Birthday parties, bankruptcy, understanding why everyone moves to Portland.
Portland is exactly what it’s supposed to be. As we drive in, we find it would be very easy to get drunk or furnish an apartment, but not that easy to eat breakfast. We find parking underneath a Whole Foods (PORTLAND IS EXACTLY WHAT IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE) and stop for at Everett Street Bistro, for Hungarian Mushroom soup with dill and creme fraiche. After brunch? Destiny. Also known as embracing the concept of bankruptcy and trading our dignity for a cardboard sack full of books worth salivating over from Powell’s City of Books , the greatest bookstore in the human universe. It’s so big they actually had to design the store around a hill. Powell’s trumps geography, and my bank account. Between that, and the Buffalo Exchange down the street, which provides me with multiple pairs of geometrically printed leggings, Portland living is beyond my means. There will be a lot more Taco Bell for the rest of this journey. After eating slices on the top floor of a candlelit pub, we cross the bridge and pick up a selection of Christmas themed craft beers (America is fun) and make our way to the home of a ship-builder with a smile the size of Oregon named Lee, who is welcoming us to his birthday party and his squishy purple couches for the night. We while away the chilly evening in his cozy house drinking, playing boardgames, and going for short wanders around the neighbourhood, crunching the frosty grass and getting distracted by front-yard swings. Portland is exactly what it’s supposed to be.
Hungarian mushroom soup from Everett Street Bistro
My new books and I took refuge at Powell’s coffee shop so I wouldn’t spend any more money.