I. AM. SO. EXCITED.
Emergency trip to Portland tomorrow. What's the emergency, you say? The emergency is the desire to skip work and hang out with my man, that's what.
I am going to eat oyster shooters a Le Bistro Montage where you get bad/good hipster service and eat in a warehouse-turned-restaurant at massive long communal tables and they wrap up your leftovers in foil that might look like a penis. Or a swan.
And I am going to go to Powell's, the world's largest new and used bookstore (one entire city block - - 3 FLOORS) and buy cheap books and beautiful design books and poetry books and books my friends have published recently (Cristine Dahl and AJ Rathbun and Michael Robins to name a few). And I am going to go drinking at the weird flatiron-like triangle bar that looks like the tiniest slice of pie because it's located on a corner where streets bisect at a dangerously thin angle, and once you've had your 2nd vodka tonic you look at the oncoming traffic and think IT'S COMING RIGHT AT YOU.
Luckily it's not, because I need to stay alive to eat a magnificent meal at any of the hundreds of amazing places to eat in this city where the rent is cheap, the produce and dairy and meat is annointed by God and the chefs come to forage for truffles and then the sigh with love and stay forever because it's just so freaking easy to make a life here and to eat well for not much, so they decide to feed the grateful citizenry, who, because they haven't been abused by a world of $40 entrees actually eat out a whole lot and their patronage feeds the whole great virtuous circle.
Deep breath.... ok, here we go again....
And then I am going to eat the biggest plate of pancakes with bananas at Besaw's in NY Portland, this tiny corner where hipness just got tired of marching on over all the neighborhoods, and hipness decided to just wear a hoodie to breakfast and take it easy and just hang out. That's what Besaw's is like. You get the young hungover marketing account manager with her very nice parents in town having brunch, and the hipster who doesn't need his scene, just a good omlette, and the patrician old woman who still owns a Victorian in northwest Portland. It's a good crowd. A nice wholesome mix of city people.
Plus the food is really stinkin' good.
And then I am going to go to Urbino Home and buyer verbena soap by the truckload and give them away as gifts this Christmas.
Oh shit. The list just goes on and on. Portland is such a good town.