Chloë "woot woot" W.'s Profile

Normally I wouldn't write a disparaging review about a hair salon for giving me a bad haircut, I would just make them fix it.

What happened to my head today cannot be fixed.  

I asked for a couple (as in 3") of inches off my very long hair, and I got a chin length monstrosity.  The shorter layers (which I said I did *not* want) do not even touch the top of my neck.  

I cried all the way from the salon in SW to my house in NE... on the bus.  Then I cried in the shower.  Then I cried for another half an hour.  Then I had no more tears... but that doesn't mean you will catch me out in public without a hat anytime soon.

I am only giving Bishops two stars because the stylist didn't ruin my bangs.  Which only happened because, once he got to the front of my face, I was so near to tears that I told him not to touch my hair.  

Also, they didn't offer me a beer.

LET ME BREAK IT DOWN FOR YOU.

The organic, free-range, blahblahblah eggs that I buy at New Seasons cost 50 cents more here.  

[the EXACT SAME] single bagels cost almost half again as much as they do at New Seasons ($1.39 each, rather than 99 cents)

...and if I am buying a beer (and nothing else) at 5:45pm on a weekday, it's probably because I have had a nightmare of a day... does the checkout guy really--REALLY--need to give me a condescending look? Like, omg, I know beer makes me fat.  Like, omg, I know I shouldn't be buying *just* a beer.  Like, omg, how can you be so judgmental about a person's purchases*?

The layout of this store is nothing but heinous.  

The staff is *not* friendly (not that Whole Foods is known for its friendliness, but still, I am dropping $50 on a bag of groceries, you could at least smile--or at least, not sneer--at me).  Not to mention that no one, NO ONE, is EVER working in the sections where I would like to talk to someone (wine, cheese)  

It is probably relatively well known that I am not the biggest fan of Whole Foods, so okay, I admit my [admittedly negative] bias.  Yet, I completely want to like this location because there is a Planned Parenthood on top of it, and it is in walkable distance from my haus.

But seriously, after having come here four times, I have decided that I would rather drive to 33rd and Killingsworth (and sweet, sweet New Seasons) from my Irvington house, just to not be molested by Whole Foods horrible/evil/corporate/expensiveness.

*for the record, local, microbrew--it's not like I was buying budweiser (ew)

Apparently I was misinformed, because I genuinely believed that bánh mi  (in this case, bánh mi thit or #1) was NOT just a mediocre ham (just ham, not ham and bacon either) sandwich with way, WAY too much mayonnaise and one spring of cilantro.  

Because that is totally what I got here.  

PS: Wikipedia sez include (some... ANY) veggies, y'all.  "The bánh mì sandwich stems from the French countryside "salad sandwich" which consists of lettuces, tomatoes and sometimes vegetables as well as dressing served on a baguette."

Yes, Olivia is all famous now, and such.  But really, who cares about press when you've had to listen to your Austin-residing mother talk about Olivia since it opened.  Well, maybe "talk" is not the appropriate word, maybe "rave" is more applicable.  

We came to Olivia to celebrate my Mommy's birthday.  Her boyfriend is a vegetarian (and I am only recently converted to the meat-eating), so we decided to go allllllll out and get every meaty, tasty, Momma boyfriend un-friendly thing on the menu.  

Including:
beef carpaccio (not the best I've ever had, but still, tasty),
escargot with garlic, herbs & butter, bacon, crimini mushrooms, butternut squash puree (oh my god.  I die.  I die. I diiiiiiie.)  
and milk-braised sweetbreads crisp brioche & corn "streusel", toasted pecan cream (SWEETBREADS--self explanatoryly amazing)

Okay, I should admit, the woman know what's she talking about.  Not only is my Momma, she is a pastry chef.

(Olivia, the only reason you didn't get the full five stars--you food was SO deserving of them--is that our waiter, though as well-meaning as I am sure he was, was seriously trying to hassle us out the entire meal. I swear he almost died when we ordered desert, and dropped the check about two seconds into it)

If Toro Bravo was a person, I would marry it.

You know, maybe because it's the some best food I've ever eaten.  Maybe because the service (seated at the bar) was definitely some of the best I've had in Portland.  Maybe because they not only had squid ink pasta, but they did it. so. right. that I could have died (and almost did).  

I would, however, definitely marry Toro Bravo because they have a wall cum chalkboard list of the farms and artisan producers that supply their ingredients.  This is the most impressive thing I have ever seen in a restaurant--that I couldn't put in my mouth, anyway.  

However, if/when Toro Bravo and I decide to tie the knot of foodlovingbeautifulness, I will have to have an affair with someone else, in order to get some sangria that doesn't taste like super sweet fruit juice--but it doesn't mean I love it any less, it just means that this girl has needs.

I should probably begin by saying that, to the best of my ability, I am not going to fault Bunk for the epic amount of hype surrounding their sandwiches*.  

"Remember.  This is going to be a _sandwich_.  A saaaandwich" is what I told myself while waiting in line during my first Bunk excursion.  Sandwiches.  Not Chef Naomi Pomeroy's foie- gras bon-bon**.  Don't get your hopes up.  

Having said that (and considered that), it was a good sandwich.  It was not, OMGWTFBBQLOL teh best sammich EVER.   We opted for two sandwiches (the pork belly cubano and the pulled pork sandwich--the two that we had seen most prominently raved about).  

The bread was tasty, particularly on the cubano (says me--though ma beau preferred the bread on the pulled pork).   The pulled pork sandwich had a fantastically tangy apple and cabbage slaw on top of the moderate-sized portion of meat.  The cubano was meh.  Neither portion size resembled the promotional photo above.  

Sure, I will eat more Bunk sandwiches.  They are good sandwiches (and I am dying to try their cured meats sandwich).  But will I pee my pants with anticipation at eating one (err, again?)?  No sir, I will not.  

* but inevitably, I will, because everyone seems to talk about these sandwiches like they're dipped in gold and smattered with a helping of angel kisses or something.
**the best thing I have ever put it my mouth, ever...  totally lives up and surpasses any hype surrounding it.

If I were in the habit of titling my reviews (but who does that anyway?), I would call this one: "The Epic Disappointment that is Tabla"

Maybe this is really my fault, and I was simply too excited about the prospect of the legendary 3-course meal for $24.  That is not to say that I didn't find it at Tabla, I did, but it just let. me. down.

It's not that the food was "bad" per se.  More that the descriptions of the food were more delicious than what was actually delivered.  Overcooked meats and vegetables.  and Bland, with a capital 'B'.  It was so tell-tale to me that the next day, I looked over the menu and continually asked my beau "baby, did we eat this? I swear there wasn't any of (fill in the blank ingredient/spice/flavor) in this dish"  But we did.  Just minus all the good-sounding bits.  

...but I don't want to get entirely Negative Nelly all over this review, so I will say that the fried, ricotta-stuffed zucchini blossom appetizer was delicious, as was the namesake "Tabla ravioli"--oh, and the pasta with truffle butter. duh. (Does that even require a statement? It's truffle butter, you can't eff that one up)

With 175+ reviews, no one really needs another confirmation that Pok Pok's nearly infamous wings are slammin'.

...nor does anyone really need to hear this from someone who does not care for chickens or their wings, like at all (ridicilious and unwaveringly so)

Too bad, 'cause I am going to have to go ahead and say: those wings are slammin', y'all.  Though, I admit, as I remain not a die-hard fan of the specific barn animal from which they originate, I found myself trying to lick the (slammin') sauce off the meat like some sort of wacky chicken popsicle.

Having said all that, the Pok Pok green papaya salad is the spiciest, nommiest salad I have probably ever had in my entire life, and I could eat it everyday until the spices break my stomach.

I am an understanding sort of dame. Really.  I don't get bent out of shape because my food takes a reasonable amount of time to prepare and package.  Nor I don't get bent out of shape with a food cart has some issues to work out, because, hey, I know they're trying their best.

But I draw. the. line.  when it comes to waiting forty-fucking-five minutes for falafel without any heads up that it would take more than five minutes for me receive my foods.  

I mean, I understand (now) that they had to make some, but _I_ can make falafel in less time, AND--here's the clincher--NO ONE TOLD ME THERE WASN'T ANY WHEN I ORDERED... had I been informed of this, El Masry wouldn't have lost my business, frankly, I would have just ordered something else off the menu.   Also, don't take my f-ing money if you're not able to serve me, because then I am just stuck in falafel-induced Purgatory, and that is not okay.

+1 star for giving me rice pudding to make up for the wait.  It didn't work, because I am not coming back, but it was, by far the most delicious part of my meal.

Honestly, I could wax poetic about The Observatory in ways that could put even myself to shame.  But, no, I won't do that.  

Frankly, The Observatory deserves better.  

The reinterpretation of salade niçoise with trout was one of, if not the, best salad I have ever had--my mouth is watering now at the very memory of it.

Let me just break that down for you:

a salad.

mouthwatering.  

just off 82nd Avenue.  

All of the above--save the 82nd Avenue, because, frankly that continues to shock the living daylights out of me--combined with some tasty cocktails and ever-amusing props, such as the graciously provided Slang Flashcards, there is no way I could ever discount the loveliness of The Observatory in poorly considered rhymed verse.