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.