Food Porn Friday: Brunch at The Woodsman Tavern, Portland

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We weren’t cool enough for The Woodsman Tavern, and we knew it. We’d found ourselves at the Portland restaurant at the recommendation of our friend Matt. We’d tried to go to Broder, but it was a Sunday morning and they were mobbed. Matt explained that The Woodsman had just started serving breakfast. We could probably get in.

But he warned us: it was a hipster Mecca (this sketch from Portlandia sums up the vibe there quite well). And my husband and I? We are not hipsters. Not by a long shot.

So we faked it.

We tried not to stare at the collection of thrift store paintings that lined one side of the restaurant.

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We acted as though our ergonomically-sadistic, spring-loaded, reconstructed elementary school desk chairs were absolutely comfortable. We ignored the searing sciatica that the chairs aggravated, because back pain is SO last year.

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We pretended to take artistic photos.

I love how you can almost hear me saying, "What the HELL, Fishkin?"

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I even practiced speaking Hipster.

“Frightened Rabbit has gone downhill since The Midnight Organ Fight, don’t you think?”

and

“Have you read The Hunger Games? BECAUSE I CERTAINLY HAVEN’T.”

and

“God, I hate hipsters.”

But then our food arrived, and we gave up on any hope of being cool.

Rand got a half-grapefruit with burnt honey. Which is just like a regular grapefruit, but slightly sweeter, smokier, and more awesome.

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He followed that with the pan-fried trout, served with potatoes o’brien, scallions, and bearnaise sauce.

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Savory. Salty. Studded with thyme.

I got a dutch pancake with ricotta, orange marmalade, and almonds. It was a daily special that wasn’t always on the menu.

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But it should be. Oh, man. The tartness of the fruit, tempered by cool, creamy globs of ricotta …

I might have licked the plate. That’s not really “in”, is it? I also might have experience such epicureal bliss that I began giggling over my breakfast – a sure sign of dorkiness if ever there was one.

We drew stares from other diners. I don’t really blame them. We tend to make a scene. Especially when we’re happy.

No, we certainly weren’t hip enough to eat at The Woodsman Tavern. Not in the slightest. But that doesn’t mean we won’t be going back.

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