Showing posts with label keep portland weird. Show all posts
Showing posts with label keep portland weird. Show all posts

Tuesday, 16 May 2017

10 of the best things we stuffed in our faces in Trump's America


We spent three weeks in Donald Trump's America at the start of April. This was a lengthy holiday masquerading as parental leave but however you billed it, it meant we were in the United States of America for three whole weeks. Three. Despite their new leader being a massive racist baby, it was a luxurious time make no mistake.

Our flight landed in Los Angeles where we had three nights down near Venice Beach before taking in a further four nights in Palm Springs, plus a whole two weeks in Portland, Oregon. Oooof. Rather than post pictures of us and our kid marauding around the place, here's a break down of the ten best things we ate. It's hard to go out raving all night when you have a six month old baby so instead the vibe was all about pure gluttony. Open wide and take a look inside...

Ronnie's Diner, Los Angeles

Diners are in some ways the ultimate American eating experience. Big portions, limitless coffee, nutters at every turn. And breakfast can be peak when it comes to visiting. The casual abandon with which the Americans mix sweet and savoury is something to behold. So at Ronnie's Diner (see above), a greasy spoon-esque joint near our place in Marina Del Ray, we went in on a 'scramble', French toast and grits. 'Are grits nice?' is a question I'm still asking and still don't know the answer to.


The Blue Coyote, Palm Springs

This is a Mexican joint on the main drag in Palm Springs. Mexican places are everywhere in this town but the Coyote could be the best partly because they go heavy on the cheese on the plates and even heavier on the tequila in their drinks. We had two margaritas and walked home cross eyed attempting to avoid steering the pram into the road.


The Ace Hotel, Palm Springs

The Ace Hotel brand is synonymous with the trendy and the Palm Springs branch may well be the trendiest. It's full of silly young things in uniform shades preening and pouting and generally crossing their fingers that they might get 'discovered' there by someone to give meaning to their meaningless, yet highly instagrammable lives. Even if its the silliest, most vacuous black hole on the planet, they do a mean breakfast. Avocado on toast was the one.



Oh my gosh this place may well be the best. They do big portions with just the right balance of grease, stodge and vegetables to make it not seem like you're scoffing down a heart attack on a plate. Although you most probably are. The staff in there are so horizontally laid back, it makes you want to own your brunch spot and just lope around serving people scrambled eggs until you die. It's simple, yet killer fare dudes.  


Pig 'n Pancake, Astoria

One of the local folk told us not to go to Pig 'n Pancake as it's too skutty. But they were talking to the wrong people. This cavernous diner offered the perfect vibe for our slightly hungover morning in Astoria (the town where the Goonies was filmed). Again, there were grits, again there was a scramble and the green Tabasco sauce so prevalent (and delicious) in the US. Can we get this in the UK? Questions, questions. Plus there were American folk of all shapes and sizes eating all sorts of weird shit early in the morning. Steak and syrup? I don't think so...



Everyone bangs on about the chicken wings at Pok Pok in Portland. But that's because they are the BEST thing you can ever put in your mouth. Originally a food cart, the success has been so gargantuan that they've got a permanent restaurant with a permanent queue outside, plus cookbooks and worldwide acclaim. These wings will redefine your thoughts on chicken. Like totally. They use fish sauce and it will blow your mind. 



If I was on death row and I was asked what I'd like for my final meal, I might be tempted to ask for the so-called 'dirty fries' from Lardo in Portland. I'd probably want them with a scotch egg, a pork pie and a side order of scrambled eggs but I'd definitely want them. They are fucking amazing. Look at them there above. They are fries, with hot peppers, bacon scraps and chunks coated in Parmesan cheese. There is no nutritional value to be had in them and they're all the better for it. The sign on the wall of Lardo says 'pig out' and it'd be rude not to obey. 



One of the worst hangovers we had on our recent trip was after the 1st birthday bash of the Toffee Club. The next day was one of serious hard work, anxiety and beer-induced paranoia. Perhaps the one good thing to come out of it was stumbling upon the HunnyMilk pop up breakfast spot. I hate the concept of a pop as much as the next normal but this was something else. Ribs, grits with a carrot cake waffle for afters? All for 20 dollars? Excuse me! 



After three weeks in American, we'd started becoming more American. Not to the point where we wanted to shoot anyone. Or not let them into our country due to the colour of their skin. But where the concept of sweet and savoury didn't seem like the worst idea ever. We were of course brutally hungover when we went to Screen Door and ordered chicken with waffles. But when they arrived, we ate every last crumb. Game changing. 



The Holiday Inn, LAX 

After many amazing breakfasts, our last hurrah was at the Holiday Inn near the airport in LA. You'd be forgiven for thinking that we were going out on a bit of a low ebb but not a bit of it. We arrived late at the all you could eat breakfast. But, despite being tardy, they still let us go mad on every bit of it. So we did. God bless America. And the French Toast that resides within you.

Sunday, 7 August 2016

Have you ever drunk red wine from Walla Walla in the pale moonlight?


Have you ever quaffed the best red wine Walla Walla has to offer? Have you ever troffed so much Ranch Dressing that your face takes on its mayo and herb like consistency? Have you ever slept rough under a truck in a car park?

After our recent jaunt to the USA, half of the four of our travelling party could answer 'yes' to all three of the above. These achievements were thanks to some erudite planning earlier in the year, which meant we managed to be in the United States for 4th July, a bizarre, deeply American splurge of strange, stodgy, yet delicious foods, much patriotic chest beating and shouting around of the word 'freedom'.  

Our trip, like all good ones should, began in a pub at London Gatwick airport via a cocktail of breakfast pints and pain killers. Oh yes. It meant that the nine hour flight passed in the hazy blink of a heavily lidded eye, interspersing sweaty sleep with watching (and promptly forgetting) blockbuster films. Before we knew it, we'd landed and were doing the zombie shuffle around Vancouver's airport attempting to wake up and force our four bulging cases into a Nissan hire car. After much pushing, we eventually found one we could squeeze our garms into and we were off - the road trip, in a practical family saloon with an efficient ratio of miles to the gallon, had begun.


Night one was spent in the Salish Lodge near Snoqualimie Falls - this oasis of peace and delightful wooden scents was the location for the filming of the opening sequence of cult series Twin Peaks so provided a suitably ominous opening to our jaunt. We never bumped into Bob or found the Log Lady. But it did make for much surrealism, enhanced by high levels of sleep deprivation and a typically unfriendly welcome on the US border from security. We witnessed one poor unfortunate get hand cuffed and carted away, so, despite the bad vibes, we kept a lid on it, denied everything and they let us in.



Day two was spent driving across country in the baking heat to Hayden Lake and a lovely family lake house for the holiday celebrations. The drive from there to the holiday destination, in deepest Idaho, is a boring one with little to look at except for flat fields and truck stops. So it was with some relief that we made it to the lake house and a very warm welcome with the in-laws we were staying with. From that point, it was full immersion in the American dream and the 4 July celebrations - we swam in the lake, enjoyed some serious sun bathing action, partook of numerous IPAs including this beaut from the New Belgian brewery and ate some, at times, bizarre scran where sweet and savoury items - rather than kept at arm's length, are encouraged to mate.


On the 4 July itself we went into nearby town Coeur D'Alene to witness their parade full of Donald Trump fans, old people in costumes (including one keen OAP dressed as a shark riding a bike) and roller skating Napoleon Dynamites. We topped it off with a Gooey, a dessert as big as a baby. Our server, Brandy, was amazed that we were from 'Engerlandddddd' and talked much of the US gun laws, how many she had and how much heat people would be packing in the restaurant. We shut up, ate our Gooey and left after giving her a fat tip. She was promising to come to visit the UK at some point. Looking forward to it Brandy.


The next stop on our tour was Portland. Which seemed close on the map, but in reality was nine hours of driving away. Nine hours, it turns out, is quite a long time to be trapped in a car with your buddies, a box of donuts, a large hangover and a bottomless bag of pretzels. Reaching the brilliantly named Bozo Burger was peak. The other bits aren’t worth talking about ever again.

We’ve been to Portland previously and always had an absolute belter, so this time was just as Balearic once we’d recovered from the journey and could bare to stomach each other again. We drank smoothies, did yoga, visited Nike’s Oregon HQ, ate from street carts and got lost in Powell’s, the US of A’s biggest independent gift shop, ate a shit load of turnips and saw the best sign ever. We also spent a fair amount of time in hype new football boozer, The Toffee Club watching football, listening to rave as well as visiting Farma, the legal dope smoking joint up the road. We partook of a point five of a g of the so-called hazy kush and dog walker from the expert seller inside the shop. Rather than a seedy, underhand kind of affair, this was sanitised, shiny white and glistening with the sort of customer service John Lewis would die for. They even sold t-shirts in there. Take note Amsterdam.


Seattle was our next calling point, a mere three hours up the road from Portland, all in one straight line north up the coast of the country. Known for grunge and plaid in equal measure, our first night was spent ignoring any culture vibes and instead focused on sampling the kush and the dog walker. Our expert back in PDX had advised us that the former was for ‘going out and doing shit, like museums’ while the latter was to be imbibed if you wanted to relax. As nice as he was, I strongly disagreed with his prognosis, being totally unable to talk or move following a hit of the kush. It was a deep burn no doubt.

Our days were spent traversing the touristy bits while the evenings in the bars of Ballard, playing shoot ‘em ups and drinking strong IPAs. Tourism involved the Space Needle, one of Seattle’s most iconic land marks, a Jetson’s like structure impaling the sky from its central location. For less than 30 bucks, we went up it in the lift and enjoyed/endured shitting ourselves at the top, looking down on a city where the people resembled ants and our collective death drives were doing some serious over time.


The final stop on our jaunt was Vancouver, a Canadian city a good few hours jaunt up from Seattle. We queued all the way into the city, with one of our party dry heaving into a plastic bag all the way there. Hi-jinks. When we got to the Air BNB, there also appeared to be a cycle race going on outside the front door meaning we had to drive around the nearby road East Hastings. East Hastings is mainly noticeable for the huge number of homeless folk, drunks and drug heads marauding around the streets. Our flat backed onto a car park with a great view of the Vancouver’s favourite Country Pub, a really, really, really skutty boozer we threatened to go into but didn’t get chance. Instead of potentially risking our lives, fraternising with smack heads we instead chose to again test our fear of heights by journeying up to the Capilano suspension bridge, a very wobbly wooden bridge standing proud at a height of 70 metres. We didn’t as much walk over it as totter but we managed it nonetheless. Our final evening was spent eating sushi and playing board games with fake, made up names before we woke up hungover the next day and dragged our weary selves to the airport with tears in our eyes. Proper boo hoo. Props to the four man crew, as well as all those who put us up and those who put up with us. Let's do it again soon...

First burger 

Twin Peaks diner

Oi oi oi oi oi 

World's best dip - post dipping 

World famous 

Now you see it 

Now you don't 

Bozo burger 

Trumpleton

Old school 

The best sign in the entire universe

Bookish

A pint of Boneyard - aka delicious

Fam

Famalam

Trump on trump 

The needle 

At the top of the Space Needle and in no way is anyone worried by the height. Not scared at all.

Inside the Space Needle.

Baked watching grease and enjoying this scene

A Seattle crow 

Seattle by sea

Capital Hill 

Fuzzy Wuzzy

You ask for orange juice - and you get this

Terrifying wobbly suspension bridge 

Goose night 

Arghghghghghghggghgh

At the airport - time for one last burger 

Pished 

at the top of the Space Needle 

That bag lasted two weeks

Terrified of heights for ever and ever