Portlandia

Back in the summer of 2007 BK (before kids), we took a one night roadtrip to Portland.  And we fell in love.  With Portland that is.  We were already in love.

It’s like an east coast city on the west coast.  I’m surprised my parents didn’t land there as it feels like Pennsylvania with mountains and forests and rivers with actual water.  It has beautiful architecture— adorably maintained old bungalows and yards without fences and brick buildings that have been renovated to capture that exact balance of industrial, lofty chic.  And some of the best old house fixtures and lighting available in the US of A.  All that good east coast stuff PLUS all the great hippy dippy offerings of my beloved Santa Cruz: farm to table restaurants, locally produced gourmet eats, that give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses atmosphere.  And did I mention a major fixation on good beer and good coffee?  Right up our alley.  And yes, we’ve only been there during the sunny season.

So, when my job took me to Portland last week, we extended our weekend and stepped blindly off the James’-first-solo-flight-with-two-preschoolers cliff.  To be fair, I did pack all their stuff and bring it with me, book the flights, rent the stroller, plan the vacation, and screw-up the car rental with car seats.  Four out of five ain’t bad.

I’m told the boys received an A+ rating on their flight out.  I’d give Nate a C for the ride home.  In any case, a play-by-play of our Portlandia adventure:

Friday PM: Early evening arrivals of Team Testosterone.  Pile into the rented stroller and hike up the street to a restaurant I’d scouted early that morning on my hunt for ever obscure donut flavors.  Found an artisanal pasta restaurant with a stack of exceptionally tall high chairs.  The boys devoured their handcrafted spaghetti and meatballs like nobody’s business.  James had spaghetti carbonara and I had a salad (given Thursday night’s dinner, more on that later, and my donut dining early that morn).  The restaurant, Grassa, is located just across the street from a below-average parking garage named after my maternal grandmother: Rosenbaum Plaza.  The Rosenbaum part, not the Plaza part.  Unfortunately the restaurant’s name becomes more important later in this story.

Saturday, 2AM: James is gripped by some kind of food poisoning plague.  La Grassa.

Saturday, 8Am: The little boys and I wake-up and make a pilgrimage back to donut heaven, Blue Star.  I kind of pretend that I wasn’t there yesterday.  I pick out salted caramel, Jacob orders Valrhona chocolate crunch, and Nate points to the blueberry bourbon basil which I had the day before.  Bourbon for my two-year-old?  Sure thing.  Especially if alcohol evaporation is a myth.

The day before I also tried the passion fruit with cocoa nibs.  I did restrain myself by eating half of two donuts and donating the rest to a hungry man on the sidewalk.  That said, managing the eating of donuts with two kids perched on tall stools in a really hot, yet hip, bakery was a new skill I’ve perhaps, not yet mastered.  Nate took one look at the choice he made and gobbled up my caramel delight.  It was phenomenal.  I always pick the best stuff.  It’s just a fact, James.  I mostly had blueberry again.  Still good but a little light on the bourbon.  I don’t know what Valrhona crunch is, but Jake made me wipe it all off so he could just lick the chocolate.

We then walk to a coffee shop I’ve heard is good called Case Study.  Highly recommend.  Then I push my pushy cargo around town looking for a park.

Thanks to my trusty iPhone, we head to a playground in the middle of… Homelessville.  Is that PC?  After navigating through piles of litter and plein air campers, we made it to the “off-limits” playground part of the North Park Blocks.  It seems sleeping on slides is frowned upon.  There, we met a nice family from Berkeley and a set of grandparents visiting from Connecticut.  The boys played for almost two hours.  Jacob can now swing from monkey bar to monkey bar, who knew?  Nate can do just about everything Jake can do, but at half the speed.

Saturday, 11AM: We return to our hotel, three hours after we’d left and Daddy proclaims he has just taken two Tylenol PMs, turns over, and ignores us.  He has succumbed to La Grassa.

We put on baby bathing suits, get back into the four-wheeled rickshaw and I cart them across town to my favorite fountain in the world.  Aptly located in Jamison Square.  Aptly named?  Tell me more…

Back in the BK, James and I stumbled upon this square… and a hundred kids swimming in its fountain.  In their underpants, in their diapers, in their clothes.  It’s so cool.  The park is built like a big bowl-shaped pond with blocks of rocks at one end that act like little water falls.  Over the course of five or ten minutes the water rushes down the rocks, filling up the chlorinated “pond” while kids splash and swim around in maybe 18 inches of water.  Then the water slowly drains out until it’s empty and starts all over again.  Last time we were there we thought that if we had kids we would definitely bring them back to play in this fountain.  And the boys loved it, just as I’d hoped… Jaimie’sSons.

Then we spent one of our prized eating opportunities at a place called Hot Lips Pizza.  A Portland Pizza My Heart if you will.  Surprisingly good, despite the name and weird 80’s lipstick logo.  The boys devoured giant, floppy slices the size of their faces.

Then back across town for nap time in the dark room of carbonara death.  Must have been the undercooked egg?

Saturday PM: We rally James to get some fresh air, pile into the rental SUV and make our way to Washington Park, up in the hills.  I had gone on a run on Wildwood Trail with some work colleagues and seen a promising looking playground.  This park is empty during the week, and a mad-house on the weekend.  I take the boys to the playground while James meditates in the car.  We see the same Connecticut grandparents and their granddaughter from Homelessville.  We’ve already made friends in Portland!

Saturday PM: Everyone is too tired to leave the room.  Jake and I set out on a food truck expedition.  I’ve already eaten one of the best sandwiches of my life earlier in the week and decide, why mess with a good thing?  Jacob is so tired he can barely walk three blocks and has to sit on the sidewalk by the food trucks like a runaway in training.  We have a grilled cheese picnic in our hotel room.  My Bread and Broth Oaxacan carne asada grilled cheese sandwich with spicy tomato dipping sauce is just as amazing the second time around.  Seems they’re always out of soup so really, they should just change their name to Bread.

Sunday AM: James wakes up a new man.  And has missed almost half his vacation so we have to double down on adventure.  We hit Case Study again but I’m sorry, I cannot eat donuts three mornings in a row.  We then go all the way to the Northeast side of town to play at Peninsula Park.  Teeter-totters, a formal rose garden… unfortunately, no grandparents from Connecticut.  In the rose garden Nate exclaimed, “Oooh bootiful!”  We had to drag Jacob away… in order to go to Rejuvenation‘s headquarters.  Unfortunately, the sell out to Williams-Sonoma continues to disappoint.  In 2007 we made a pilgrimage just to visit this store.  It’s no longer a must see.  I can easily get my fix in Berkeley.

Then we drove across town to make a pilgrimage to my new favorite Rejuvenation replacement: Schoolhouse Electric.  Weird part of town.  Great store.  Plus the boys had a memorable time racing up and down their loading dock for half an hour.

Sunday PM: As if we hadn’t done enough, we decided to drive back up the mountain to Washington Park to visit the Japanese Garden.  A lovely place.  Nate took his nap at the Rejuvenation cafe.  Jake chose the tranquility of a waterfall and koi pond.

Then we headed back down the hill to the trendy NW 23rd Avenue.  An interesting, sustainable meal at Bamboo Sushi.  (Guess the Japanese garden inspired this?)  Followed by waiting in line for half an hour at Salt & Straw.  I was told it was good but overrated.  Accurate assessment.  The same as Penny Creamery but a line around the block!  I did enjoy my goat cheese marionberry habanero ice cream.  Of course I had to get the weirdest sounding thing on the menu.  It was pretty freakin’ good.

Monday AM: Fortunately, a fairly uneventful trip home.  We had a long walk to the “medium-term” parking at SJC.  Jake invented a new form of transportation where he holds onto the big green suitcase, on his stomach, and picks up his feet.  Nate fits on my overnighter.

Seems all that time on the street in Portland has made them more resourceful.  Good thing because we will definitely be back.