Portland’s food scene can arouse frustration, especially if you find yourself exhausted from a day of venturing beyond the city limits, only to return with a stomach ready to eat itself. There is no shortage of bars and small restaurants on the streets of Portland; it’s variety and quality that suffer from low volume. Yet, a few notables exist—and provide a perfect reason to escape east, across the Willamette River.
Portland is a friendly place for the thirsty traveler: the types of beverages and places to consume them appear outnumbered only by the variety of hobos and frequency with which they ask for change. And when drinks are in supply, late night food will be in demand. The infamous Voodoo Doughnut on Third Street flaunts its twirling display rack of standard glazed donuts sharing a shelf with others topped with cereal, bacon, cheese, and the Nyquil Glazed and pepto-bismol (“currently on hold”). But given that the “product has a life expectancy of 8 [to] 12 hours,” and Voodoo is opened 24/7, the menu is anything but routine. Feeling romantic? Voodoo even does weddings; ministers sanction matrimonies beneath “the holy doughnut and a velvet painting of Isaac Hays or Kenny Rodgers (depending upon location).” [It’s Hayes, not Hays.]
Not much for the sweet tooth? Fret not. Although relatively removed on the east side of the city, no Portland late night can qualify as a success free of a Cartopia conclusion. A corner lot on Hawthorne and SE 12th Sts, this circle of food venders lends edibility to genius. Nowhere else can hipsters, drunkards, tourists, and transients share picnic tables in a parking lot surrounded by carts serving Mexican tortas and brisket, chicken potpies and hamburgers. It’s Portland’s most satisfying destination—a sentiment enhanced fully when visited at 4 a.m. Beware: cabs are scarce at that hour and the walk to the city is not brief.
Fire On The Mountain is the best wing joint in town. It’s myriad sauce selection—ranging from mild and flavorful to lip-scorching and eccentric—draws a crowd that quickly forms a line that snakes through the tables and beside the booths. It too is a hike from downtown, so hop a bike, catch the bus, or hail a cab across the Burnside Bridge to the right side of town.
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Note: This was originally a segment from a clip on Portland I was going to compose for Nat Geo Traveler’s blog, Intelligent Travel. I realized after returning that I had done nothing of remote interest to anyone but the crew of travelers with whom I went. IT blog is better than that. Thus it was scrapped—although I will post the recap on a worthwhile hike the story also included. Still, the info is useful—if you dig wings, Fire on the Mountain is a must—but the tone & style are nauseating. Evidently, unimaginative, robotic writing and travel reporting can turn infectious, and borderline parasitic. Merely posting it for no other reason than I spent a morning in September writing it.
For greater depth and hilarity about the plight of the travel writer, check out Chuck--as in Thompson, author of "Smile When You're Lying: Confessions of a Rogue Travel Writer."
