Beer Takes Flight at Hopworks
Empanada Boy and I are up in Northern Wisconsin at his family’s lake house. It’s cold, and the snow has been falling almost nonstop since we arrived here last night. It all makes you feel like drinking warm beverages and curling up in front of the fire, but there’s one cold beverage you always have to make room for when you’re here, and that’s beer. Wisconsinites take their beer seriously. But then, so do Oregonians. The difference is that Oregon beer tends to be more craft-oriented and less mass-market than Midwest brews. This is evidenced by the small temples to the art of beer springing up in my home state everyday.
The last time we were in Portland, EB and I did a beer tasting with Flava Flav and Daddy Salmon at Hopworks Urban Brewery, a quintessentially Portland spot, decorated with bicycle parts hanging from the ceiling and the bar. When we were there, Hopworks was offering a great deal: 10 3-ounce pours of its proprietary brews for a mere $7.50. That’s just under two pints for about what one would cost you in New York. EB drank one whole sampler himself (obviously), but Flav and I shared and Daddy Salmon opted for a pint of IPA. Beers ranged from the Organic Hub Lager (5.1% alcohol by volume) to hoppy seasonal brews with more than 9% ABV and came on a tray lined with tasting notes. All were delicious and distinctive, but these are not weak, watery beers, and even the staunchest beer drinker cannot hope to get through a flight without some food to line the stomach.
Daddy Salmon, Flav and I shared a large pizza, one of the focal points of the Hopworks menu. We got the Gatherer topped with mushrooms, caramelized red onions, marinated artichoke hearts, roasted garlic, bell peppers and black olives. Unfortunately, the pizza sounded more delicious than it turned out to be. The crust was a little dry and lacked the chew of a wood-fired oven. Some of the toppings—olives, artichoke hearts—came from a can, and the mushrooms were basic buttons, not the more flavorful wild mushrooms that typically grow in Oregon. One noteworthy detail, however is that most of the ingredients are organic.
As soon as I saw EB’s burger, I realized I should have ordered that instead. It was huge and cooked to a perfect medium rare. Tillamook cheese melted on top and large French fry wedges came on the side. The standout burger made me wonder about the other sandwiches on the menu like the one made with Pilsner-cured sausage or the laden Hopworks Sub. I’ll probably try one of those the next time I’m feeling like drinking a whole lot of flavorful Oregon brews and need something substantial to line my stomach.
Hopworks Urban Brewery
2944 SE Powell Blvd.
Portland, OR 97202
503.232.4677
“What is an arepa?” So asks the rhetorical question on the website of 
Our server convinced us we needed an appetizer too, so we ordered tequeños—little fried dough sticks filled with melted, stretchy cheese. Those came with a slightly spicy dipping sauce, and they were satisfying (if a little too bland) in the guilty way jalapeño poppers and cheese fries can be, especially when eaten between swigs from our bottles of Negra Modelo. 
Much has been said about the lack of good-tasting, inexpensive, food in Midtown Mahanttan, and for the most part, I agree. But I had been eager to try 
The line at the counter was fairly long when we walked in, but it moved pretty quickly. We ordered two medium-rare burgers, two orders of fries and a pitcher of Sam Adams (not a bad deal compared with the by-the-glass price). Besides one or two other drinks, there is virtually nothing else on the menu. It is not called Burger Joint for nothing. The guy behind the counter handed EB the pitcher. Unfortunately, every table was full. We stood menacingly near one of the booths making it clear we wanted them to hurry up and eat so we could have their seats. That happened just in time for the arrival of our food.
The burger didn’t look that impressive on arrival. The bun was a bit smashed, and the iceberg lettuce seemed sad. The fries looked tasty, so I started with one of those. Indeed, they were perfectly crispy and salted on the outside with a pleasantly soft interior. I dipped them in mustard and noted that the restaurant only serves Dijon. A wise choice, if you ask me. Then it was time to try the burger, which came topped with tomato, pickles and a specially seasoned mayonnaise. 
When I bit into the burger, I was pleased to find it juicy and flavorful and cooked, as requested, to medium rare. (There are much fancier restaurants that can’t seem to get this final detail right.) The lettuce was flavorless, but provided crunch and, despite being smashed, the bun still tasted better than many I’ve tried. The pitcher of beer may have been a bit overkill, especially before a concert, but we almost managed to finish it off. Next time, I hope to try the milkshake on Burger Joint’s menu. I imagine it will be as pure an expression of the classic ideal as the burger and fries manage to be.
If Thanksgiving didn’t offer enough opportunity for pigging out, my family decided to preface the big dinner with a lot of great eating. Empanada Boy had already been in Portland for a couple days before my arrival late Tuesday night. Before we all headed out to our beach house in Cannon Beach the next day, we went out to lunch at one of Portland’s many new hipster hangouts: 
As any good sandwich shop should, Bunk has made a name for itself because of its top-notch ingredients and winning, innovative, flavor combination. The line of about 20 people that stretched out onto the sidewalk was evidence enough that this place is more than a fad. Luckily for us, Sunbutter was already in the middle of the line. We snagged an outdoor table, warmed by the mild afternoon sunlight. There are only a few tables and a counter with stools inside the small, funky shop. One wall bears a blackboard with the menu. A lady at the counter took our orders while a man who looked like he took his sandwiches seriously assembled ours on the exposed cutting surface.
When the sandwiches started coming out to our table, sitting impressively atop plain brown butcher paper, next to a side of sea salt chips, I began to understand what this place was all about. Every sandwich we ordered was a work of art. My roast beef sandwich (top photo) was made with rare and juicy, hand-cut meat, sweet caramelized onions and tangy, tangy horseradish. EB and Sunbutter ordered the pork belly sandwich (pictured here), and it was just as unctuous as it sounds. The buttery meat was made even richer with the Gruyere and Russian dressing, but a bright heap of crunchy pickles kept things lively. 
Mango Mama’s sandwich looked like a salad on a bun, with vibrant lettuce, hot peppers and tomatoes. But beneath the fresh greenery were layers of salami and another Italian cured meat, along with provolone picante. Daddy Salmon continued in the picante vein with a sandwich made from roasted poblano pepper and delightfully stretchy melted cheese. The crisp bread and the soft smoky pepper made a perfect bite.
As most of you know by now, I am still in mourning over the 