Veritable Quandary Issues Grubbus Wake Up Call

It took some seriously amazing Eggs Benedict to wake Grubbus from a months-long slumber.

Veritable Quandary is a gorgeous little restaurant in an out of the way corner in downtown Portland. It's a strange sight, a cozy little restaurant there by the river and the highway, surrounded by parking garages and nondescript office buildings. Tracy and I walked the 10 blocks or so from our hotel, and the closer we got, the more certain I was that we'd taken a wrong turn.

Then - around that last turn - it appeared, a little black and gold house emblazoned with its clever mouthful of a name.

When we showed up for brunch on Saturday morning it was still 30 minutes before their unambitious 10AM opening time. But not long after we sat down at a little table out front to wait, a man - newspaper in hand - walked right in. We followed him, and were greeted by the warm sounds of a restaurant getting ready for the day. Rather than shoo us out, they offered us a cup of coffee (Stumptown, natch) and a seat at the bar. It was brilliant - Tracy and I, a gorgeous interior space filled with deep leather booths and a long polished wood bar, the flaming lips, a huge bay window out on the street.

A few minutes later, we were whisked off to a table in a sunroom off the main dining room, coffee refilled, and handed a short brunch menu. People were filtering in, and the Flaming Lips was replaced by a more "we're open now" Miles Davis. I ordered Eggs Benedict, Tracy got the french toast.

The first thing that hits you with these eggs is the color. Before VQ, the brightest yolks I'd seen were Jerimiah Cunningham's. These made those look pale and listless by comparison. Amazing, gorgeous, yellow-orange yolks. Then, you notice the tall cylinders of homemade english muffin. The smoked pork tenderloin. The frothy hollandaise. And the perfectly geometric, perfectly browned block of hashbrowns. It's a remarkable thing, this Benedict. Second best I've ever had, in fact. (East End Eatery in Gainesville, FL still holds the title for the best).

If I could have tweaked, it'd be little things - homemade english muffins are hard to do well, and are a bit heavy at this height. And while the eggs were truly stunning, the hollandaise could have been just a bit lighter. But I quibble. This was the best breakfast I've had in the last 6 months, easy. And Tracy's French toast was no less impressive - the bacon crispy and substantial, the bread etherial.

VQ was our last stop in Portland, a pause on our way out to the airport to catch the flight home. I can't think of a better way to remember a city that I fall in love with a little more every time I go.

Olympic Provisions: Hipster Meat

In rainy, green, deliciously awesome Portland this week. Here for work with a pretty packed schedule, but managed to meet an old high school friend for lunch at local charcuterie Olympic Provisions.

Olympic is tucked in between warehouses and alleys on the city's South East side, and the place feels at home in its industrial roots. The windows are tall and paned with old glass, the floor and tables are well worn wood, the walls are white porcelain subway tiles; everything looks sort of like a Saveur photo spread. This is a good thing.


The lunch menu is divided into a couple options each of meats, vegetables, sandwiches, and pastries. It's a clever menu, simple but luxe, and its full of clues that this is a place serious about its meat. OK. The large sign that says MEAT in red light bulbs is also a clue. It's also a place serious about its coffee (Stumptown) and its pickles (Heaven).

Item one on the menu is the meat sampler, including a bunch of different cured meats. Our waitress identified them in a breezy single flow of multi-syllabic Italian of which I remember very little. Not knowing the names didn't slow me down much: the meat identified as Chorizo was amazing - a roller coaster of flavor starting sweet and ending a very long time later with a spicy little kick. There was an amazing something with pistachios - a sort of loosely formed sausage. And, on the other end of the spectrum, a smooth pork pate. The meats ranged in complexity, and were all pretty extraordinary. Except the pate. I thought the pate was kind of weak.


As good as the meat was, it was the pickles that stole the show. I don't know what they do exactly to make pickles like this: pickled onions, pickled little bitty cucumbers, pickled rhubarb. This was some of the best, most elegant pickling I've ever tasted, each item spiced to bring out its unique characteristics and flavors - a little sweet on the rhubarb, a mild tang on the onion.

When you're this much of a foodie temple, you set yourself up with some pretty steep expectations - and in general Olympic delivered. Maybe not perfect - a little more attention on the bread would have been good, a little more spice in the mustard welcome - but in all, pretty freakishly amazing.