I went looking for a rowboat.
That was the entire assignment at first.
Somewhere in Huber’s history was this spectacularly Portland sentence: during the 1894 flood, people were getting turkey sandwiches while boats moved through downtown streets.
Obviously I needed to know more. I am not strong enough to leave a rowboat turkey sandwich alone.
So I emailed Huber’s expecting a funny old-Portland anecdote.
What came back was a family story.
THE ROWBOAT IS THE HOOK. THE FAMILY IS THE STORY.
Huber’s confirmed the flood story for us. The turkey sandwiches are part of the documented history involving the Louie family.
But then Darrel from Huber’s added one line that completely changed the piece for me: the fourth generation of the Louie family is still involved in the restaurant today.
That is where a good piece of trivia either stays trivia or grows a heartbeat.
A flood can become a sepia photograph very easily. A restaurant can become a plaque. A family name can become something printed on a menu that nobody in the building still carries.
Huber’s did not do that.
“Huber’s story is woven from such a rich tapestry of people, traditions, objects, and long-standing habits.” — Darrel, Huber’s
I kept thinking about the phrase long-standing habits.
Because history at Huber’s is not sitting behind glass. It is still clocking in for dinner.
THE TURKEY NEVER LEFT
Turkey is still the restaurant’s defining food tradition. Huber’s told us the turkey dinner remains the most popular menu item, especially during the holidays.
I love that for reasons I cannot fully defend.
There is something grounding about a city changing around a restaurant while somebody in the kitchen is still carving the bird.
They even celebrate Huber’s Day every July 24. Buy an alcoholic drink and guests receive a complimentary turkey slider—a small nod to the restaurant’s early habit of pairing food with drinks.
Not a historical reenactment. Not a person in a bonnet explaining 1894 to you.
A sandwich.
History should occasionally be edible.
THEN SOMEBODY SETS YOUR COFFEE ON FIRE
If the turkey is the long memory of Huber’s, Spanish Coffee is the extrovert.
The drink is still prepared tableside. Flaming spirits, coffee, glassware, the small hush that happens when everybody at the table realizes fire is now involved in dessert.
I have a weakness for restaurants that understand dinner is not only food. Sometimes you want a plate. Sometimes you want one tiny moment of theater you will describe badly to somebody the next morning.
Huber’s has been doing both for a very long time.
They also make an iced version now, which I find deeply reassuring. Apparently history is allowed to own a refrigerator.
THE MATCHBOOKS CAME BACK AND I GOT WEIRDLY EMOTIONAL ABOUT IT
Huber’s recently revived souvenir matchbooks.
This is not an important fact in any conventional newsroom sense.
It is, however, exactly the sort of detail I care about.
A matchbook is useless in the most charming possible way. It is a tiny thing that says: I was here. This table existed. We ordered the flaming coffee. Somebody laughed too loud. I put this in my coat pocket and forgot about it for three months.
The best old restaurants understand memory does not only live in photographs.
Sometimes it lives in the junk drawer.
THE ROOM DOES SOME OF THE TALKING
Lisa Zach from Huber’s sent us a high-resolution photograph of the historic bar and dining room.
That photo saved this story from something I hate: using a random old-timey Portland image to stand in for a place with its own face.
The room is dark wood and history without feeling embalmed. You can see why generations keep bringing new people into it.
A restaurant can preserve itself so aggressively it starts feeling like a museum where somebody accidentally serves dinner.
Huber’s still feels alive.
THIS IS WHAT I WANT FOOD WRITING TO DO
I do not want PNW Passport’s food section to become a giant scroll of “the burger was juicy” and “service was attentive.”
Sometimes the meal is the story.
Sometimes the room is the story.
Sometimes a restaurant gives you a way into a family, a flood, a city, a ritual and the strange human need to keep making the same thing for people long after the original reason is gone.
Huber’s gave me a rowboat and a turkey sandwich.
The Louie family gave me the reason to stay.
And maybe that is why old restaurants matter when they are still good at being alive: they let a city remember itself without asking the city to stop changing.
The flood story and current family/tradition details were confirmed directly with Huber’s in 2026. Menu items, hours and event details can change; check current information before visiting.
Photo: Lisa Ellsworth Zach, supplied by Huber’s for PNW Passport editorial use.
Sources: Huber’s direct reporting with PNW Passport; Louie family history confirmation; current restaurant information.
