Food and Footage

  Allow me to introduce you to my new and forever city, Portland–a place where wild artichokes grow in unkempt front yards, a place where grown men ride tiny little baby bicycles for some inexplicable reason, a place where you can drink beer and eat pizza in a second run movie theater.And not just any beer, but really good IPA’s from local breweries. Appetite is an essential part of life here and being a small weight or a tsk-er of carbs is tantamount to blasphemy. This was made clear to me when I opted for a pint of beer rather than my own personal pitcher. “But what if you run out of beer half way through the movie?” My kind and native companion asked. So I got me a pitcher and a couple of slices with local artichoke pesto and pickled red peppers and headed in to watch Greg Mottola’s Adventureland.Adventureland is one of those rare indie rom-com’s that didn’t make it big because it was a little too smart and understated for the general movie going public. The film is full of moments that take basic coming of age situations and subvert them just enough to make you laugh again at what has become the most tired of all film genres. And the dialogue is so good that I wanted everyone in the film to talk louder so I wouldn’t miss a single thing they said. They should issue mandatory closed-captioning for Mumblecore films. Or maybe I should not drink a whole pitcher of beer during an hour and a half film screening.By the time the lights went up, I had to pee so bad I thought I might have to go in the empty pitcher. My level of ebullient drunkenness was forcing me to say obvious things like, “This really is the ladies room,” as I waited for the next available stall, and to muse about my future pick-up lines for a Portland audience; “Who’s your optometrist?”, “Are the bars always this full on a Tuesday?”, “How’d you like to knock me up, so I can get on WIC?”Two bourbon-neat’s, and a Megavideo interrupted attempt to watch The Wizard of Oz later, I settled into bed almost looking forward to tomorrow and my first Portland hangover. Just as I’d expected, Portland was gentle to me the morning after. I woke to an overcast sky, walked less than a block and found really great coffee which I could drink slowly amidst the sound of languid conversation and lugubrious music. I took my sweet time eating my tuna sandwich and reading my mystery novel. When I finally felt clear headed enough to head back home, I checked the Craigslist food classifieds and found out Nostrana was interviewing. I sent in my resume and got an interview within the hour. In two days, I begin work at possibly the best restaurant for foodies in Portland. I thought about Dorothy, my childhood Idol, and her little line about not being in Kansas anymore. She wanted to go back, but I would just as soon stay here in Oz, thank you very much.