CPK

A recent reading of Michael Pollen’s “The Omnivore’s Dilemna” has really changed how much we think about where our food comes from. Eschewing chains and processed food isn’t new to us, but now we’ve start really looking at where our meat comes from, which farms grow our greens, and weighing the benefits of local vs. big organic. Even more than before, we’re putting a lot of thought into our food. And yet this weekend, we find ourselves out in suburbia, indulging our yuppish impulses to find a great sugar bowl and creamer set at Crate & Barrel or picking up yet another pair of the season’s must-have boots. And shopping is bound to make you hungry, and the choices are limited. This is how we came to eat at California Pizza Kitchen.

I’m not going to waste time describing much about CPK. We’ve all been there. The yellow and black tile, the frames pizza boxes-cum-art on the walls. Named-tagged servers only too happy to suggest the avocado spring rolls to start your meal or a slice of key lime pie to end it. And the food, well, it’s tasty. Even better than passable. It works.
It works, but it really, really shouldn’t. It’s not local. It’s not organic. It doesn’t even pretend to be seasonal. But still, it tastes good, and isn’t that what matters most?
So what is about CPK that we don’t like? Why don’t we ever eat here?

We sat at the bar, genuinely enjoying our Thai Chicken Tortilla Spring Rolls. Though a strange concoction to be sure, a marriage of a few different bastardized culinary traditions, it somehow made tasty sense. Took the best from each, rolled it up in a crispy shell and served with some peanut dipping sauce. These tasted good. Better, I’d even say then some creative appetizers we’d had at some pretty high-brow restaurants. So what’s so wrong with CPK?

We hold these gastronomic truths to be self-evident; Local is better than remote, to eat seasonally is to eat sensibly, and organic is better for all parties involved. And here we were happily devouring food that fragrantly broke all these rules. We continued our discussion over the main course. Noneifbysea went with the carne asada pizza. Yep, not a typo. Pizza dough with mozzerella and jack cheese, grilled steak, mild chiles and a heap of tomato-salsa in the center. On the side, some tomatillo salsa. I went with my standby, the tricolore salad. The usual suspects (radiccio, arugula and red leaf) with a balsamic vinegrette and shaved parmesean served on top of an addictive pizza crust which has been topped with parmesean and baked to a crispy, chewy goodness.

But of course the food tastes good. It’s engineered to. This food has been focused-grouped and test-marketed. Surveys have been filled out and questionnaires submitted. Somewhere, there are test kitchens and lab coats that double as chef’s jackets. They’ve taken the ingredients that work and make them work for everyone. This food is made to be palatable. To not be challenging. It’s concocted, not cooked.

And maybe this is where the problem lies for us. Not simply that the food isn’t good for us, that we’re not eating seasonally and locally. But that there’s no connection to the people in the kitchen. There’s no one back there in that shining silver, yellow and white cave putting any thought, consideration or creativity into the food. There is no love. There is no craft. There is no discovery. We are just part of a larger corporate entity. We are simply consumers, in the most literal possible sense of the word.

B-side reprise. A trip to Los Baez.

It has been a full month since our visit to Los Angeles, and though we’ve tried to scratch that itch many times, we still haven’t been able to satisfy our craving for tacos. Good little tacos like the ones we picked up at Loteria Grill in the old part of the Farmer’s Market at 3rd and Fairfax in Hollywood. Savory, meaty bites tucked into handmade three-bite tortillas, just slightly bigger than the palm of your hand. We had heard of a new place, Los Baez, a local chain recently expanded from Salem. We read that people have actually made the drive there to get a fix. We heard talk of handmade tortillas, which got our eyebrows raised and interest piqued. Optimistically, we made our way down to E. Burnside to dig in.

Los Baez is huge. It has so much space, it doesn’t even seem to know what to do with it all. Most of the bi-level room is taken up by the dining room, wood tables and chairs seemingly borrowed from a shut-down Shakey’s and spread pretty far apart from one another to the point it felt awkward. In that open space, we craved a little corner to slip into, so we opted for the bar section, a little gated area on the main floor.

We sat down and literally cracked open the menus. Turns out, it was their opening night. I don’t know exactly how we keep doing this. It seems unfair to write up a restaurant based on their first night opened, but noneifbysea made the astute observation that since they are a chain that’s been in operation locally for decades, really they should have any serious kinks worked out and that the food should be the same.

Our very, very genial server was eager to get us drinks. Nursing a cold, I asked if their juices were fresh squeezed. Turns out, they’re not entirely up and running, but when they are yes, they will have fresh juices. Those fresh-squeezed juices will be a great compliment to their full bar- clearly positioned as a draw in this place.

A request for iced tea got the same response. I gave into a diet soda. Noneifbysea opted for a margarita, blended, with ice. Our eager, cheerful server asked if he wanted to get a 40 oz, enough for two. We don’t tend to drink cocktails that require special extra-long straws, and declined.

The menu is expansive. And traditional. A whole lot of what you’d expect to find at any refried beans and rice Mexican restaurant. Burritos, quesadillas, tacos, enchiladas. All the usual suspects were lined up in all the traditional ways, and the menu reads like a remedial guide to Mexican food, politely detailing carne asada, the contents of guacamole and offering the gringo’s guide to flan. Though we were feeling taco-ish, save for a fish taco or two, all of Los Baez tacos are fried. Instead, we opted for the fajitas, where we could see what they were working with in terms of both meat and tortillas. We went off-menu and took our waiter’s suggestion of the sweet carnitas.

It took a very, very long time to get our food. And the place wasn’t too crowded that night. In fact, it seemed most everyone there were regulars and family friends who drove up for opening night. And the more we watched, the more we learned. Someone else did order the 40 oz drink. And it was just for himself. And he was met with applause when it was brought to him. An impromptu drinking contest began at the bar. More applause. A K-Fed doppleganger furiously text-messeged. We saw a cocktail waitress with a red-bull apron doubling as a mini-skirt. More “whoooooo!ing.” We exchanged looks.

Though we ordered the plate for two, we got a sizzling platter for one, which was fine, since the more we ate, the less we wanted to. The tortillas were pretty good. A little thick, a little thin. Clearly these guys were hand-made. Sadly, these were the highlight. The carnitas themselves were pretty terrible. The sweetness that had been talked up was just too much. More than anything we tasted sugar, not juice or pork. It was sugar-meat wrapped up in a tortilla with sub-par fixins. The guacamole was bland, the rice was gummy, the beans boring and the lettuce sad and limp. Always on the side of the underdog, I asked NIBS, “But really, I don’t know. I want to give them another chance. Portland Mexican has not a lot going for it. There aren’t a lot of mid-level places. You’ve got either high-brow, like D.F. or a few out-of-the-way taco carts that are hard to find after dark. Who’s doing this, but better?”

“Applebee’s.” He said.

Sometimes, the guy has a point.

Our happy waiter came by and asked if we wanted dessert. NIBS’ was encouraged earlier by the listing of the sopapilla- a perfectly great concoction of fried dough, heavily dusted with cinnamon and laden with honey. After our carnitas disappointment, he was skeptical, but I put him up to at least ordering it. I was sure they wouldn’t actually have them ready. And they did. Kind of. Instead of a puffy dough, we got a fried tortilla, doused in honey and encircled by whipped cream and (wait for it) two marachino cherries. No cinnamon at all. Despite being cloying and soggy, there was something spicy in there! It wasn’t supposed to be there. It was a disaster.

As we waited (and waited, and waited) for the plates to be cleared, drinks to be refilled, we took in more of the place. A few more guys with baseball hats took a place at the bar, and the bartender encouraged the “wooo!ing” to continue by pouring more and more shots. We realized, this wasn’t the Mexican place we were looking for. This is a place that’s clearly drinks first, friendly service second, and food a distant third. A place where you might meet the guys to watch the game and get some drinks, and maybe order a bean and cheese burrito to soak it all up. Which, really, simply isn’t our kind of place.

Food: from the little of the menu we surveyed, not too good. Probably not compelling enough to bring us back.
Drinks: solid margarita, and the diet soda was excellent. Full bar, unmemorable wine and beer.
Atmosphere: "wooooooooo!"
Tally: NIBS is going down for this one. Adding insult to gastrointestinal injury.

We haven't been starving, we've been cooking

When this little blog started a few scant months ago, we intended to write up as many of our shared meals as we could- both cooked and cooked for us. Then we changed tack, instead focusing on our restaurant experiences because, we believe, that it's a lot more fun to read about a place you can visit than read about some stranger's perfect lamb loins they made last night. And it's probably the change in the season, but we've been cooking a lot lately. In fact, I feel like I spend just as much time washing dishes as I do cooking and eating. I have an intimate relationship with dishpan hands, I really do. Point is, dear readers, We're around, we're eating, we just haven't been writing a ton. So here, to get us back in gear, is a little summary of our recent food conquests and discoveries:

Got Pho:
It was a fantastically cold Sunday afternoon and we wanted soup. Even better, we wanted Pho. I'm a pho newbie, but I've been doing my research, and the research was pointing us right towards a mini-mall tucked into a sad stretch of Sandy Blvd. Got Pho is supposed to have the best Vietmanese Beef Noodle Soup in town, and so we went. It was everything I had heard about on the outside- nowhere I would have gone if the blogosphere hadn't directed me there. Desolate and eerily quiet, just about all the tables empty. There was a lot of parking, however. We sat down to a pot of tea and began to pore over the expansive menu. Overwhelming. Every possible combination of the ingredients they had on hand. There's a note at the bottom proclamining "no substitions," but I couldn't imagine any way you could alter the dishes that they hadn't thought of and listed already!

We ordered salad rolls with pork loin, a pork loin Bahn Mi and two bowls of the standard beef pho. Ooh what fun! It was too bad the salad rolls came first, because they weren't that great. I think the pork loin overwhelms the delicate flavors and textures of the rest of the roll. And the vinegar dipping sauce didn't add much. Next time, I'd try the shrimp.

This was our first Bahn Mi, and it was lovely. A crusty white roll with a few savory bites of pork and crisp veggies. A study in contrasts and a new perfect sandwich for me.

I think there's a learning curve with Pho, and unless someone's there to show you the way, you're not going to get the most out of the Pho experience. I went straight- soaking a couple of basil leaves, snacking on the bean sprouts for refreshment. Noneifbysea was busy mixing and tearing and slurping and adding and stirring. I was curious. My god, what good work he did! So much more flavor with just a few additions! I learned. I'm humbled.

We'll be back for more Pho, for certain. There are just too many things on the menu not to try.

Other notable meals:
We were hungry and tired and couldn't decide where in NW to eat. We sat down at Callalloo to find it too pricy and not what we wanted. We wandered up to 23rd for crappy chinese, but the lack of no-MSG mention turned us away. We balked at pizza and "deli" and ended up on 21st for, well crappy chinese. I had gone to Ling Garden a couple times before. I know what it is. I know it's bad. I didn't realize how bad it could be. Cashew chicken, twice-cooked pork, dumplings and something else that was horrible. Honestly, we should have gone to Panda Express.

We also had a less than stellar meal at clarklewis, of all places. The food blogs had been a-chatter with good things about CL, so we went with a large group. Most were impressed, but we found everything to just be, well, ok. I wanted something better, something amazing. We ended up at Le Pigeon later than week so I could get the fucking fantastic food fix I had been looking for. One order of fois gras and the Cheeks and Cheeks (halibut & beef) later, and I was a happy satiated customer.