Jenny "i draw pictures all day" C.'s Profile

I was never any good at gambling, blackjack sounded like fun... but I lost my money. Craps seemed like a good time and when I was younger I loved to speak of it because I felt like I was getting away with saying a bad word. Roulette however was always a safe bet. At the very worst you are a little less than 50/50 for winning. And when it comes to gambling, that is hardly a gamble at all. Cafe's are quite the same, you always walk into one hoping that it will be good. However, like roulette some are bad, and you rarely find those cafe's that are a "meh". But as it should come to you as no surprise, the visual aspects of a cafe contribute nothing to how the food comes out. Grease? Lets throw some more in there! Fat hairy guy? Fine by me. So when you remove the clutter and add in a few older Russian women it is anyone's game as to how the food will taste.

Natalia's Cafe, located on a quiet corner of a sleepy town is something that you could easily stroll by without ever even noticing.   Traipsing through Camas, and hungry, however, the cafe becomes a beacon of brunch-light.  The fortunate combination of eastern facing windows and the early afternoon closing time of 2.30 ensures the cafe will always be filled with the sun's warm glow.  A lunch counter separates the open kitchen from the booths and tables adjacent to the large windows.  Taking a seat, you may or may not (with an emphasis on may) be treated to the delightful subtle sounds of some Russian conversations in the background. Not to be troubled however as the incredibly polite staff ensures that your order is taken and made for you as if you were stopping in for breakfast at your mother's home.

By the time the food quickly arrived at our table I was gleefully ready to enjoy my biscuits and gravy. Another roulette experience, will it be too thick? Too runny? Too much meat... well you can never have too much meat in biscuits and gravy. Yet they seemed to have found the perfect combination. The menu describes it as "my very own gravy recipe" and I can truthfully say that I haven't experienced anything like it before. Then we come to the bacon, I mentioned during the meal that bacon at home always seems to disappoint. It can never be cooked right, and even if by some force of God you were able to get it to that perfect stage, it would still be plagued by 50% fat and being thin as paper.  I will never in my life be able to understand how they get theirs so perfect.  

Some restaurants instantly make you feel uneasy and nervous.  Taking a gamble on staying will leave you frustrated when you walk away.  And yet sometimes, as such with the game of roulette, you walk in boasting of confidence, and perhaps walk away a little richer. Natalia's just might do that to you.

As a rosary wielding member of the catholic community, I've found myself in countless sacred institutions in the northwest, but never once with any reason to visit  Mt. Angel and its abbey.   Until quite recently, I would have never bet that it would take the ideas of deceased Finnish man to draw me there.  But there I stood, almost timidly as if I were opening the door to a confessional rather than the building I had drove over an hour to see...the library.  

Designed by the legendary Finnish architect Alvar Aalto in 1970, it's one of his only two buildings in North America, and the only one on the west coast.  So if you're a fan of the man, like yours truly, and don't quite have a trip to Finland planned anytime soon, it's an awesome opportunity to experience the his work firsthand.  The space is open to the public every day, and you're free to quietly walk around after saying hello to the pair of friendly, soft-spoken attendants at the central desk.  

The multiple story space is bathed in natural light, though there are few windows one can easily peer out of.  Skylights and clearstories offer astounding daylight, suitable for studying and internal focus, rather than being distracted by the outdoors, as is common in many contemporary libraries.   While nearly everything is over 40 years old, it is all beautifully preserved.  Fixtures, furniture, lamps, and shelving were all designed by Aalto, who embodied the notion of gesamtkunstwerk (an impossible to pronounce German word used to describe an art form or design where all of the components complement each other) .   Walking around is like time time traveling back to the late 60's... students hunch over books and scribble on pads of paper.  There are very few computers in sight, nor is there the sound of a single cell phone.  I almost felt as if I was committing some sort of sin taking photos... though my friends and I were assured that cameras are okay.

Like places of worship, libraries are spaces that almost inadvertently generate a period of self reflection.  Perhaps what makes Mt. Angel's library so successful is that the simple space is easy to use and understand, leaving plenty of time for our emotions, senses, and memories to dominate our experience.  Even if religion isn't your thing, if you find yourself in Mt. Angel or even looking for a quick trip to experience something special, consider a visit here.  It's easily one of my most favorite spaces that I've ever been in,  and will forever sit high on my list of architecture that people really must see.

I went to the Hop + Vine to drink a beer and talk with with people who call the area home.   Admittedly, like any small neighborhood bar, my expectations were pretty low.  

So when I instantly found a tons of street parking in the quaint little North Portland neighborhood, I decided to stroll around a little bit, taking in the sights of kids out in yards, neighbors chatting, and rows of homes thoughtfully cared for.  I got a vibe of a quintessential 'hood that you always dream about living in.  

"Huh." I thought aloud to myself, "This is... unexpected."

The Hop + Vine is like hanging out with cool friends. (That feeling increases when you actually *are* hanging out with cool friends there).  You instantly feel welcome as one of the friendly folks behind the bar all but hand you a drink as you find a spot and sit down.  The tap list is nice, the spirits are stocked, but the real kicker is the bottles that are available to drink there or to go.  Their official bottleshop grand opening is next month, and will likely not make the overwhelming selection process any easier.  If only you could get a list, or a corkscrew, start at one end, and work your way through.  Prices are completely reasonable, and won't set you back more than any of the hip stops in town.  My biggest regret is that I've yet to try any of their food.  I have a feeling that's where the 5th star is hiding, and I'm exited to go track it down.

So if you're in No.Po. definitely give them a shot.  They're undeniably cool.  

Footnote:
Wait. Was that just a Jenny C review with no mention of architecture?  Yes. Yes it was.  Why?  Well, she's still overcome with joy at the sight of a framed site & floor plan of the building hung in the bathroom.  Who does that?  AWESOME PEOPLE. THAT'S WHO.

So it's not really an issue if your eyes are bigger than your stomach when it comes to Italian food, because as a default at Nonna Emilia, the portions are bigger than your face.

"Well... my face. Yours is kinda small." Quipped the boyfriend as we drove into the busy parking lot on a Saturday night.

After waiting about 20 minutes in the vestibule, packed with kids, couples, grandmas and grandpas, this Nonna Emilia newbie began to realize just what she was getting herself into. Everyone waiting talked of how hungry they were, while everyone on their way out carried boxes (yes, plural) of leftovers to take home. Obviously this is a place you come when you're craving pasta, as further evidenced by the mounds of noodles on platters at each table in the joint.  

The menu offers all the typical, traditional Italian dishes, and it's a pretty safe bet that whoever you're with can find something.  I settled on tortellini and soup, thinking that a meal like that typically warrants smaller servings.  I was wrong.  After having a bowl of totally amazing minestrone and warm bread that would have been a perfect mean itself, the waitress put a huge plate of meat-tortellini down in front of me.  I managed to eat a 1/3 of it before surrendering to a to-go box of my own.

The restaurant has an old-school, huge family outing vibe that I can only compare to Sayler's Old Country Kitchen http://www.yelp.com/bi... waaay on the east side of Portland.  It's the type of place where you feel a little funny showing up with one other person, but a party of 10 feels totally fine.  Bring your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles.... one of them is bound to pick up the tab, right?  With big groups of people, bustling waitresses, and an accordion player who will TOTALLY play classic rock, at Nonna Emilia you're bound to have a pretty decent time.

"Now the Apple Store," the speaker in my architectural course on spatial storytelling explained, "is modeled after a classroom."

"A classroom?!"  I thought.  I'd never sat in a classroom that even closely resembled an Apple Store.  And then I thought about it a little more.  It's a place to play, vaguely pay attention to people talking at you, and spend an exorbitant amount on money on something that seems like a really good way to change your life for the better.

Huh. Y'know, it kind of does sounds like college now that you mention it.

And like most academic institutions, the Pioneer Place store invites you in with open arms, and is consequently always packed with energetic people. I've been in loads of time just to browse (and convince myself that no, I don't need an iPad) but never to actually buy anything.  That is, until my PC laptop that got me through my undergrad and graduate education finally bit the big one.  

After doing all my research online, and showing up before the store opened on a Saturday to wait in the line outside, I felt confident knowing exactly what I'd be walking out with.   The hardest part, I gathered, would be finding someone to talk to.

The staff is like the awesome TA that ran your science/tech lab.  A guy/gal that you totally wanted to drink a beer with *and* learn how to do awesome techy stuff from. But because he/she was so cool, you could never get any time to work with them unless you were direct right from the start.  The same is true at the Apple Store.  If you even slightly waver upon your first verbal interaction, there's no way you're talking to someone again without waiting your turn.  So the trick when someone, anyone, asks you how's it going is to do the following:

"It's Good! I want to buy this." (and then point at the object.) "How do I do that?"

Tada. You have their undivided attention.  And in my case, I got all my questions answered, my credit card swiped, and help to the door with a super sexy new 27" iMac in less than 30 minutes.  It's almost scary how easy it is.  Shopping here is an experience unlike any other store in the mall, and it's obvious that Apple has a very specific way of conducting business.  Say whatever you want about marketing strategies or branding techniques, you feel like you're genuinely getting all the help you need to get you off and running with your new gadget.  But as in college, a classroom only gets you so far. Yes it's a place to learn and grow, but it's what you take with you that really matters. Fortunately, every item you walk out with at the Apple Store feels like a solid investment in your creative and computing future.  

Not to mention it kinda makes you wish you could go back to school. But maybe just the cool parts.

Every month or so, I have a delightful conversation (read: throw-down) with Aaron, a friend from college who I've long considered my arts & culture equal.  Although he's relocated to California, our periodic chats about the tunes we're playing or pages we're turning have yet to cease.  Recently, however, restaurants were mentioned, his area of expertise. Uhoh...

Aaron: Have you eaten at "Ned Ludd"?

Jenny: I have not. (Damnit. Where?)

A: Well it's in Portland! It was one of GQ's ten best restaurants in America. Two guys bought this old open brick oven pizza place to make a new restaurant, but then they realized it had no stove. So instead of remodeling they just said "screw it" and make amazing dishes just using that open fire wood oven.

J: I can't believe that I've never heard of this. (Or that I'm about to loose some PDX street cred to a Californian.)

A:  The interior design is amazing.   http://www.nedluddpdx.... ... Boom.

(A cool inception story, scenes of a rad space, and a to-die-for menu? This guy knows the way to my heart.  And as it turns out, Ned Ludd knows the way to my taste-buds.)

J: Whoa.

Admittedly, it took a while for me to get here for dinner, but it was worth the wait.   Michelle H. and I rolled in on a Monday night to a packed house, and welcomed a couple spots at the bar.  

The building, set waaaay back from MLK, resembles a greenhouse from the exterior. Once inside, it somehow transforms into a cozy hodgepodge of antiques and timber, kind of like a picturesque storage shed in the country.   Imagine the type of space you'd want to warm up in on a dark, fall evening.  This is it.    

The beer/wine/spirits list is creative but hardly unapproachable, given the list of regional breweries and vineyards.   A Provence Sour cocktail is basically like a boozy, liquid meringue pie, and goes down way too smoothly.    After a little guidance from the bartender, we settled on mac n' mornay, broccoli, and stuffed rabbit loin.  It was easily the best broccoli I've ever had, and the mac was awesome.  This was my first experience with rabbit, and stuffed with liver, and served on a bed of farro/chanterelles, I can wholeheartedly understand why so many people love it.  

And yes. You want the s'mores.  We'll leave it at that.

It seems to me that Ned Ludd is still relatively unknown when locals spout off the best Portland eateries. At least for now.  But given the recent acclaim of spots creeping in around NE MLK, like Toro Bravo or Firehouse, Ned Ludd has located itself beautifully in the heart of the activity.  The space is cool, and the team is accommodating and attentive.  I'll be back for sure.  However, there are very few people I know who I feel like I could bring here for dinner, as the menu demands a willingness to be a little adventurous. But for drinks and appetizers, or even dessert and coffee?  Oh you'd better believe it's been permanently added to my recommendation list.

Which means that I guess I've got to go tell Aaron that he was right... again.  But before I do that, anyone know of a phenomenal, relatively unknown place around Lake Tahoe?  I've got to try and one-up him.

Irony is attending mass at the extraordinary St. Ignatius when the sermon is about appreciating the ordinary things in life.

But there I was, on the 28th Sunday of Ordinary time.  It was 7.45PM and I was in Seattle with nothing to do on my last night in town.  I had sworn off visiting downtown, the routine routes around skyscrapers and confusing one-way streets of trips past seemed less than appealing on this rainy weekend.  And nearly every visit in recent memory included a stop at St. Ignatius to admire its form and space with fellow architects and academics.  Yet as I flipped through an architecture guide in my hotel room across town, my conscious was laying on the Catholic-Guilt like a champ: "y'know you didn't go to church this weekend... and you've never been there for mass..."

45 minutes, and a couple of hurried prayers for way-finding later, I stood in front of the reflection pool, the chapel windows softly glowing the colors that typically wash the interior with light.  The door stood ajar and the faint sound of the choir drifted outside into the night sky.  I knew this would be an experience unlike any I had witnessed before.

While the space feels open and bright during the day, in the evening, and when the pews are full of people who've rushed in after the bells chime (and just moments before mass begins)  the chapel transforms.   No longer do you feel as if you are in a sculpture of light, but more of a cave church, where the weight of the dimly lit ceiling serves as an ever present reminder of the forces overhead.  The acoustics are wonderful.  A single voice easily floats across the chapel, but the true magnificence comes from the low, resonant voices of the congregation.  

Comprised primarily of students of Seattle U, there's a youthful energy to the mass. During my visit, the officiant was also a professor of chemistry, resulting in an educated and yet understandable homily.   Like many college chapels and Newman Centers, there's a sense of permanence and community, which always strikes me as odd, given an ever-changing group of students each academic year.  Still, the experience is genuine, and the familiar liturgical words speak volumes in the setting.

At times it can almost seem hard to concentrate here. There's so much to take-in, and more than once I found myself struck with a dumbfounded awe, as if I was discovering some of the nuances of Catholicism.  This is one of those places that makes me appreciate my faith a little bit more, and feel a twinge of jealously for those who get to worship here regularly.  But the truth is, we can't all have our own extraordinary St. Ignatius...

... and I prayed that I could learn to appreciate that.

I'm not a skateboarder. Or a BMXer. Nor do I play one on TV.

However, I am a designer who happens to really dig skatepark design... and I love watching the talented few as they effortlessly ride those crazy concrete forms, or crash into them.  So when an article on SeaSk8 was published in the local journal "Arcade" a while back, I knew that it would have to be one of the stops on my next trip to Seattle.  

Located on top of an auxiliary roof of Key Arena, the 10,000 square foot park is a replacement for the demolished skate park just outside the Seattle Center. It was designed with skateable streetscape features and skateable public art (the glass wall and panels by local artist Perri Lynch are gorgeous) and has a pretty fascinating construction technique.  The primary material is foam, and while it's a far cry from the concrete pools of Dogtown, the traditional earthen mounds of contemporary parks, or the piles of God-knows-what under the famed Burnside Park in Portland, it's a method that makes sense for the location. Unlike compacted dirt that shifts and settles over time, rigid foam underneath concrete will keep its form without adding additional weight to the building below.

But you probably don't really care about structural loads, huh?

The park feels small and narrow, though it appears to be thoughtfully planned.  The space is attractive and ariy, with plenty of space to ride or watch.  It feels like a quiet neighborhood hangout, unceremoniously tucked away from the the prying eyes of those passing by on their way to the Space Needle or other attractions.  As is the plight of all outdoor skateparks in the northwest, come fall, leaves from the nearby trees cover the floor, and pools of rainwater make riding, or even walking around, a seriously soggy experience. But when dry, it's a location for seasoned riders, novices, and cautious observers alike. SeaSk8 might not be the craziest or most extreme park out there, quite honestly, I'm sure locals have found many more outrageous, and illegal, spots to let loose.  As I walked through Seattle Center in the rain this weekend, I could only imagine the serious speed one could get flying through the huge sunken fountain a few yards away. (But you didn't get that idea from me!)  

While I come from the town with citizens that rebelliously constructed Burnside Skatepark, and now officially builds parks routinely, I appreciate that it takes a strong community spirit and the dedication of riders and neighbors to make a skatepark truly welcomed.  And like any good person, SeaSk8 takes a couple of ground rules to heart when striving for success:

1. Have fun.
2. Don't be a jerk.

(And no bikes.)

Well, I know some folks who might disagree on that last one.

It's no secret that the best cure for the first rainy fall weekend in Portland a hearty dose of comfort food in a cozy environment with friends and family.  This year, you couldn't ask for a better spot than A Cena.

Many thanks to Don and the the yelp crew for organizing another lovely event.  New Deal, your gin martini is suburb, cheers.  And my most heartfelt thanks to A Cena for not only hosting us, but for the gift card.   I was already looking to coming back for dinner, but you've made my return trip a little sweeter.  Now to just wait for another drizzly Saturday evening.

I don't think I'll be waiting too long.

Coffee in hand, she realized that the only thing that she truly wanted "to-go" were the chalkboard panels.

Thatcher's, a relatively new cafe in Vancouver's latest retail development is out of place. It doesn't belong on the edge of Highway 14, but rather in the pages of dwell magazine.  The bright shop is flooded with natural light, even during the early morning coffee run, creating a warmth that compliments the crisp, cool colors and decor.  The oh-so northwesty pairing of wood with the bright white bar and stainless steel fixtures makes the space worthy of a feature article in one of the most recognized contemporary design periodicals.  And one might even go so far as to suggest that the sincere chicness of the folks who frequent the cafe might even earn it a quip or two on the notoriously comical http://unhappyhipsters....  

But of course beauty, or in this case interior design, is only skin deep. And fortunately, Thatcher's delicious drinks and swell crew make the whole experience of stopping by a  genuinely sweet experience.  Orders are served up lighting fast, and you barely have time to find a comfy overstuffed chair or table to get some work done at before your drink is sitting at the counter.  A cup of tea or coffee and a pastry costs no more than any other grab-n-go spot, but unlike most of the competition, all comes from local, sustainable sources.   It's no secret that Thatcher's cares about the community they are part of.  A huge chalkboard-inspired panel is the focal point of the space, artfully displaying the companies, schools, and people who have helped make them who they are, and the Portland/Vancouver ideals that they stand for.  Down the hall, a floor to ceiling chalky calendar is covered in awesome events both in-house and within the city.  While I've yet to figure out a way to get either of those incorporated into my own place, the concept is permanently filed in the back of my brain, waiting to be pulled out for some future design project.  

Thatcher's is a cool spot to hang out alone, with the kids, or even a large group.  It's easily one of the hippest spots in Vancouver.  

Hip. But hardly unhappy.