Define "Dinerant"

Now, a "dinerant," in print, looks to me as though it should be defined as an angry tirade about a disappointing or upsetting meal. However, Portland's "The Original" seems to define it as a hybrid between "Diner" and "Restaurant." Since I think we can all agree that all diners are restaurants, this may seem an odd hybrid. Nonetheless, it is oddness that drew me to The Original in the first place.
I decided to consult Breakfast In Bridgetown to find a singular breakfast joint in the downtown Portland area. One of the lovely things about the book is that it gives you the hours and days the various establishments serve breakfast, and since I was leaving on a weekday, it definitely limited my options. But I finally stumbled across the entry for The Original. Apparently when it first opened, its overly (and seemingly overtly) bizarre menu proved quite divisive. Lobster corn dogs, and other such low brow/high brow mashups explain the "dinerant" moniker. It has since seemingly slowed its roll a bit, and the book settled upon the opinion that despite the fact many Portlanders might still hold it in contempt, it is pretty much without reason. Also, it was really close to where I got off of the bus (I tried to minimize my travel since I was weighed down with all sorts of travel souvenirs), and, y'know, open.

They definitely had a policy of hiring insanely attractive girls with awesome tattoos. I definitely felt my lack of cool carrying a bunch of luggage, but swallowed my pride and took a seat next to the window. The place was huge, with a very definite hypermod, 50's World's Fair kind of retrofuture feel. There were tons of fun low brow paintings everywhere, including one wall covered with celebrity portraits paired with quotes by a local homeless artist. I think the reason that Bridgetowners might dislike it is that it does seem perhaps a little more self-aware than most places there; it is very "Portland," but it does feel like it's trying for it. The menu was not nearly as outlandish as the book led me to believe (although I got the impression the weekend brunch menu is far more adventurous).
I went with the most unique-sounding item on the menu, the Creme Brulee French Toast, and paired it with some delicious Stumptown Coffee (aside from being a big Stumptown fan, part of my plan was to keep myself insanely caffeinated so that the crash would coincide with lights out on the train. I was semi-successful).

You can see to the right the full compliment of syrups that come with all the griddle orders; Maple Syrup, a Seasonal Syrup (in this case Marionberry), and Honey Butter. A different syrup for each slice! The bacon was good, and the French Toast was incredible. True to its name, it had the crunchy caramelocity of creme brulee, but was soft and sweet in the middle. It went perfectly well with the maple syrup, and the marionberry was excellent! Just the slightest hint of tartness paired well with the beautiful texture of the toast. The honey butter would have been great on a less sweet dish, but was a little overwhelming with the already-sweet toast. It was delightfully filling, and I got a strong buzz from the coffee that kept me humming all the way to the train station!
As per Morning Constitution tradition, I visited the restroom before I left (the importance to me of restroom's reflection of a restaurant will be detailed soon, I promise). I was a little disappointed at first, that such a design-heavy restaurant -- or, excuse me, dinerant -- would have such a boring restroom, although the deep blue was a nice color. Then I realized that instead of being a simple box, the walls actually curved into the ceiling so that the negative space of the room actually resembled something akin to the Brave Little Toaster. It was a simple, but elegant touch that helped seal the deal, and let me leave fulfilled in my Bridgetown Breakfast experiences. The Original might be trying, but it also succeeded.

Atmosphere: 12/13
Clean: 2/3
Structural: 3/3
Decor: 3/3
Signage 1/2
Service: 3/2 (bonus point for everyone being a supermodel)

Menu: 4/8
Variety: 1/2
Size: 1/2
Beverages: 1/2
Prices: 1/2

Food: 7/9 pts
Presentation: 2/3
Portion: 2/3
Taste: 3/3

Bathroom: 3/5 pts.
Clean: 1/2
Structural: 1/1
Decor: 1/2

Overall; 26/35

When Hot Cakes Attack!

One of the other recommendations I got from my Portland ex-pat friends (can you be an expatriate of a city?) was the Hot Cake House, a twenty four hour pancake extravaganza. This sort of thing, is obviously impossible for me to pass up. I'd also picked up a copy of Breakfast in Bridgetown, a celebration of Portland's breakfast restaurants! A bookstore that hands you a map, and a book about breakfast spots? Portland is definitely my kind of town.
I took a couple of buses down to where the Hot Cake House was located, being forewarned that it would sit heavy in my belly. The sign had a vintage look to it, sun bleached and simple. The whole restaurant sits heavy in the greasy spoon vibe, although a couple of bubbled alcoves keep it a little more interesting. I immediately felt a bit like an outsider, that there was some code I didn't necessarily know that I should follow. The place was surprisingly empty, but sported a big open kitchen, and a juke box. I ended up getting two 'cakes and a side of hash browns, treated with a bit of that "outsider" I felt at the front door. A large group came in shortly after me, with at least a couple other out-of-towners, and later there was an obvious regular shocked at how quiet it was.

My food was delivered pretty quickly, two football-long heavy plates, one filled with the face-sized hot cakes, and the other overflowing with hash browns. The 'cakes were great; big fluffy suns. The hash browns were slick with a layer of delicious, artery-clogging grease. I was able to get about halfway down the plate before admitting defeat. It was definitely the gut-filling breakfast I'd been promised! From there, it was a simple busride into town before I got started on an adventure-filled day!


Atmosphere: 6/13
Clean: 1/3
Structural: 2/3
Decor: 0/3
Signage 2/2
Service: 1/2

Menu: 5/8
Variety: 1/2
Size: 1/2
Beverages: 1/2
Prices: 2/2

Food: 7/9 pts
Presentation: 1/3
Portion: 3/3
Taste: 3/3

Bathroom: 1/5 pts.
Clean: 1/2
Structural: 0/1
Decor: 0/2

Overall: 19/35

Home Cooking In The Beaver State

According to popular family mythology, my dad lobbied to name my "Hawthorne" before I was born (as an adult, I'm still not entirely sure this isn't true). That being said, when I had a chance to stay at the eponymous hostel of Portland's Hawthorne district, I felt I had no choice in the matter. Even better, then, that one of my friends' breakfast recommendations, the Hawthorne Cafe, was scant block from my hostel.
I'd arrived in town the day before, and run into my first Google Maps snag; while I'd previously been praising it for helping me get around, this time it directed me to walk across a bridge with no foot traffic. After finally finding a way to stroll across the Willamette River after getting a little lost in the main urban area of Portland for a while, I began the over thirty block trek to my hostel. Still a little train-bleary, this was not necessarily the most auspicious of beginnings to my stay. I did a little exploring, and then promptly passed out.

I slept in a little ("sleeping in" being relative, of course, for a guy who generally wakes up at six in the morning) and then walked the couple blocks down to Hawthorne Cafe. It's in a neat little converted house with a nice yard and outside seating. The service was delivered by the owner, who was incredibly nice. I ordered the mango crepe, which came with half an eggs florentine, and a side of potatoes. The house was very pretty, and allowed for some pretty good eavesdropping (which, let's be honest, is an important part of eating out). The Hawthorne neighborhood is fun, and a little kitschy.

The food was nicely displayed, and very tasty. I almost always expect crepes to be large, meal-size affairs (thanks largely to Sacramento's Crepeville), but I did a good job of anticipating the size. The potatoes were good but not really startlingly different, which sort of summed up the place nicely. Everything was really good, and it was a nice, home-made style breakfast, but there was nothing totally insane on the menu. It was nice and filling, and got me off to a good start!

Atmosphere: 6/13
Clean: 1/3
Structural: 2/3
Decor: 1/3
Signage 1/2
Service: 1/2

Menu: 6/8
Variety: 1/2
Size: 2/2
Beverages: 1/2
Prices: 1/2

Food: 6/9 pts
Presentation: 2/3
Portion: 2/3
Taste: 2/3

Bathroom: N/A /5 pts.
Clean: /2
Structural: /1
Decor: /2

Overall: 18/30

You Had Me At "Octopus"

On my mad scramble through Seattle, I was sure to keep my eyes peeled for an intriguing breakfast spot before I trained it out of town fairly early in the day. I had a couple of patisseries down by the Market I figured I could sample, but then a little something caught my eye in the evening, on my way to a night-time Space Needle ride...

It actually piqued my interest due to a couple of neon-flame chandeliers in the bar area. I'd been snapping a lot of pictures of local neon for a side project on my other blog, and was trying to figure out a good way to get pictures of the bar interior when I saw their breakfast menu. Now, when you hear the title "Tom's Big Breakfast," you might expect some huge, griddle-fried diner fare. Lola, however, offered octopus, walla walla onions, asparagus, poached egg, chives, and yellow squash. I'm not the biggest asparagus fan, on account of the smell undeniably reminds me of sweaty gym socks, and I'm not even the biggest poached egg guy. However, I'm a huge fan of the cephalopod in all its forms, and that combined with local onions, the sheer weirdness of the dish, and a chance to take a picture of those neon chandeliers proved irresistible. I decided this was where I had to have breakfast before I made my way to Portland.

Lola is located inside of a hotel in Seattle's Belltown district, not too far from the Monorail stop. It's a really classy looking joint, and they were very friendly, despite the fact I was looking a little more beach-bum then their typical clientele, I imagine. I sat in a booth and sipped my coffee and orange juice while waiting for the meal to arrive, trying to plan the remaining hours of my Seattle trip. The city reminds me of what would happen if someone from the Sixties time travelled to the future and tried to build San Francisco. They're both Bay Areas, hilly, and artsy, a little funky and proud of it. Seattle seems, comparatively, very clean, and I learned that there's so much to explore than I'd given myself time for.

As you can see, it was prepared beautifully, the jam even came in a little sealed jar, a far cry from the typical tray of Smuckers you usually get. The mix of textures was fantastic. The octopus was not too chewy, nor was the asparagus too socky. The marinade was really good, a very savory sauce that tied everything together really well. It was incredibly tasty and a satisfying way to end my stay in the Emerald City!


Atmosphere: 11/13
Clean: 2/3
Structural: 2/3
Decor: 3/3
Signage 2/2
Service: 2/2

Menu: 6/8
Variety: 2/2
Size: 2/2
Beverages: 1/2
Prices: 1/2

Food: 7/9 pts
Presentation: 2/3
Portion: 2/3
Taste: 3/3

Bathroom: 3/5 pts.
Clean: 2/2
Structural: 0/1
Decor: 1/2

Overall: 27/35

On The Sound

I woke up early in a room that was balls hot and smelled like the inside of a sweaty ear. A quick websearch the night before for the best breakfast in the area gave me a few suggestions, but one stood out more than the others; Lowell’s is located inside of the Pike Market itself, and if you sit on the third floor, it offers you a view of the Puget Sound. The food was supposed to be excellent, too, with the Crab Cake Benedict getting special attention. I showered and tried to grab my belongings as quietly as possible, then grabbed a quick bite at the Hostel, because I figured I owed it to myself as well as you, dear readers, to sample any breakfast available. It was very DIY, with a couple dozen eggs in the kitchen, and fruit, bread, and jam set up on the table. Knowing I was on my way to a meal, and being fairly lazy, I had a couple bits of fruit and some toast.

Then I made my way across the street to a Starbucks. I mistook the Starbucks across the street for the First Starbucks, about two blocks down, and made myself a promise that it would be the only Starbucks I visit on this trip. Having a fresh cup of coffee to consume before I got breakfast, I explored the Market and the Waterfront a little bit. I discovered the Market is a little tricky in that there doesn’t seem to be a way through it to the other side, so if you end up behind it, then you must circumvent it entirely to get around to the front. It also sits on a steep hill, so getting back around to the front involves a lot of stairs. My calves are now full grown bulls. The Market itself is fun and beautiful, very busy with singing, fish tossing, workers; lots of local and tourist customers; tons of enormous seafood; and lots of fun, hanging neon signs.

Lowell’s is funny in that it looks like a free-standing restaurant that the Market has grown up around, with its own distinct façade. Despite the recommendation of the internet to get the Crab Cake Benedict, I decided on the Hangtown Scramble which sold me on being local, and even more than that, a little weird; fried Northwest oysters, green onion, parmesan cheese,and hickory smoked bacon all scrambled up. Having had my coffee fix, I topped it off with an orange juice. A tiny, tiny orange juice. (to be fair, it turned out to be a completely sufficient amount of juice). The view was gorgeous, and I was asked by a couple from Texas if I knew “what the Sound (was),” as they read they would have a view of it, but apparently had no idea what they were looking for. I got to play a little tour guide and historian, regurgitating the history of the Sound I’d heard on the train ride up, and pointing out the Starbucks Headquarters.

It was a fun, sort of touristy way to start the vacation, and a good way to fuel up for a huge, rampagin’ day ahead. The décor was a fairly quaint, Wharf-y, Fish Market feel (surprise!), not unlike 60% of the restaurants along the San Francisco waterfront. Paintings of the Market itself, chalk drawings on the menu, etc. The real décor is the windows, and the city itself. The service was nice enough, and obviously used to dealing with tourists, as they were quick to explain exactly how the service works; the second floor is table service, whereas the first and third floors you order at the register, and find your own table.

Atmosphere: 8/13
Clean: 2/3
Structural: 2/3
Decor: 2/3
Signage 1/2
Service: 1/2

Menu: 6/8
Variety: 2/2
Size: 2/2
Beverages: 1/2
Prices: 1/2

Food: 7/9 pts
Presentation: 2/3
Portion: 3/3
Taste: 2/3

Bathroom: 2/5 pts.
Clean: 1/2
Structural: 0/1
Decor: 1/2

Overall: 23/35

Breakfast by Starlight

This morning found me in a train, tracing the Sacramento River north towards Mt. Shasta. After boarding the train at around 1 AM, it had been a very cold and fitful night of trying to sleep on the floor of the Sightseer car. I’m not built for travel (or rather, travel isn't built for me; it's built for people seven inches shorter than me), exactly, and although I was fortunately placed behind whatever the train equivalent of a bulkhead is, sleeping near vertical next to a stranger was a pretty unlikely scenario.
5 AM brought the first slivers of daylight, illuminating a beautiful forest, the first shadows of Shasta, and the ice cold Sacramento, Six AM brought sweet, sweet coffee. Still a little groggy from the melatonin I’d taken to ward off restlessness, I picked up a coffee, a sausage sandwich, and a cinnamon bun. None of the food was sensational, but the view made up for it. The Sightseer car reminds me of the vehicles of Jurassic Park; automated with large viewing glass.

Almost immediately after finishing this little breakfast and stowing most of my belongings, I stumbled into the dining car, and sat down for a real breakfast. I sat by myself at the first table I came to, then was admonished that it was communal seating, and was sat next to a pair of elderly Roberts. The man to my right was a pungent 82 year old, a former teacher at the University of Washington and halfway houses. He was quick to inform you that he was not judgmental, not anymore, although he didn’t understand how men he admired (a category which seemed to include me, and, indeed, most other men) for their physical advantages in our society would end up in jail. He also mentioned a number of times that he’d had a hard life.
Well, I ordered the Rail Way French Toast, forgoing the additional three dollar “breakfast meat,” despite how tasty that phrasing sounded (does that read sarcastically? Because it should). The other Robert takes twenty-day train trips once every couple of years, and seemed to be well versed in the schedule. He was very sharp, and definitely seemed like the type of guy I wouldn’t mind sharing a train ride with. He also ordered the French Toast, so he obviously was of substantial merit. We briefly discussed a number of things, that sort of “light conversation” that so rarely seems to exist nowadays unless it’s the person ringing you up, and I enjoyed my French Toast. Again, it’s a meal that’s obviously not worth the ticket price alone, but given that it’s essentially lower-altitude airplane food, it was pretty darn good.

One of our topics of conversation was drug abuse in the younger generation. Teacher Robert related a story about asking a young man he admired why he turned to drugs; the young man answered that he essentially had no choice, that was the environment he lived in. Teacher Robert didn’t judge this. Other Robert, who it turns out works as a counselor, explained that there is a choice, and that it’s fairly simple; addiction (ie; death) or life. When the train pulled into Klamath Falls (where I write this now), they both hurried off so that they might have their smoke break. Ah, irony.

It seems a little unfair to pit the train against my rating system, since I severely doubt anyone is going to be taking the train simply to eat. If you do, then you're obviously not going to care about my opinion, anyway!