Portland, OR

This is a tale of brunch deferred. A sad tale indeed, but it comes with a happy ending.

I went to a neighborhood place, in the SE quadrant of Portland, but I won’t name the place outright, as I do not feel that my singular experience should be taken as a rant or a rave of such place. Anyhoo, I went with my boyfriend, and as we pulled up, there were three people waiting outside. Two together and one singularly, as it seemed from how they were spaced. I usually hate waiting at a restaurant for a table. I tend to immediately think that I will find another place, before realizing that by the time I would get to a new place, I would have already been sitting down at the first place I went.

However, I was persuaded to wait. We went inside, and there were more people waiting inside. A good sign, right? Two other couples or so I figured, but the woman who greeted us, a server, was so sunny and bright in her welcome, and I figured that even if I left, I’d feel like a jerk after that welcome.

The server informed us that we could help ourselves to some coffee. Aw, sweet. There were ample cups, and two big urns of coffee, but alas no spoons — no clean spoons, that is. There were thermoses of half and half and milk, but these were empty. I am sure I could have been “that girl” and asked for fresh spoons and milk, but everyone looked pretty busy, and I hate being a fuss.

A spate of tables left about twenty or so minutes later, and we were given a table. The special had just run out, but a new special was now available. I listened to a description that included smoked salmon, capers, and creme fraiche on toast. I was tempted, and decided to go for it, as it seemed an alternative for a favorite of mine, bagels and lox, a classic brunch dish, right?

The food came. I was served a scramble of eggs, non-smoked salmon, and capers, all cooked together. Where was the creme fraiche, and when did eggs enter the dish?

Here is the problem. It is not that I don’t like eggs, it is that I don’t like regular salmon. I like salmon raw and smoked, but when it comes to regular old salmon, I am just not a fan. I have had it right of the water, and still, not a fan. Unless we are taking Copper River salmon, and then it is a different story. But this salmon in the eggs with a few capers was not Copper River. Not by a long shot.

But I was in a pickle. Do I send it back? What do I say? My boyfriend suggested I simply say that the dish wasn’t what I expected. Ah, but who is to blame for that - me, the server who didn’t know what the special really was, not having seen it, or the chef that may have incorrectly described it to the server? Who’s to blame, Alice?

Anyway, I did nothing. I scraped the eggs/salmon/capers off the toast, and ate the toast. There were some potatoes in a little nest formation that were flavorless and swimming in grease, and though parts of them looked crispy, they were totally soggy and also inedible.

I don’t go out for brunch often. It has to do with my sleeping habits, mainly, but also I am usually disappointed in brunch. I make decent breakfasts myself, so I have little need for someone else to poach my eggs. And here I was, still hungry and frankly just sad.

Until…who I assume is an owner or manager (but also serving tables), came over and dropped off a cookie. A big, delicious vegan cookie. How did he know? How did he know that not only was I sad because my breakfast sucked, but also that a cookie would make everything better?

Granted, the cookie did not mean that I didn’t dwell on the experience for at least another hour or two afterward, but the dwelling was more about how much of a chicken I am when it comes to complaining about food in a restaurant.

Nor did that cookie make up for the painful Oscar Wilde monologue that served as, ahem, entertainment. Advice to Portland: Live entertainment is not necessarily a good thing.

brunch, Portland, SE, smoked salmon, salmon, copper river, vegan cookie, Oscar Wilde