At Terra Mae I remember the Gatsby-green velvet, the wasabi salad I wasn't expecting to love, and the people who made the evening feel personal. At Huber's, a turkey sandwich led straight back to Portland's 1894 flood.
I want to know who is cooking, what they brought with them, and why a certain dish makes somebody remember home. I also know you came here because you're hungry. So when we have the details, you'll find addresses, menus, reservation links and the useful bits that keep dinner from becoming an argument in the parking lot.
Sometimes the best part of a meal is a person. Sometimes it really is the dumpling. Usually I want to tell you about both.
Firsthand visits are described as firsthand. Reported discoveries are reported. Paid work is labeled. Start with the story, then use the links to make your own dinner plans.
We recently moved to Portland from New York, and though we occasionally crave the kind of attentive dining that city does so well, we’ve outgrown the white-tablecloth hush and performative service. What we want now — and rarely find —
I thought I was reporting grocery prices. Then Bryan Vance answered my email and accidentally made himself the story. Inside the 12–14-hour weekly system behind Stumptown Savings—and the rules that can actually lower your grocery bill.
I went looking for the story about Portlanders getting turkey sandwiches by rowboat during the 1894 flood. I found something better: a family still carrying the same restaurant forward four generations later.
I already thought opening one oyster without stabbing myself was impressive. Then Shelton showed me people who can do 24 in 78 seconds—and still get judged on whether the oysters look pretty.