The Cadillac of Cafes
Empanada Boy and I were in Cannon Beach for most of our Thanksgiving trip, but we spent our last full day with my immediate family in and around Portland. My good friend Mint Chip was in town from Sacramento for the holiday, so we all went out to breakfast with her. Even though we were planning an afternoon trip westward toward the wine country, I couldn’t resist the thought of breakfast at the East side staple the Cadillac Cafe.
The Cadillac Cafe is a wonderful breakfast and lunch spot, serving up distinctive, but homey, fare for reasonable prices. There is a friendly bustle to the large dining space and a pleasant indoor greenhouse provides another nice seating area. One of the signature breakfast items is the catfish (pictured above), which is fried in a rosemary-infused batter. The dish comes with two eggs any style, home fries and toast. It’s not every day you think of having catfish for breakfast, but it really hits the spot. Mango Mama orders it pretty much every time she goes. Being his adventurous self Empanada Boy followed suit. I ordered the Bunkhouse Vittles, which include flavorful home fries, a plump, juicy, chicken sausage, two eggs and custard French toast. I swapped out the decadent-sounding French toast for a piece of peach cornbread. The cornbread tasted as sweet as if it had the honey built right in.
Mint Chip ordered the Henry’s North American, a scramble of Italian sausage, spinach and fontina cheese. Daddy Salmon had the hearty stack of oatmeal pancakes. The only disappointment was Flava Flav’s Veracruz omelet from the specials list, which she said was lacking the necessary Southwestern spice. In the end, the Cadillac Cafe was more worth driving the extra distance out of our way— at least if, like us, you show up in a Prius instead of the big boat of a car that gives the cafe its name.
Cadillac Cafe
1801 NE Broadway
Portland, OR 97232
503.287.4750
As I mentioned last week, I left Portland on the Monday night red eye in order to get back to Chicago for work on Tuesday. Traveling in the middle of the night meant very little sleep. It also meant more time for going out to dinner with my family. Mango Mama was all set to take us out for tapas at the brand new hot spot 
As only a barbecue joint in the Pacific Northwest could do, Russell Street pulls its barbecue styles from all across the South, including Virginia, Texas and North Carolina. There are five different sauces, including three degrees of a Virginia tomato-based option, a Kentucky-style sweet-hot mustard sauce and a spicy North Carolina vinegar. All meat is vegetarian-fed, and all fish is wild. Among the menu options are pork and beef ribs, pulled pork and barbecued wild salmon. And, in a very Portland turn, Russell Street also serves smoked and grilled tofu for the vegetarians and vegans. Needless to say, we stuck to meat. 
Daddy Salmon and I tried the Texas-style smoked beef brisket (pictured above) topped with the medium Virginia sauce and with all of the other sauces to sample. The meat was soft, falling apart at the touch of a fork. It was tasty, although it could have been a little bit fattier and more moist. The entrees came with cornbread (so-so) and two sides. I tried mixed sauteed greens and barbecue beans with bits of meat, both of which were excellent. Mango Mama tried a tasty smoked meatloaf made with a mixture of pork and beef. Trader Joanna opted toward the healthier choice of a barbecued chicken breast, but she couldn’t resist the crispy handmade fries. The most impressive dish was Flava Flav’s beef ribs (pictured here). The menu said they would make you feel like Fred Flinstone, and these massive meat-laden bones fit the bill perfectly. The meat was rich and delicious, and Flava Flav did her best to eat as much as she could. She took the rest home along with the bare bones so our dogs Mattie and Athena could enjoy the meal too.
It’s taken me a while to write this post because I’ve been exceptionally busy in the last few days. In part this was because of a last minute trip to Portland, which got me home at 5 am on Tuesday. Despite the unfortunate schedule for the return flight, I had a fabulous time in Portland and ate very well. I will tell you all about it, but first I have an important announcement:
Now, on to my first great culinary experience during my short jaunt to Portland. On Sunday morning Mango Mama, Daddy Salmon, Flava Flav, Trader Joanna and I went to the 
We couldn’t resist some of those peppers. Mango Mama and I also bought a heavenly, rich and tangy sheep’s milk cheese, some pretty little tomatoes, broccoli and cauliflower, chanterelle mushrooms and some deliciously sweet apples. Many of these items, along with Mango Mama’s excellent homemade pickles, helped form a gourmet lunch when we returned from shopping. It was a spread typical of a meal at our house: crackers, cheese, apples, pickles and a delicious, buttery raspberry shortcake made my one of the artisan bakery booths. Everyone serves themselves from an assortment of bowls and trays. 
Like most people who’ve been there, I love Paris. And, like many food-loving Europhiles, I have found little in life to compare to than a simple, fresh, bistro lunch. The mere bread in a sandwich served at any random sidewalk café is enough to make me consider a trans-Atlantic move. Empanada Boy has not been to Paris, or even to Europe, which makes me all the more eager to show him how much better than average American fare everyday French food can taste. 
A wall of beautifully crafted loaves and cases of exquisite, butter-filled pastries greet you as you walk in the door. Indoor wooden tables seat coffee drinkers and the lunch crowd throughout the day. A large window opens onto outdoor tables, making the place seem all the more French. The lunch menu consists of hearty quiches, warm and cold sandwiches and some of the most attractive and delicious salads I’ve tried.
Flav, Mango Mama and I all had salads, which come with slices of rustic bread. Now, don’t think we were being virtuous and ordering the low calorie option. The salads here are massive and very filling. I enjoyed this tasty salade Niçoise complete with green beans, potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, tuna fish and Niçoise olives. This is a perfect summertime salad because it’s filling, while also tasting deceptively light. Flav had the salad I prefer to order during the winter months. It’s made with sweet, earthy red beets, green apples, walnuts and a wedge of pungent blue cheese. Mango Mama tried the salade Lyonnaise (pictured above) with tomatoes, bacon, homemade croutons and a fried egg. It’s best to break the egg before eating the rest of the salad to allow the yolk to run all over.
As for EB, he got his first taste of croque monsieur. St. Honore’s version is rich with crackling, melted Gruyere, Dijon and smoky ham and came paired with a pretty little salad. “Now that is a grilled cheese,” I said after I took a bite. EB agreed. 
These are little, fried, egg-based puffs reminiscent of popovers. The come topped with large sugar granules. Though they may not be as pretty as some of the other desserts in the display case, they are
Empanada Boy and I flew into Portland on Friday night. We were supposed to get in at 10:30 pm. To make a long and familiar story short, we ended up getting in at 1:45 am. Luckily, the devoted Flava Flav was there to meet us. I was ready to climb into bed and sleep for a long, long time, but true to form, Empanada Boy was hungry for a past midnight snack. And there are few better places for that than 
The line was out the door when we arrived at around 2:15 am. Empanada Boy ordered a messy-looking concoction known as the “Old Dirty Bastard.” It’s a regular doughnut topped with chocolate, Oreo cookie crumbs and a peanut butter glaze. Flava Flav is not much of a doughnut adventurist. She ordered a regular glazed doughnut. Not bad, but nothing special.
My selection was called “The Blunt” because it’s supposed to look like a lit cigarette— made of tobacco, of course… It was a cinnamon sugar-coated wedge dipped in maple and red sprinkles. I thought it could just as easily be a French fry dipped in ketchup. Other menu items include such selections like “Grape Ape,” a raised doughnut with vanilla frosting and grape powder; the “Arnold Palmer,” a cake doughnut covered with lemon and tea powder; and the “Cock-n-Balls” a triple cream filled selection shaped like you know what. It comes in a pink box with your favorite saying written on it. 
Voodoo Doughnuts is a clever idea, and I’m sure its innovative owners deserve a lot of credit for coming up with it. Still, I have to say that I didn’t think the doughnuts were anything special. Apart from the silly toppings, they tasted much like other doughnuts I’ve had. Maybe I need to try more of them, or maybe I’m just not sufficiently appreciative. Or maybe it’s just the high percentage of drunk people assembled in a relatively small space that turns me off. In short, I’m glad Voodoo exists and has brought Portland much-deserved fame and glory, but I think I could wait a few years before I feel the need to go back again. 
There is something wonderful about a restaurant that has a signature dish called the “plato comunista.” A simple, but hearty combination of black beans, rice, yuca con mojo and a salad, it’s easy to imagine the proletariat sitting down to sup. It also happens to be a delicious dish, which I’ve ordered a number of times at 
Despite his Commie roots, Daddy Salmon is still something of a glutton for the luxurious (at least when it comes to sweets). He ordered a batido de plátano, or banana milkshake, which was something of a meal in itself. It was thick and creamy, with a strong banana flavor. Eating a sandwich here with, fried plantain chips and a milkshake like this on the side is like the Cuban version of the burger, fries and a shake. I ordered a glass of 
We started with a plate of croquetas de bacalao con papa. Crispy on the outside and filled with a seamless blend of dried saltcod and warm potatoes, these came with a spicy dipping sauce, but were also tasty on their own. I had a dish by the same name when I lived in Spain, but those were usually in round ball shapes or cakes, while these were longer and more tubular. And in Spain, of course, there would never be a spicy dipping sauce. The Cubans definitely take it up a notch in that respect.
My entree was another dish I enjoyed while in Spain. It’s called ropa vieja (“old clothes”) because it was originally made with leftover meat. This rendition was garlic-laden shredded beef, mixed with onions and green peppers with a garnish of pimientos and peas. It comes with four slices of crusty toast and a side of Cuban beans (red beans made with bacon) and rice. It was a delicious meal, but I found the toast a little disappointing. It was hard and a little dry and lacked the lovely chewiness of well-made toast. I would have certainly been plenty fully without it. As is was, I finished my meal feeling stuffed.
That may have happened in part because I tried bites of each of my family members’ dishes. The hands down winner: Flava Flav’s “pollo criollo.” It was a large, incredibly tender piece of chicken, braised in a traditional tangy Creole sauce. It came with rice, beans and tostones, crispy slices of fried plantain. The tostones are great dipped in banana ketchup, an Asian sauce, popular in the Philippines and Cuba, made from bananas, sugar, vinegar and red food coloring. I’ve read that the Japanese brought it to the Caribbean during their occupation of the Philippines. 
Just as his name suggests, Daddy Salmon couldn’t stay away from the fish. He ordered “pan con pescado,” a Cuban fish sandwich made with marinated red snapper, grilled red onions, avocado and mayonnaise on a toasted Cuban. The fish was tender and gained a lot of flavor from the marinade, the mayonnaise and the oily toasted side of the bread. This dish also came with tostones. 
Mango Mama ordered ajiaco, a sort of stew filled with tropical roots and vegetables, cornbread dumplings and Creole-seasoned pork and beef. This was a beautiful dish to behold and had a very interesting flavor profile. Still, Mango Mama and I agreed that the pieces of sweet corn and the cornbread made the dish taste far too sweet. It was sorely in need of a kick of spice or salt. The inventive Mango Mama solved this problem by adding some of the spicy chili sauce to the broth. A decided improvement!
At this point, we all felt sure we could eat no more. But Pambiche is known for it’s bakery and desserts, including everything from a fabulous tres leches cake to empanandas dulces, or sweet, fruit-filled empanadas (perfect for my sweet Empanada Boy). Daddy Salmon agreed to help us out with the heavy lifting, so we bit the bullet and ordered arroz con leche, a beautiful rice pudding, with raisins, lemon zest and cinnamon, served in a crispy almond florentina shell.
My plane from O’Hare landed in Portland at 10:40 am on Thanksgiving morning. I found the car (actually the big white truck we use to transport things to our family motel) that my mom and sister had left at the airport for me and drove straight to Cannon Beach. 
On the way home from the beach on Sunday, Daddy Salmon, Flava Flav and I stopped off at the vaunted Northwest fast food chain, 
The sweet potato fries come in a large cup and are enough to make a lunch all on their own. They are earthy and deep in flavor with only very light oil and the perfect amount of salt. The larger ones are rich and filling, and the smaller are delightfully crispy. There is no need for ketchup or anything else on these fries. If anything, I might try mustard or vinegar to offset their sweetness. Flava Flav and I shared one order. It was the perfect snack. 
When we did sit down, about 20 minutes later, we ordered a couple bottles of a nice Rioja ($36 a piece). The wine prices here are a little more expensive than the menu, with most prices falling in the $30-$38 a bottle range. All entrees are priced at or below $12. 
I tried some of Flava’s mac and cheese and some of Sushi Sister’s meatloaf, neither of which was very inspiring. Both the meatloaf and polenta cake on Sushi Sister’s plate were oddly tiny portions. I think my favorite of the other entrees was the flat-iron steak, which Mango Mama and Croque Monsieur ordered. Mango Mama’s was a nice, tender medium rare. She got a side of crispy fries and some tasty greens. It was fried chicken night, but all the fried chicken was at the other end of the table, so I never tried a bite. Mango Mama said it was just so-so.
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