LOOK AT ME!: Portland food is biiiiiiig |
I am an inveterate name-dropper. And frankly, I’m kind of proud of it. I come from a long line of celebrity-butt-kissers and more than that, I love the word “inveterate;” it sounds like something between “lost cause” and “without spine” — both being apt.So imagine my delight when a friend in New York City told me that a writer for Food and Wine magazine would be coming to Portland to visit our eclectic mix of gourmet haunts. “Yee-haaw!!” Did I want to meet her? “Hmmm . . . let me think” . . . Surely she needed a local foodie to hang out with. “Well, twist my arm a little . . .” and suddenly she was staying at my apartment! Now, I realize you may have never heard of Kate Krader, but believe me, going to a restaurant with a hoity-toity incognito food critic feels like waltzing into the Nick with Brad Pitt wearing a fake beard and sunglasses.
Let’s just say that we had a biiiiiiig weekend: on Saturday, Kate hit Flatbread, Two Fat Cats bakery, and The Cheese Iron. Later that night she and I ate at Local 188 and Caiola’s, after which she met friends at 555 Congress for, uh . . . dinner. Whew!
Sunday morning, we had bagels at One Fifty Ate in South Portland, and checked out the nearby Scratch Baking Company. The dinner binge commenced over wine, apps, and pizza at Vignola in the Old Port and continued with a bottle of Pinot Noir and 8 different dishes at the Front Room (there were four of us) on the Hill. Wait, there’s more: then we went to Portland Pie Company to sample two different slices. And, oh yeah, then we had drinks and danced at the White Heart on Congress (“the best people-watching in Portland so far” says Miss Kate).
Just in case a food writer lands in your guest bedroom, here are some insider tips on noshing with her: scan the menu and wine list carefully, assessing the bravado and refinement of the proprietor. Order three things, and take exactly two bites of each (not so easy). Get one glass of wine per person (make them different!) and sip one another’s vino. Wipe mouth. Bust out corporate credit card. Move on.
It’s a sucky job.
Worse, every place we went, I (hopeless, spineless namedropper) was dying to tell the wait staff whom I was with. I scrutinized their every move, imagining what Kate might write about them. When the service was less than stellar (which, honestly, never really happened — I just feared that it would), I would scream inside my skull, “Do you have any idea whom you're dealing with?” It. Was. Awesome.
So what were some of her impressions of our fair hamlet? “Most of my experience of Portland has been going there in the middle of winter, staying down in the Old Port, and eating in the same three restaurants, which are very good. But this time, I saw that it goes beyond the triangle of Fore Street [restaurant], Standard Baking, and Street and Company.
