Category: Portland

Portland and XOXO

Portland

I would have to do a search to confirm it, but I think I have said that, to me, XOXO is a reflection of the best parts of Portland, in so many ways. As a native Portlander who has spent the vast majority of my nearly 6 decades of life here, I feel somewhat qualified to speak on the topic of what is Portland? And if you accept my premise that XOXO reflects Portland values, I can speak to that, as well.

This is a first draft so it may be a bit rambly and disorganized. That’s a reflection of me, the author, because I am pulling together some of the thoughts and dreams this past weekend stirred in me, along with the duty and desire to keep posting at least 500 words a day here. My streak is reaching 150 days, which feels great but not enough, somehow. Anywho, bear with me.

Portland, to me, is intentional. For good or bad, everyone here has an idea of how the world should be. The best parts of that, then, would be intentions to make the world a better place for as many people as possible. Some examples of Portland’s intentionality would be the Urban Growth Boundary, and the regional governmental agency of Metro. The idea was to limit sprawl and to make sure that city growth did not encroach on farm or natural lands. It’s a progressive goal to prevent using up natural resources necessary for everyone living in the city.

Another aspirational part of Portland is the drive to create. Curiosity, a drive to build something cool and new, the hope to see what works and what doesn’t. I could cite examples like our 1% for Art law, or the Regional Arts and Culture Council (RACC), but the better examples, to me, are the artists and musicians who live here. Portland has always had a thriving local music scene, art galleries tiny and large, neighborhood festivals and street fairs. The tech industry liked Oregon and proximity to Portland for many reasons. There are at least three large comic publishers in and around Portland, challenging the Big Two of DC and Marvel: Image Comics, Dark Horse Comics, and Oni Press.

The stereotypical view of Portland is as a leftist utopia, and I admit that I am a leftist, politically. Our city government, however, has not been very progressive for a while now. In fact, I acknowledge that the Oregon territories were settled in large part to create a white utopia. White supremacy exists on the streets and in our city halls, and I condemn it with my whole chest. And that brings me to another Portland value: we are not afraid to see the pitfalls, the dangers, and the destructive elements, and we speak up about them. Daddy Bush called Portland “Little Beirut” because we were never afraid to speak truth to power. Protest is in our blood. I know it can be a bad thing when used to punch down, but again, I am speaking of the best parts of Portland, and when we are speaking up in defense of the oppressed, that embodies Portland, to me.

Food Recomendations For Portland Visitors

Portland

XOXO Festival is coming up, starting tomorrow, and I could not be more XOXO-cited (don’t groan, you loved it, I’m not apologizing.) On the good social medias people are posting their travel selfies, tips and tricks, and scheduling meetups. I can’t share any of that, but here in public, I’m going to make a personal list of some of my favorite things about Portland, from me, a native son of the city. It’s true: I was born here almost 60 years ago, at St. Vincent’s, on a snowy December evening.

I’m not one of those Portlanders who hate people moving here, though. I want people to move here, mostly leftist or progressive folks, because governmentally the city is run by centrists at best, although I have hopes that the new form of city government we all voted in and that the current pack of conservative commissioners have been trying their best to sabotage will enable true progressive voices, and hopefully diverse ones, to have greater say in how my city works.

So if you’re new to Portland, visiting for the XOXO Festival, here are some off-the-beaten-track recommendations for food, entertainment, and quality time. I grew up in Southeast Portland, so most of my faves are in this quadrant of the city.

I have never had bad service at Kay’s Bar or the Limelight Lounge, both located in SE Portland on Milwaukie Avenue. These are friendly neighborhood establishments with caring staff who know their business. The bartenders at Kay’s serve strong drinks, the menu is bar food but done really well, and the atmosphere and decor is chill and retro. I could be biased, though: the previous cook named a burger special after me once (the Lunar Burger, which had goat cheese and cole slaw, is sadly no longer on the menu.) Many vegan or vegetarian options, also!

The Limelight likewise has filling, delicious burgers, sandwiches, and specials. The restaurant side is warm and inviting; I like to grab a window seat and watch the foot traffic but on sunny days you can sit outside. Limelight is my go-to for Taco Tuesdays; three tacos for cheap, all day long, along with the Niño Nachos, and a beer, is a filling inexpensive meal. Try a drink with one of their infused vodkas; the jalepeno makes a great vodka martini. Their Taco Tuesday always includes a vegetarian option, as well.

Maya’s Taqueria downtown, Santa Fe Taqueria in NW, and Aztec Willie’s in NE, are all long-time Portland Mexican food staples. Their verde chicken is amazing, and I consider their salsa to be the pinacle and the match of anything I’ve ever had in actual Mexico (though I am a tourist there, of course.) Maya’s is also situated right on the MAX line and a block from the Central Library; I have spent many a lazy afternoon or evening sitting at the bench watching the world go by through the large front windows, nursing a beer and filling myself with a burrito or quesadilla. Ah, memories. Aztec Willies is open late over the weekend, and has a terrific dance floor!

Lauretta Jean’s wins on pie; they’re on SE Division. Also a tiny shop, they always have many different pies to choose from. I prefer berry pies, and now is the perfect season for blackberry, raspberry, and marionberry, but they do an awesome cheesecake, or a Boston creme. You can drop in for a slice, or buy whole pies.

Bar Talk

Portland

I had Google Maps up on my phone, swiping around, trying to find the name of the hill in Southeast Portland dad and I had driven by on the way to the bar. “I don’t think Google has it labeled. Was it Mt. Scott?” I showed the phone to dad, sitting next to me, facing the mirror and the rows of bottles, ripe for the drinking.

“Yeah, I guess that’s it,” he conceded. “I didn’t realize that it extended all the way to the freeway.”

“I thought the one you were thinking about was more to the east. I guess that’s it.” I put the phone away.

Dad’s head wiggled, a smile on his face. “I have fond memories of it. Your mother and I used to go up there to neck.”

I just shook my head. “Yeah, yeah. That was a long time ago.” I took a sip of my beer, a slightly-not-so-hoppy IPA, perfect for the summer heat outside. Inside, the bar was cool, and dark, lit in orange and red, punctuated by flourescent (not neon, not anymore) and LCD screens.

The music, some pop song I didn’t recognize, pulsed in the background.

Dad sipped his drink, too, lost in memories. I felt a surge of compassion. I was happy to share these moments with him. I’m grateful he’s still around, still telling stories, still a part of my life. The short-term stay while his place was being remodeled had become months, but it was a good thing.

“There was a place out on Foster your mother and I used to go to, with Ray and Carol,” he said. Ray and Carol were from mom’s side of the family; Carol was one of mom’s younger sisters, Ray her husband. Both of them had passed, Ray a long time ago, Carol more recently. There were fewer and fewer of my aunts and uncles, a tale as old as time.

“What kind of place?”

“Oh, they had music, and dancing. Food, bar food.” He swirled his glass. The ice clinked. “It’s probably long gone now.”

“We should go try to find it sometime.” My car wasn’t much, an old beater, but it would still take dad and me out on the backroads of Clackamas County some summer evening.

“It was all open fields and farmland back then. Now it’s… developed.” Dad’s gravely voice dropped an extra octave in disdain, turning that final word into a curse.

I sang, “Houses made of ticky-tack, and they all look just the same!” I laughed. “You taught me that song.”

“I did! I can’t remember where I learned it. Probably some commercial jingle.”

“Those damned commercials sure get stuck in our brains. What else d’you got in there?” I squinted at him.

His face, rough, lined, skin a bit loose on his skull, eyebrows bushy over pale blue eyes, turned toward me from the shoulders. He had to look left and right like Batman since they put the metal rods in his spine. “I still have my mind. It’s the body that’s kinda falling apart.”