It has the best bookstore in the country.
It’s progressive, yet retains its history and interesting architecture.
It boasts an impressive public transportation system, including free trolley rides in the downtown area. Bike-friendly. (Oops, with one exception—watch out for the tracks!)
For food lovers, it offers an abundance of food supplied by local farms, dairies, and rivers, not to mention great coffee, wine, and beer to go with it.
If it weren’t for the weather, I would move there in a minute.
I’m talking about Portland, Oregon.
I recently spent a weekend there with my sister and my cousin, who lives in the city. It’s probably just as well that I picked one of the coldest weeks in the past 10 years to visit, or else I might not have come back home to San Diego (where the temperature averaged 66 degrees this past week in January).
Day 1
Less than an hour after arriving in town, I had dropped my bags at my hotel and walked over to Powell's. Besides food, books are my other true passion and I had been looking forward to coming here for years.
They don’t call it the City of Books for nothing. From the looks of it, the original store started out in one small corner building and slowly annexed all the adjacent structures until it occupied the entire city block.
As I stood in the front entrance waiting for my nose to thaw out (did I mention it was bitterly cold that weekend?), gawking at the huge floorplan sign hanging from the ceiling, I felt a little like tourist in Times Square holding a map of New York. I’m not kidding, if you’re new, they will give you a map and even a walking tour to help you find your way in and back out again.
There are dozens of rooms (denoted by color) on many levels, connected by staircases and doorways and ramps. New and used books are shelved together, enabling you to find not only an author’s latest book, but often their entire backstock, as well as many out of print works. In case you do get lost and can’t find your way out, you won’t starve--there is a Coffee Room with wireless Internet, sandwiches, and plenty of World Cup (locally roasted, fair-trade) coffee.
And like any big city, it’s impossible to see everything in one day. So I came back the next day. And the next. And the morning before I flew out. Well, I had to do something between meals, didn’t I?
Day 2
Maybe it was the walk across town in 20 degree weather. Or the fact that they were playing The Clash’s Greatest Hits album. But as soon as I walked into Ken’s Artisan Bakery—greeted by a blast of warm air and the smell of sweet bread—I felt immediately at home.
The staff was friendly and easy-going. A toddler crawled across my feet as I poured cream in my coffee. “Sorry. That’s George. I call him Curious George,” an exasperated mother told me as she pulled him out of the bus tubs beneath the condiments table. No problem. I’m happy to be in a place that welcomes kids.
I felt like I had walked into a neighborhood block party. The bakery was packed. People of all ages greeted each other, shared tables. I managed to secure a small table near a window in the back and stayed for several hours, reading the poetry books I had bought at Powell's and watching customers both inside and out.
I loved Ken’s chocolate croissants--crackling on the outside, buttery interior stuffed with Valrhona chocolate—and the sweet morning buns with their hint of orange.
Looking at all the varieties of bread on the shelves, I was a little surprised by how dark the loaves were—they looked almost burned. But after buying a loaf and trying a slice, I found I liked the contrast between the carmelized crust and the soft crumb. The levain had a nice, mellow flavor—not sour, but slightly tangy and complex, the result of slow, natural fermentation. Clearly Ken knows what he is doing.
As good as the breads are, I think I could have eaten just the butter for breakfast. Sourced from a local dairy, unbelievably light and so sweet, not greasy at all—I think it’s some of the best butter I have tasted. That on top of their country brown bread (pain de campagne, modeled after pain Poilâne) and a cup of Stumptown coffee and I was ready to move in.
Portland, where the healthy food snob actually ate fast food (and liked it): Burgerville!