Reid Beels

The yearly signs of Autumn have been popping up all over Portland in the last few weeks. Brisk winds, fiery leaves, misty mornings, and a change of clocks all have heralded its arrival, but the final key element has only just recently dropped into place. Coffee Time has started serving hot apple cider.

I couldn’t be happier. In my mind, apple cider just might be the most wonderfully perfect hot beverage ever to flow from the mugs of humanity. Just the spicy aroma of this amazing concoction is enough to warm the senses after a long walk in the biting wind. The taste is sweet, but not artificially so. Most of all, unlike so many other beverages in the world, cider has that fleeting texture that can only be obtained by mercilessly squeezing real fruit.

So here I sit, wrapped snugly in a sweater, sipping my cider, listening to the Duhks, gazing out at the early darkness, and wanting to grab some good friends and go on a hay ride.

Attached Files:

• Coffee Time Exterior (Autumn Light)

Lured by the promise of something interesting and by the beautiful poster, I made my way over to PSU on Saturday to take a look around at the Stumptown Comics Fest.

I woke up late and hopped a streetcar over to PSU where I made the poorest decision of the day (possibly of the week, or even month) when I decided to try a chicken bento from Rice Junkies. Having attempted to eat it (and failed) I must say that even if you are on the verge of starvation DO NOT EAT THEIR FOOD. The rice was dry and almost inedible and the chicken 1) didn’t look like any chicken part I’ve ever seen and, 2) was dry, chewy, and flavorless. The sauce brought on another entire level of the inferno that was my lunch, adding an insultingly bitter twist to the injury of the food.

After ditching the so called meal in a nearby trash can, I made my way to the Fest itself. The exhibition floor was scattered with an impressive selection of artists peddling their wares, chatting with curious readers, and happily sketching away. All of them seemed very pleased to be there, reveling in the community that was their own. I felt a little out of place, not knowing much about the ’scene’ that was represented, but after wandering a bit it didn’t seem to matter.

As usual, the things that I noticed as I examined the work leaned towards layout , printing techniques, and other designy elements. Several books caught my eye not because they had a compelling concept and amazing illustrations but rather because the hand-lettered type was so beautifully executed.

When 5:00 came around it was time for the Comic Art Battle, an amazing no-holds-barred war of pictionary on something psychotropic and highly illegal. The opening event was a ‘foundation challenge’ between two local comics journalists, one from the Willamette Week, the other from the Oregonian. The audience chose the actions of gargling and grave digging (simultaneously) and the artists took to their easels and drew their interpretations of a volunteer audience member performing these actions. Five minutes later, the winner was chosen by audience applause. The Big O took the cup, but both drawings were greatly amusing.

It was then time to move on to the main event of the afternoon. For the four-round comics battle, this years theme was ‘Girls vs. Boys’. After a quick introduction of the players (with The Final Countdown playing in the background) the first round began. Again the audience was polled, this time for an adjective, a verb and a noun. As the selected artists from each team began their drawings of an inebriated elephant playing soccer, insults such as “Of course she can draw an elephant, she’s a republican!” were flung between the contestants and the audience responded with appropriately shocked gasps.

Round 2: The Battle Royale. Two artists compete on the same piece of paper, illustrating a battle between audience chosen armies. Soon beavers and giant squid filled the paper, using teeth, harpoons, tentacles and the INK ATTACK to wage a mighty war.

Round 3 was drawn by volunteer artists from the audience. A young boy named Rolly (probably spelled wrong) who had been eagerly suggesting topics, raising his hand, and jumping up and down excitedly went up against a girl whose name I wish I could remember, but can’t. They bravely illustrated an audience member ice skating.

The final round was a collaborative six-panel strip with two artists from a team working together. Once again, the audience came through with a great topic: botched surgery. Both entries were amusing, but the girls’ took the cake in terms of completeness and plot.

In the end, the girls were declared victorious and the battle came to an end. It was entirely too much fun while it lasted and I laughed long and hard. The next time someone needs an idea for a comics fundraiser they should just do this. It was ten times funnier than much of the improvisational comedy that I’ve seen and it lets the audience see the artists at work.

Disclaimer: Since I wrote this, I’ve heard all sorts of nasty rumors flying about this place. If they’re true, that’s unfortuneate. Ken’s definately has St. Honré beat on the bread front, sandwiches too. The jury’s still out on pastries.

While wandering about Northwest Portland this afternoon I made a most spectacular find. Situated on the corner of Thurman and 23rd Place (not to be confused with 23rd Street) is Saint Honoré, a boulangerie and patisserie that looked quite tasty.

Golden loaves ranging from massive baguettes to miniscule dinner rolls cover the rear wall, perched on shelves surrounding a framed diploma from L’Acadmeie Culinarie de France. Mozart’s Night Music floats across the room as I peer into first display case in a long line. I’m kind of surprised by the clicheish musical choice, but the rest of the music that is played while I’m there isn’t nearly as recognizable. Inside the case I see large Chocolate Gateaus, Delicate Mille Feuilles (avec ou sans fraise), smooth Tarts Citron and many other chilled delights. Next in line is an open air display area, piled high with croissants, choquettes, brioche, and all the other bready staples of french baking.

As I reach the register and wait to place my order, I hear hear the girl behind the counter patiently tutoring an inquisitive patron at the proper pronunciation of Mille Feuilles. I order a croissant with turkey and gruyere and a pain au raisin and find a seat at the large communal table that takes up one end of the restaurant. The table is filled with several groups of people, chatting and sipping café au lait from simple white bowls, and I’m impressed by it. It’s rare that I’ve seen communal seating executed successfully in the states. That being said, the rest of the seating looked rather chaotic. The small round tables, all with at least three chairs, scattered throughout the remaining floor space are packed so close together that walking from one end of the room to another is a challenge.

My name is called from the counter and I eagerly retrieve my lunch. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that my croissant is served with a small salad of fresh baby greens topped with a balsamic vinaigrette. I notice that I can see the butter peeking out between the thin layers of the pain au raisin and cannot resist tasting it first. The pastry was tasty, certainly sitting above most I’ve had recently, but fell short of the perfection I had been hoping for. I am surprised by a heavier-than-normal overtone of vanilla in the dough (the jury is still out about this) and I find the center to be chewier than it should be. Setting aside the sweet delight for later, I move on the the main course. My first bite reveals that the turkey and cheese are high quality and surprises me with an unexpected blend of spices that complement them wonderfully.

As I finish the meal, quite satisfied, I am glad that I’ve found another place close to my apartment to get tasty food.

Soon after discovering that Le Happy (the créperie that I discussed here) was a mere four blocks east of my apartment, I was somewhat amazed to run across another two crêpe joints just four blocks in the opposite direction. One is a small street stand that bathes in the steady flow of shoppers along the main section of NW 23rd. The second lies the other direction on 23rd, in an area that many first-timers to the area don’t think to discover (or, at least, I didn’t discover it until I was moved here and out exploring). It is at this, much larger and less street-standy location that I had dinner this evening.

Visage is, like so many other things in the area, located in a converted old victorian house and comes across more as a coffee shop than anything else. Despite this appearance, I was not disappointed. I sampled a simple savory breakfast crêpe filled with egg, ham, and mozzarella which was well-prepared and quite tasty. When it arrived, I was surprised to find it criss-crossed with a drizzling of plain yogurt. This raised flags of suspicion, as it was unexpected, but had won me over completely within the first two bites. The contrast of the chilled yogurt against the warm fillings leant an air of freshness to the crêpe that was quite enjoyable.

After serving up the first dinner cooked in my new apartment, a tasty little pasta affair, Diana, Tim, and I set out into the Portland night air to check out Le Happy. Situated on NW 16th, just across the street from the Portland Streetcar maintenance yard, Le Happy is a hip, noisy little crêperie and bar with a yellow facade and a stunningly red interior. Of the three Portland crêperies that I have tried, Le Happy definitely serves up the edgiest menu. Novelty crépes such as “Faux Vegan” (spinach, mushroom sauce, creme fraiche, and goat cheese) and “Le Trash Blanc” (more on this later) nestle in comfortably alongside the staples that all respectable crêpe joints are required to serve.

I ordered a simple strawberry and sugar crêpe. It was overall quite enjoyable, though the strawberries were not as fresh as they could have been. When I ordered it I had been picturing my mother’s excellent strawberry crêpes and I must say that it fell short. I think this was mainly due to a difference of opinion between myself and Le Happy about what “and sugar” entails. You see, my minds eye say strawberries covered with granulated sugar and left to stew in their own juices for a while. Le Happy interpreted it as a generous sprinkling of powdered sugar. Despite this difference of opinion, I feel that Le Happy’s true strength lies in its savory crêpes and I hope to return at some point soon to see how the handle their curry crêpe.

Diana ordered the “Strawberry Chocolat,” which is just what it sounds like (with whipped cream, or course). She said that it was good, but that the place on Hawthorne [Chez Machin] was better.

Tim showed the most daring on this outing, ordering “Le Trash Blanc” itself. I’ll admit that I too was guiltily tempted by its greasy simplicity: bacon and cheddar. As an added bonus, on this crêpe and only this crêpe, Le Happy offers the addition of a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer for a dollar. Tim added the beer. It was the third time since he turned 21 that he had purchased alcohol (a word which, despite (or maybe because of) my years taking chemistry classes, I can never spell right on the first try). I think Diana might have been mildly swooning. “It’s a French quesadilla!” Tim exclaimed after taking a few bites.