Washington was not the first place we considered when we started looking to move out of California. We had friends who moved to Texas who spoke highly of it. Job opportunies in Idaho, Nevada, Wyoming, and other states tempted us with a means of escape. Research into other areas beckoned us away from our home. Oregon, specifically Portland, was one such place. The few times we have visited have all been positive and enjoyable. Full of character, kindred spirits, delicious food, and unique experiences, the area has a lot of what we were looking for in a place to settle.

In addition, we were not the only people we knew at the time who were seeking something different. Two friends of ours, Christian and Lindsey, a lovely couple of adventurers, started their search as we were finalizing our move. Also, my like minded aunt and uncle, Tad and Alicia, who had grown tired of Northern California, found themselves looking north for relief. As fate would have it, both parties decided on Portland as their new home.

Easter weekend, we were able to visit with both couples. Adding to the enjoyment was my mom, who came up to visit us all.

One obvious drawback to moving to a wholly different region of the country is being far away from loved ones. Both of us cherish every moment together, but it means so much to have people around us that we can share moments with from time to time. Therefore, Easter weekend could not come soon enough, as it was a time when we would get to see so many of the people that we cared deeply for.

First on the agenda was to have dinner and a drink with Christian and Lindsey. We’d been dying to see them for quite some time. They are a joy to be around, and we see eye to eye on a great many things. Close to their house was Associated, who offers up wood fired pizza and craft brews. Wood clad and bursting with charm, sitting down here punctuated our arrival perfectly. We soon had drinks in our hands and were catching up beside firelight from a brick oven. One could almost will time into slowing by watching the flames slowly dance inside the brick enclosure of the dimly lit restaurant. We chatted about future trips and outings we would have when the days brought warmer weather and bluer skies. Sadly, our trip down to Portland robbed us of most of the time we allotted to seeing our friends, and we had to leave before it was too late to settle in at my aunt’s home.

Beneath a huge, sprawling magnolia tree, which seemed to reach upward in defiance of order and gravity, sits my aunt and uncle’s new home. I barely had time to put the car into park before my mom was outside embracing us. Her hug spoke volumes, and reinforced the belief that this was going to be a fantastic weekend. In tow was my aunt, bursting with love and personality. We walked inside and beheld the time piece that was an early 1900s home. Alicia is known for her keen sense of style, and the groundwork had already been set for what was to be a flawlessly furnished home.

Drained from our drive, as well as my work week, we did not stay up too long. After all, we had a whole weekend to spend together.

Early the next day we all gathered around the table to sip coffee and continue with the merriment. Soon, caffeine was nestling its way into my veins, prompting me to join the efforts to make breakfast in the kitchen. A small aside: my mom was instrumental in instilling in me a love of creating in the kitchen. I owe my love of cooking to her. That being said, my aunt did play a large part in our successes with transitioning over to meals without meat. She has a way of bringing ingredients together that will be umami without the muscle. Savory absent the sinew. Fantastic minus flesh.

No animals were harmed in the making of her meals.

I chopped away at the potatoes as others settled in to their assigned tasks. We all sliced, diced, and joked around while a scramble was being assembled.

Soon we were sitting and planning the rest of our day. A walk around the neighborhood was added to the agenda. A mandatory visit to Whole Foods to gather the final ingredients for dinner after. During all of this, I suggested a solo excursion to Blue Star to pick up donuts for everyone tomorrow.

“I know of a better place, go to Pip’s” my aunt commented.

“Have you been to Blue Star?” I retorted, subtly throwing a gauntlet towards her dismissal of my tastes in fried dough.

It was on.

The day rolled along and dusk soon fell upon the land of Port. We gathered around the table once more to savor home made tamales a la momma Sanabria, beans con Adam and Nicole, and rice via Auntie Alicia. So it was the night before Easter, and all through the house, all the creatures were introspecting about donuts soon to be in and around their mouths.

To be brief, both places have their merit. Blue Star fashions a more decadent, crafted donut. Pip’s chooses a crispier and warmer approach, which is artfully done.

Fortunately, this is my blog and I officially declare Blue Star the unanimous winner amongst people who KNOW good donuts.

If I wanted something crispy, I would eat a kettle chip.

Crowds blocked us from visiting the more popular sights around town on Easter. Instead, we ventured over to Dr. J.W. Hill Memorial. It offers clear views of the city and the surrounding mountains, atop a stone plateau. Our breakfast fare, while not being a “light meal” was far from filling and we soon found ourselves discussing lunch options. Thai food was the winning choice. Nicole found a place nearby with decent reviews. Reviews we should have read more closely into.

Things went downhill quickly when we asked about whether or not we could have fish sauce excluded from our meals.

 

Nicole and I have been to Thailand. We know they take pride in their food preparations. Dishes are made fresh with the best ingredients on hand. All that being said, it is commonplace to have things excluded from a dish, ESPECIALLY in a place like Portland where picky eaters abound. So when I politely asked that fish sauce be excluded from the dishes (an ingredient that is not difficult to substitute) we were all caught off guard when we received our response.

“I CANNOT SUBSTITUTE FISH SAUCE….”

the waiter/owner exclaimed with passion and outstretched arms.

“No one can. You go to ANY restaurant that serves Thai food, they wont do it…”

Exaggerated gestures bursting forth above our heads, wild handed and flailing with passion.

“They may tell you they do. They are LYING. Everything has fish sauce. Fish sauce is what makes Thai food Thai…”

Exasperated by what must have been endless requests leading up to this explosion of honesty. Pleading with us to just let him make it the way that his cooks knew how.

We were awestruck. Alicia, who is well known to be outspoken about her preferences offered nothing beyond

“Okay”

 

This was almost the face my aunt made, minus the sense of joy, which was replaced with one of aghast confusion. Also, that is my mom on the right. That smile of hers came after the waiter flew off to right other perceived culinary injustices.

We could not wrap our heads around what had just happened. This man went nuclear about sauce.

5 minutes later he came back and told us the cooks would use soy sauce instead.

All friggin righty then.

We ate our meal, sharing knowing glances, whispering commentary (hopefully) out of earshot of our server of food and verbal lashing.

After settling our tab, we power walked back to the car where we could safely reflect on recent events. We all had something to say, but my aunt summed it up perfectly in our minds

“We out this Bitch”

Out we went, and towards home Nicole and I soon headed. It was a fantastic weekend. We will not soon forget it. We were tired, but something inside us felt recharged by the shared experiences with friends and family. Another memorable time in a wondrous place.