The Red E is now the best coffee shop in Portland to meet for group rides. And by “best” I mean “closest to my house”. It’s full of PCC students pretending to work on stuff but actually just checking their Facebook status. It’s also full of “creatives” meeting about things on their iPads. If you’re the kind of person that needs to plug lots of stuff in, they have lots of outlets. They sell coffee from Intelegentia and Coava rather than Stumptown because not-Stumptown is the new Stumptown (and Stumptown is the new Williamsburg or something). They’ll make single cup brews of the coffee of your choice, and cups of coffee are only a dollar with fifty cent refills.

For non-Economics or public policy majors, this is the Pareto efficient “sweet spot” for cups of coffee. It allows you to get a cup of coffee and a refill, while providing a solid 50% tip on the original cup for $2 total. The $2 cup of coffee, on the other hand, forces you to find an extra dollar for a tip, which seems somehow excessive on a self serve cup of coffee, while the $1.75 cup only allows you to tip a quarter.

They also have a stairwell that appears to go to a dungeon, and every time I see it I think about that Dungeons and Dragons movie-of-the-week starring Tom Hanks as a nerd who goes crazy and starts thinking that monsters are after him. It also stars that kid from Meatballs and My Bodyguard as the rational nerd, who talks the Tom Hanks irrational nerd down using his +2 conversational spell.

Dungeons also make me think of Rick James, who had a dungeon, but his isn’t as funny at this:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfxXug5ZMdk

The internet is generally where shy people hang out, and pretend that they’re functional and confident and attractive. And sometimes exchange money orders and photos of their genitalia. But the best part of the internet is making friends that you would never have met otherwise. Functional, confident, attractive friends. Like Dawn and her movie club. Or me and my sensual masseuse from Craigslist. Or ALL STAR sosovelo witty commenter Sixty, who introduced me to perhaps the greatest secret food establishment in all of Portland, Po’ Shines in Kenton.

I made it clear at one point that I’m in a long term committed relationship with my favorite breakfast restaurant ever, Arleta Library Cafe. But I’ve been straying a bit lately with Po’ Shines. Po’ Shines is amazing.

First of all, they use the apostrophe as a mark of elision rather than possession. Which is awes’m! And they make maybe the best food ever. And then they sell it to you really cheap.

These are my criteria for a perfect restaurant: Cheap. Delicious. Elision punctuation.

8139 N. Denver
Portland, OR 97217
503.978.9000
poshines@gmail.com

The menu at Po’Shines includes a blackened catfish breakfast burrito that’s as big as the Tiniest Sprinter. The chef does some kind of crazy magic to it so that the cheese and egg are all part of the tortilla, and then they fill the rest with grilled vegetables and the meat of your choice. And you know what they don’t do? They don’t waste all that space with potatoes. Because fuck potatoes on a breakfast burrito. Nothing says cheap and lazy like a breakfast burrito full of potatoes. Except maybe a breakfast burrito full of One Whole Chicken in a Can. Especially if it’s still in the can.

The staff are unbelievably friendly, and will happily walk you through any indecision. The last time I went there, I was standing outside with friends after breakfast, and they brought us little cups of a smoothie they had made. Outside. After we had already left. And last night they cheered for me on the way home from PIR.

I’d avoided Po’ Shines in the past because it looked like one of those places that you think might serve food but mostly just serves coffee, but you won’t know until you walk in and look at the menu. And if you do walk in and they don’t have food, you’ll just have to walk back out and everyone will look at you and think “What, did he think he was too good for this place?!” and so you have to walk back in and say “It wasn’t you, it’s ME! I thought you had more food…” and then they’ll get defensive and say “We’ve got bagels”

It’s not like that. It’s full of amazing food. You should go in. Because it will blow your mind.

The only downside is the hours. Closed Sundays. And only open for dinner on Friday and Saturday.

Posies Cafe is a new coffee shop in Kenton, and it has the biggest glass doors of any coffee shop in all of North Portland*. These glass doors afford Posies the grandest view of the “Up In Smoke” head shop of any establishment in all of Kenton. Until now, Kenton has been the place I buy my booze and pray to the Paul Bunyon shrine. But now I have a third reason to visit Kenton. Now I will sit in their cozy grandma chairs and look out through the giant glass doors and enjoy the parade of amazing people that visit Up In Smoke.

The people who work at Posies are all super friendly, and they never make you feel stupid for ordering dumb shit. You can order a “medium” if you want, and they won’t say “we only have grande” so that you won’t have to reply “I just want the middle sized cup that is neither large nor small” and they won’t have to say “we don’t have large or small – we only have short and venti” and you won’t have to reply “you’re killing me, pretentious barista!”

The’ll just give you your drink in the medium cup.

They have a ton of space on the inside. Nice photos on the wall. Power outlets under all of the bench seats for your broke ass laptop that doesn’t hold a charge anymore. They seem to be open late so you can get all jacked up on caffeine before the PIR races, then blow yourself up on lap 2 because you’re JUST TOO EXCITED to ride slow. They have a soft serve ice cream machine that may or may not be operational (they don’t officially open until 5/21/09) but I have high hopes. THey have both the New York Times AND the New Yorker, so you can pretty much pretend to read anything on the coffee table and look both smart and progressive when trying to impress the people buying bongs across the street.

And they have cupcakes. ‘Nuff said.

Posies Cafe
8208 N. Denver Avenue
North Portland, OR 97217
503-289-1316

* This fact is totally unverified

I really love it when I put a dollar in the vending machine at work and my Twix gets stuck. Then watching the vending machine angrily process it’s failure like R2D2, stomping around on it’s stubby little legs, before it sighs and concedes, dropping a second Twix bar for free. I know that this is anthropomorphizing the vending machine. But I swear he hates me. So I treasure these little victories. I don’t win often in life (my results in the Banana Belt race should make that obvious). So I take what I can get. Even if all I can get is a free Twix bar every couple of weeks.

I felt the same winning feeling when I went to Firehouse without any idea that it was happy hour. I’d never been for dinner, and I wanted to scream “This pizza is TWO DOLLARS OFF, suckers!” But I realized that they already knew this. They made the prices. To brag about it would make me look like a buffoon. So I just kept my mouth shut.

Aesthetically, the place looks amazing. They have all of the things that fancy restaurants should have. Like big black and white pictures and huge windows and warm repurposed wood and lots of visible fire where they either cook or pretend to cook things. The staff were all super nice and knowledgeable. They have cooking books all around that I think are for ambiance, because the chefs all appear to know what they are doing.

Firehouse
711 NE Dekum St
Portland, OR 97211
503.954.1702

The pizza is good. I’m not a “foodie” (slang for “blowhard who rarely cooks for themself”) so I’m not going talk about shit that I don’t understand. I’m just going to say that it had all of the ingredients that a pizza should have, and that the bread part was on the bottom, then the red stuff, then balls of white stuff, then some green stuff, then some fish swimming around in little pools of olive oil. And I didn’t have to unwrap it and cook it myself, which was a nice touch. Well played, Firehouse.

I also went for brunch one Sunday. I like brunch because it’s just breakfast with a fancy name, so it looks and sounds classy. And it’s always cheaper than dinner, so you can take people out to brunch and act like you’re a high roller, even if you’re the kind of guy that gets really excited about a free Twix bar. And brunch comes in the morning or early afternoon, so it’s the perfect place to go after getting drunk and embarassing yourself the previous night in any of the common methods of embarassing oneself while drunk (competitively and/or socially and/or sexually, etc). And nothing takes the sting out of drunken embarassment like continued intoxication. Two mimosas, please.

I had the french toast, which was all turtled up underneath berries and a mounds of butter and whipped cream. You can’t hide from me, delicious French toast!

I’ve got nothing but compliments for this place.

And speaking of turtles, here’s a video of an adorable turtle getting frisky with a high top. I assume the turtle will be ordering two mimosas in the morning. And maybe one for the shoe, as well.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDiR7UxI8Ow

In light of recent preemptive attacks on my beloved coffee shop of choice, The Black Cat, I feel a certain responsibility to leap in with  a defense plan.  First of all, allow me to assert the controversial  reality that The Black Cat is the greatest coffee shop of all time.  Yes, I said it.  THE GREATEST.

No, the coffee is neither rich, aromatic, delicious, nor brewed by Stumptown.  But hey, I’ll happily settle for a turbo boost S’mores-flavored cappuccino from the nearest gas station coffee bar, so what  do I know about your fancy West coast slow-roasted French press?  When  I go out for a hot mug of café, it’s for the AMBIANCE, not the taste  of the actual java.  After all, I’m just a simple country bike messenger and all-American working stiff, so you can TAKE THAT COMMUNITY COLLEGE PRETENSION ELSEWHERE AND STOP MEAN-MUGGING MY CUP OF  JOE!  Who goes to a coffee shop for the fancy coffee?

Ahem.  As I’ve said, The Black Cat may not carry the most deliciously-brewed cup of coffee in the greater Portland metropolitan area, but that certainly doesn’t stop this venerable neighborhood hangout from capturing the hearts of hard-working Americans everywhere as the GREATEST COFFEE SHOP OF ALL TIME.  The best part is that it’s less than a half-mile away from my front door!  Who needs to experience a rich, aromatic taste sensation at the Fresh Pot when the Black Cat has hot lesbians, weird lesbian music, and uncomfortable lesbian art on hand to otherwise occupy the senses?  Not to mention a nigh-endless (I’ve admittedly reached the end of this magical rainbow of vegan life force before, hence “nigh”) supply of Black Sheep blueberry cornmeal muffins, which I require on a weekly basis in order to continue successfully conducting basic human functions.  Thus, the Black Cat excels in the three major areas that make up my personal Triforce of coffee shop supremacy: LESBIANS, MUFFINS, AND PROXIMITY TO MY HOUSE.  I beseech you to respect this powerful Triforce, as once the three sacred elements are assembled, the essences of the Golden Goddesses grant me the omnipotence to annihilate all would-be competitors at Ms Pacman (whose arcade consoles the Black Cat uses in lieu of your garden-variety table top).  Most shops can only master 2 of the 3 elements at best.  Most shops cower at the mighty Sapphic feet of the Black Cat coffee shop!

Despite my obsession with all puns, the name Coffeehouse 5 did not initially sit well with me. Calling a coffee shop a “coffee house” makes me think of weird, fake-Beatnik types, like Mike Meyers in So I Married An Axe Murderer. But Coffeehouse 5 (Or CH5 as Cait and I call it in our text messages) has slowly overcome its name and become one of my favorite coffee shops. Before CH5, Cait and I were having relationship problems due to our different taste in coffee shops. I like Tiny’s or the Fresh Pot because they are close to my house and I often run into people I know there (thus distracting me from work…which I like). Cait prefers The Black Cat because lots of lesbians hang out there and because gross-tasting coffee, bad music, and tables made of vintage video games do not phase her.

Slowly this problem was tearing us apart.

Then I started going to school across the street from CH5 and was forced to put my feelings about the name aside due to sheer proximity.

CH5 is very comfortable. There are couches and grand wooden tables and big windows letting in ample natural light. The coffee is good and they sell the Black Sheep muffins that Cait is partial to. On Sundays they play This American Life over the sound system and during the week they often don’t play anything at all, which a nice change sometimes.

The only time you might run into a problem there is if it’s slightly busy and you want something more complicated than just a cup of coffee. The place where you order your drink is not in ear shot of where the drinks are made, so orders are often confused or forgotten. After this happened to me 4 or 5 times I abandoned the Americano option and discovered that regular, french-press coffee is just as good. Plus it’s 60 cents cheaper ($1.40) and comes with one free refill. Sold!

Plus, I have yet to see a Beatnik in there.

740 N Killingsworth St
Portland, OR 97217
(503) 286-7125

I already like the Albina Press as a pre-ride meeting spot. And I already wrote about it. But now there is another one. It’s almost exactly the same. Except it’s on Hawthorne. Not Albina. But it’s called Albina Press. On Hawthorne. I know, I don’t get it either. But stay with me. Just like the other Albina Press, this one is sterile. I love sterile coffee shops. Everything looks clean, and that makes everyone act more responsible than they usually would. It’s a similar feeling to visiting the home of a wealthy person and treating all of their shit with reverence. Deep down inside you hate them for all having all of this nice stuff, but because everything looks so nice and new you don’t want to ruin it with your grubby fingers. That’s how sterile coffee shops work. Parents who visit them make their kids act responsibly. People quietly work on projects. No one jabbers on the phone.

It’s like a public library. But where you have to bring your own books. And no one shoots up or smears poop all over the walls in the bathroom.

Also, sterile coffee shops listen to better music than dirty coffee shops because sterile coffee shops have a reputation to protect. You never have to worry about jam bands at sterile coffee shops. Because it clashes with the uncomfortable modern furniture. And they’re too cool for clashing.

Anyway, the coffee shop. It’s on upper Hawthorne. Spitting distance to Mt. Tabor. Totally spandex friendly. People are too into their Macbooks to even notice your wacky clothes.

5012 SE Hawthorne Blvd
Portland, OR 97215
(503) 282-5214

Sometimes I get sad. I’m a downer. In a general kind of way. My friends and family like to say “you’re no fun at all” and “seriously, I’m not joking, you’re dragging this party down, please leave.” But my pediatrician once told me: “When life gets you down, ‘lil sosovelo editor,” he said, “you just have to go drink enough alcohol that you forget about your problems for a little while. Then, when you wake up, you’ll feel sick. Instead of sad.” Then he gave me a dinosaur sticker and one of those little plastic paratrooper toys that you throw up in the air. I’ve carried that medical advice with me for years, well into adulthood.

So it’s my interest in preventative health care that brings me to the Portway Tavern. I’m not going to talk about the Portway Tavern like I’ve been there a ton of times. I haven’t. I’ve been there twice. And there wasn’t anything exciting about it. It’s just a bar. They served me a lightly hued beer. They also gave me some popcorn. And they didn’t try to upsell me on something with “Pom” in the name, because they know that all of that pomegranate stuff is a bunch of marketing hooey. And I think that’s why I like going to the Portway when I’m down; at the Portway Tavern, you never have to worry about some bartender with cool hair snickering at your drink choice while attractive people at the bar make googoo eyes at each other. People at the Portway tavern don’t know what googoo eyes are. They just want to drink their beer, dagnabbit! Sad and alone. You take your googoo eyes to one of those fancy bars!

Portway Tavern
7600 N Willamette Blvd
Portland, OR 97203
503/ 285.3875

So the Portway is my sad bar. Right on Williamette along the Northern scenic bikeway. Away from the well-lit  boutiques and coffee shops that happy people frequent.

The last time I went to the Belmont Stumptown to meet for one of the local celebrity team rides, one of the local celebrities farted. And one of the other local celebrities called it out. Like this. “Hey, one of you farted.” And everyone nodded and mumbled in agreement. And then everyone looked around for obvious signs of guilt, but no one was giving anything away. So we all just sat there, in that tiny little Stumptown, hotboxing on our own flatulence. (I mean, it was one of our own flatulence, not all of ours – definitely not mine – don’t look at me.) We didn’t know which of us did it. And I just kept thinking to myself, “What an awesome lifestyle this is.”

I’m not sure if it’s the same everywhere else. But in Portland, cyclists seem to be able to do whatever we want. Apparently, we can roll into the hippest of coffee shops, already full of Banana Republic-clad metrosexuals tapping away on their Macbook Pros, wearing spandex skinsuits with gaudy white shoes and road cleats clicking loudly, ruining all of those great American novels being written. We can talk loudly about a bunch of nerdy bullshit that no one else cares about. Gear ratios, Powertaps, tread patterns. And then, in a blatant show of bravado, we can boldly cropdust the establishment on our way out, without anyone confronting us (by “we” I mean someone else in the group – don’t look at me.)

I feel like if I we tried this as a group anywhere else in America, we’d get our asses beaten. But in Portland, everyone just whispers and points. Not with anger, but with admiration for the craftsmanship of our bikes.

Anyway, I don’t go to the Belmont Stumptown very often. And it’s not because the last time I was there, my company let one loose. It’s because the counter setup makes me uncomfortable. You have to squeeze past all of those people in line to get to the end. Past the art. Worried that your backpack is going to knock something expensive over. Then work your way past the people that are working the self serve side of a counter. You have to decide if you should keep the fifty cents for a refill, or put it in the tip jar. And if you put it in the tip jar, will they give you a break when it’s time to get a refill?

I don’t know. I’m an anxious guy. It’s all too much for me. But I think it’s a great coffee shop. The art they pick is my favorite of the Stumptowns. It’s a nice central eastside spot to meet for group rides. But let me just say this…

If you’re planning to open a coffee shop, and you’re trying to maximize both tips and refills on stay-in coffee, you should charge $1.25 with $0.25 refills. That leaves $0.50 to tip. It will help ease my anxiety.

Arleta Library Cafe has the best breakfasts in Portland. I know, I’ve said things like this before. But this time I mean it. It really, truly is the best breakfast in Portland. And the wait isn’t very long. And the people that work there are super nice. And the coffee is delicious and bottomless. And the baked goods are top notch. And the only real downside is that it’s off 72nd and Foster, which is a total black hole, cycling or otherwise. I don’t have anything bad to say about this place, really. This is the part where I usually make a snide comment about the clientele or the prices. But I’ve got nothing. Nothing sarcastic. Nothing backhanded.

Arleta Library Bakery Cafe
5513 SE 72nd @ Harold
Portland, OR, 97206

I know. Most boring. Review. Ever.

It sits across the street from Mt. Scott Park, surrounded by a Vietnamese video store, a place that sells toddler-sized T-shirts that say things like “Only 17.5 years until I’m legal!”, and an awful coffeeshop full of dreamcatchers and tchotchy shit where I once saw a flyer for “Green Lawn Care: 420 Friendly Landscaping”. Seriously. I still don’t really know what that flyer means. Do they get landscape high? Or do they smoke you out? Or do they sell you weed, eat your food, and leave after doing a half assed job on your lawn? That’s what I’d do. It’s a total mystery.

Anyway, back to the restaurant. It’s awesome. It’s one of those places that lists a whole bunch of fancy ingredients in the descriptions to you know that everything is going to taste good. Here’s the description of the biscuits and gravy:

Thinly sliced house-roasted pork loin nestled between two savory biscuits and smothered with peppery rosemary sausage gravy; served with Library Fries.

Um… yea. It’s amazing. It’s called Portland’s Best Biscuits n Gravy (with an “n”) and it isn’t misnomer. It’s accurate.

I realize I’m gushing. I’m gushing. I just love it so much that (as Tracy Morgan likes to say) I want to take it out behind the Junior High School and get it pregnant.