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Slow Bar has a David Lynch-ian love for all
things woody and antler-y; in fact, the name of the Grand
Street bar, which has been open since last summer, was taken
from Lynch's film Blue Velvet. Owners Michael Barnash
and Rob Hemmerling have utterly transformed the moribund
Caswell's space into a whiskey-sipping urban hunting lodge of
sorts.
The Slowburger is the bar's hallmark, and it's already a
local service-industry draw. Barnash and Hemmerling declared
they set out to create a "bartender's bar," and considering
the crowds of post-shift barbacks and busboys wolfing down
burgers after midnight, you could say they've created a hit.
At $8.50, it's a bargain--half a pound of Painted Hills ground
beef is piled with pancetta, melted gruyère and fried onion
rings. Paired with sweet-potato fries ($4.50 for an obscenely
large platter, with "stinky cheese" for a buck more) and
washed down with a pint (you just know Pabst is on tap
here, and you're better off not challenging the staff with a
tricky cocktail request), you'll be swallowing enough calories
to get you through your next double shift.
Overall, the atmosphere at Slow Bar seems more rowdy than
Lynch spooky--if you stopped in on the night the Red Sox won
the Series, say, you'd find ordinarily sulky dudes high-fiving
and hugging each other at the bar, Slayer blasting from the
speakers, and a gruff, all-shoulders bartender who'd ignore
you for exactly four minutes before deigning to give you the
stink eye. The vibe can feel a little insiderish, but if
you're here for the food, ask loudly/politely for a menu and
slide into one of the enormous clamshell booths. In short,
it's a punk-rock Cheers.
The menu's brief and bar-food focused, the selections
engineered by Amy Jermain, a short-order samurai who's also
stalked the kitchens of Higgins, Tabla and Paley's Place. Her
fine-dining background lends just enough savvy to make the
food fresh, but not too fancy. The spicy hazelnuts ($3), a
gooey fried-oyster salad that blends torn iceberg with crisp
onions and bleu-cheese dressing ($7), and the fritto misto
(beer-battered fried veggies, $6) are a classy break from bar
peanuts, divey clam strips and onion rings.
Slow Bar's menu also includes a couple of saucy
sandwiches--braised beef ribs and a chicken club (both $8)--as
well as smallish, comparatively delicate pizzettas ($6.50).
There's not a lot of elaborate prep or presentation to these
dishes--not that the dim lighting would reveal whether your
French fries were symmetrically arrayed. This is food to wash
down drinks with, and it happens to be pretty good. If only Slow Bar could be open, like Doug Fir, in the where-now hours after other spots darken. That would be cool.
Doug Fir, the restaurant/bar/ nightclub/Twin Peaks
shrine, arrived in style last fall and settled in like old
growth, providing a splashy anchor tenant for Lower East
Burnside. You've heard about the bitchin' sound system, the
rock-'n'-roll vibe, the smoked mirrors and split-log cladding
at the Jupiter Hotel-Doug Fir entertainment compound, where
intrepid party monsters can gorge, booze, flirt, rock out and
pass out in one convenient location. But what about the
burgers?
Doug Fir's is named, oddly, distastefully, the Fir Burger.
Available in beef, turkey, buffalo, chicken breast or as a
Gardenburger patty ($8.50), it's the everyburger for everyone.
Sautéed mushrooms? Onions? Bacon? Oregon Blue or Tillamook
sharp? They got 'em. It's grilled. It's served with cut fries.
It's not the best burger in town by any stretch, but it's
straightforward.
The kitchen relies on quality local vendors--Pacific
Seafood, Pearl Bakery--and the restaurant, to its credit,
seems committed to being more than a late-night nosh-and-slosh
stop for locals or a quickie breakfast for departing hotel
guests. It wants the food to be cool.
The result? Overall, there's something a bit Tinseltown
about this restaurant that openly tries to offer everything to
everyone. There are Northwest nods in dishes named after
beloved, departed local clubs (omelettes named for the
Satyricon and the Blackbird), as well as an emphasis on local
ingredients. There's a blackberry salad with hazelnuts ($9), a
grilled wild-salmon platter ($18) and (yikes) the Drunken
Buck, an elk roast swimming in a red-wine-and-berry marinade
($19).
On a leaden December morning at 9 am, Doug Fir looks much
like the motor-court diner it once was. The tones-of-mocha
vinyl, furry carpet and woodsy veneer seem completely
unironic--all that's missing is a display of Chiclets and
Certs at the hostess station. Overstaffing caused at least
four separate employees--each wearing a different, cheeky Doug
Fir T-shirt--to swish by refilling water or coffee (Stumptown,
of course), replacing dropped silverware or bringing another
side order of bacon ("four thick-cut bacons" are $3).
The Frenchy Toast ($5.75), made from thick, sloppy slices
of baguette and served with crème fraîche and blackberry
sauce, beats the pants off IHOP and approaches the quality of
similar offerings at boutiquey breakfast joints elsewhere in
town. Meats are high-quality and deftly prepared--those
"bacons" were perfectly crisp. The 6-ounce sirloin steak
served with the Logger Breakfast ($10) was cooked medium, but
arrived smothered in red juices (poured over the top? What, do
they keep a vat of blood in the back?), while the
fresh-squeezed orange juice ($3) tasted barely better than
Minute Maid.
On the other hand, 3 am seems a more authentic Doug Fir
hour--the bars have closed, everyone in the place is dipso and
drowsy, and you'll want to order something starchy and greasy
to seek and destroy all the troublemaking alcohol in your
system.
As for fancy dining, no one should pay $23 to eat a buffalo
steak in a rock club. Such expensive entrees may be Doug Fir's
clumsiest step, and don't be surprised if venison and steamed
mussels slip from the menu over time. Dropping the more
pretentious offerings would be a solid step toward real,
Southeast Portland cool.
Originally published on
WEDNESDAY, 1/12/2005
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