served with Thai basil and the sweet-acidic dash of preserved lemons; thick risotto with truffles and a fried egg on top; an assortment of foie gras. For a fancy joint, Sel Gris doesn’t skimp on the portions, either, which leaves you both completely full and totally satisfied.
Order this: The bay scallops, quickly seared and served with gnocchi and creamy corn pudding.
Best deal: “Salt-and-pepper” calamari, a plate so big it’s hard for a couple to finish.
I’ll pass: Dessert, because you’ll be far too full by then.

Ten 01

Greeted with contempt upon its 2007 opening and compensatory raves soon after, the Pearl District’s monument to gilded elegance has settled into a comfortable—and maybe slightly complacent—routine under new chef Benjamin Parks. The menu is still filled with treasures, including a seared slab of halibut resting on a bed of wild rice (decadently buttered in beurre blanc), and a bowl of steamed clams and mussels ingeniously accented with lentils. A meal in the balcony seating—with its white upholstery and dune grasses, it looks like a spread from Sunset magazine circa 1977—remains as classy as this town gets. But in these penurious times, your best bet is to grab a seat at the bar and let Kelley Swenson pour you a couple of flawless cocktails. For whatever ails you (except, of course, alcoholism), I strongly urge a double feature of the Cryptic Memo and the Mystic Wood.
Order this: Did I mention how much beurre blanc is under the halibut? A lot of beurre blanc.
Best deal: Sure, lots of places have a happy-hour mac ’n’ cheese for $5—but how many throw in Cattail Creek lamb?
I’ll pass: The pork loin? Pedestrian.

Three Square Grill

The house salad here isn’t complicated, with lettuce and pickled carrots spritzed in a light almond vinaigrette, but if you order it, be prepared to sink your teeth into some of the best lettuce you’ve ever had. That sounds strange, but Three Square Grill elevates straight-shooting vegetables and greens, and sometimes meat and seafood, to stardom. This should come as no surprise; these are the folks behind Portland’s famous Picklopolis pickles. Three Square Grill’s farmers market platter midsummer is a straight-from-the-source flavorful medley of grilled baby artichokes, zucchini, wild mushrooms, warmed housemade sauerkraut, green beans, citrusy garlicky collards and more. Although the Hillsdale-proper dining room isn’t much to speak of, it’s comfortable and feels like family.
Order this: Pickle platter with briny-good fiddlehead, asparagus, beets, green beans, etc.
Best deal: Fried okra, fried pickles and hushpuppies platter with jalapeño jelly, $6.
I’ll pass: On the crab cakes, which are a little mealy and batter-heavy.

Toro Bravo

It’s been over two years since John Gorham started churning out highbrow versions of classic Spanish tapas from his bustling kitchen next to Wonder Ballroom, and the lines are still out the door almost every night of the week. There are two reasons for this: First, Spanish food is the best in the world; second, Toro Bravo consistently turns out some of the city’s best fried food. Think whole sardines with fennel and lemon, Padrón peppers, salt cod fritters, broad beans, zucchini fritters and oxtail croquettes in portions that are about 50 percent larger than the price ($5-$15) would lead you to believe. Non-fried items are good, too. Don’t skip the excellent charcuterie, or anything cooked with bacon or cheese (vegans, there’s basically nothing for you to eat here). Order a lot of wine from the relatively cheap selection of Spanish and Oregon bottles, try to avoid elbowing your neighbors at the alarmingly close next table over and buen provecho!

Order this: The house-smoked coppa steak with olive oil-poached potatoes is one of the most flavorful hunks of meat you’ll ever taste.
Best deal: The Catalan tomato-rubbed bread ($5) is a small portion with huge flavor. I could live on this.
I’ll pass: If you’re avoiding sodium, this place will kill you. Nearly every dish is heavy on the salt.

Vindalho

Indian fare is often a delight in its simplicity: It’s hard to order anything besides aloo channa and dal tarka when it’s done just right. Vindalho, tucked in the same laid-back Clinton Street intersection as the Night Light lounge, takes traditional spices like nutmeg, cloves and curry and gives them a modern kick. The menu is filled with forward-thinking Indian and central Asian food that looks to the West for inspiration. Most of it is quite tasty. The starters are all light and excellent, from the melon chaat salad embellished with spicy red onion and refreshing mint leaves to a chilled avocado soup that’ll make you swear off hot liquid dishes for months.
Order this: Kashmiri paneer, which trades tofu for tender bites of cheese with the slightest kick.
Best deal: Roasted corn and potato samosas, a plate of deep-fried pockety goodness.
I’ll pass: The Sri Lankan chicken curry is a little bland.

Wildwood

When restaurants get into their teen years, they’re bound to get in trouble, and Wildwood, which bid farewell to founding chef Corey Schreiber in 2007 after 13 years, went through a bit of a rough adolescence. But the restaurant seems to have recovered as chef Dustin Clark’s kitchen has grown more consistent. Service in the quietly sprawling dining room is as calmly solicitous as ever, and the menu still offers the freshest veggies off the trucks of Wildwood’s many farm partners. With the occasional exception of a dish here and there that tries to do too much (e.g., a very nice piece of grilled albacore with one too many sauces), the food is both interesting and flawlessly prepared. Case in point: a recent salad of sweet corn and arugula with walnuts, unexpectedly brightened with lime juice.
Order this: The Wildwood Burger, an impeccably spiced patty with Dijon aioli on a substantial bun, is justly lauded, though at $14 it pushes the bounds of acceptable burger-pricing.
Best deal: Chef Clark grills farm-fresh bites for $5 apiece every Tuesday from 4:30 to 6:30 pm.
I’ll pass: A recent heirloom tomato salad was too busy, dressed with blue cheese, walnuts, onions and (maybe) anise. They’re tomatoes, guys. Let them speak for themselves.

Wong's King Seafood

When it comes to dim sum, there’s no place in Portland, from Chinatown to 82nd Avenue, that comes close to matching Wong’s King. You can immediately taste the difference in the freshness of the ingredients: Staples like sui mai aren’t gristly lumps, but rather tender ground pork- and black mushroom-filled dumplings topped in a neat layer of roe as orange as an OSU flag. Dinner is even better, especially if you leave your reservations behind and go with someone with an understanding of Cantonese cuisine. It’s also a destination for fresh seafood—the first thing you notice when walking into the large ballroom that’s chattier than a high-school cafeteria is a whole wall of cases filled with live seafood, from lobster to jellyfish. Wong’s King is overstimulating, but we wouldn’t want it any other way.
Order this: The Chinese greens, just a bit tart and cooked right next to you on a rolling cart.
Best deal: Dim sum, which is a steal if you go with a large group.
I’ll pass: The traditional cha siu baau are middling unless you get a batch fresh out of the kitchen.

Yakuza

Of course, Micah Camden didn’t have the backing of a Tokyo syndicate when he secured the corner of Northeast 30th Avenue and Killingsworth Street for his four restaurants. Don’t be ridiculous. There are other perfectly logical explanations for why this izakaya (that’s a pub, you stupid gaijin) became the founding cornerstone of Camden’s cooking empire. His chile-peppered recipe for kyuri—cucumber and avocado salad, with toasted sesame seeds—for one thing. Or his knack for searing the flavor into bites of fish: What the man does with raw salmon would make a Kodiak bear blush. Under the chic shade of brass pots and painted cherry blossoms, Yakuza serves scallops wrapped in so many strands of phyllo dough they look like Miyazaki jellyfish. As for the Kobe burger…well, missing it would reflect poorly on you, my young friend.
Order this: While any sashimi is a good bet, the salmon tataki is unsurpassed.
Best deal: That kyuri is the sprightliest veggie concoction in Portland.
I’ll pass: Sorry, I can’t afford to order a $44 bottle of sake called “Bride of the Fox.” But I’d like to.

Yuzu

Just pick up the phone right now and make a reservation at this Japanese pub, squashed between an anime shop and a Korean family kitchen in a dingy Beaverton strip mall. It’s not that the three-year-old eatery owned by a pair of Tokyo expats is exclusive, it’s that the dining room is so damn tiny—just a handful of tables and a ratty booth wrapped around a big, no-nonsense kitchen—that there will always be a die-hard crowd slurping bowls of buckwheat noodles in intense bonito broth and nibbling orders of spicy kimchi spring rolls before you ever make it to the door. This is indeed an izakaya—it’s open until midnight on weeknights, and you should order a Sapporo or any one of the excellent sakes on Yuzu’s list (the Ichishima Junmai is a dry, sweet treat) as soon as you sit down. It’ll give you something to hold onto as you flip through a plastic menu of Asian marvels, from little plates of butakaku (pork boiled in sake) and beef tongue to small, perfectly grilled pieces of black cod dressed with sweet soy and yuzu, the restaurant’s citrusy namesake. It’s like a light bulb goes off every time you take a bite at this place, revealing in a flash what all that umami fuss is about. Who can blame the regulars for hogging the seats every night?

Order this: Kettle Chip-thick slices of grilled beef tongue are chewy, charred, buttery meat perfection.
Best deal: Big bowls of udon and ramen noodles served in pungent broth floating with big hunks of chicken, pork and crunchy tempura.
I’ll pass: Why drink a pint of Widmer when you can splurge on the Watari Bune Junmai, the “Liquid Gold” sake of Ibaraki, Japan?