Just thought you might like to know.

Labels: coffee

Inside an unassuming old house at the corner of SE 12th and Stark there's a coffeehouse like no other in Portland.

Ok, no other besides Pied Cow over on Belmont. Work with me here.

Inside this house tarot cards hang from the ceiling. Coffee is served in mugs shaped like chickens. Guitarists play Eastern European ballads.

And there is something fairly terrifying in the bathroom on the second floor.

Head up those stairs on some idle weeknight and past the doors with tiny signs that advise you to keep walking. Open the last door on the left, flick on the lights and get ready a surprise.

Or not, since I just ruined it for you.

I knew this dummy was up there and I still wasn't quite ready for it. Am I'm playing this up too much? Maybe. Then again, I think I might have a repressed fear of dummies. Especially dummies that sit in dimly-lit coffeehouse bathrooms designed to look like the bottoms of lakes and glare wickedly at anyone who dares attempt to use the toilet.

So what you're looking at here is the decor in the bathroom at the Rimsky-Korsakoffee House. The dock mock-up hanging from the ceiling is definitely a nice touch. So is the friendly lake specter that just wants to make sure that you wipe properly.

A colleague was surprised that I'd never heard of the place, the creepy set-up in the lavatory or the rotating table in the dining room. I headed over to Rimsky's all by my lonesome on the night of a recent thunderstorm, which somehow gave the interior even more of a Tim Burton-y vibe. I took a seat in the corner. Supposedly, the staff have a reputation for acting a bit odd. Shortly after I arrived, a waiter came over to my table and asked if I knew what I wanted. When I said I didn't, he muttered, "That's all right, I don't either" with a dejected sigh before walking back into the kitchen.

Rimky's was packed that night. Everyone in the place acted like they'd been there a million times, completely oblivious to the "casually threatening atmosphere." If the small crowd hadn't been in such an upbeat mood, I would have expected a seance to break out at any second.

The check for my Mexican Mocha also came with this cartoon of a neurotic cat. Neat.

Rimsky's typically opens at 7 PM. I wonder how much mystique it would lose if it was open during proper daylight hours. Oh, and as for the origins of the coffeehouse's name, I'm not ashamed to admit that I had to look it up on Wikipedia.

Maybe it's time for me to brush up on my knowledge of 19th-century Russian composers....

Labels: coffee, weird

You may remember this NYT article from back in December about the Ladybug Organic Coffee Company in St. Johns. The shop made national news for its lengthy application form complete with essay questions. In a city where coffee is taken extremely seriously, Ladybug was quickly earning a reputation for being the staunchest shop in town.

But how do their mochas hold up against the ones found at Stumptown Coffee Roasters, the Portland-based chain with clout that stretches to two shops in Seattle and a new one which will reportedly open in Brooklyn later this year?

The Ladybug occupies a large space with plenty of seating, which has always been a problem for the cramped quarters of the average Stumptown. There's also a full menu with breakfast and lunch items in addition to baked goods.

Maybe the rigorous application process is the culprit or perhaps it's the company's commitment to quality but the Ladybug brews a damn fine cup o' mocha. The foam on mine was perfect and was the taste-equivalent of those "happy little clouds" Bob Ross once mass-produced on public television. The mocha was sweet and smooth but not too much of either.

Are Ladybug's mochas worth the long drive to St. Johns? Maybe not but I can't think of another shop in town cranking out anything on the same level. Ladybug's mochas are pure orgna-choco-coffee goodness. Another bonus: all that open space really cuts down on the BO/stale Miller Hi-Life smell wafting off of all the loitering hipsters.

Labels: coffee

"But as the owner of Ladybug Organic Coffee Company, a coffee shop that serves pastry and other light fare, Angel O'Brien, 31, has managed to break new ground in Portland's hypercompetitive, hypercaffeinated coffee community — with a five-page job application form that includes 10 essay questions intended to weed out all but the most devoted and cheerful baristas and bakers.

'What is the most important thing that you have ever learned, and how has it changed your life?' one question reads. 'What is something that you do on a regular basis to make the world a better place?' And, 'What is one thing that you think would make Portland a better city?'

Since she opened Ladybug in May 2007, Ms. O'Brien said, more than 2,000 people have downloaded the application from her Web site. More than 150 people have completed it. But only about 25 applicants have been offered jobs."

Applications that make the Obama administration's look tiny by comparison? Lengthy training periods? If coffee gets treated anymore seriously in Portland local shops may actually have to start paying their baristas more than $8.00 an hour. Egads!

The rest of Beth Slovic's rundown on the Ladybug for the NYT can be found here.

Labels: coffee

I know people who have worked as baristas and they'll tell you that it's a bad idea to brew coffee while wearing sneakers and outright insane to do it while dressed in a swim suit. Nonetheless, coffee shops with bikini-clad hostesses have been popping up all over the country. A Bikini Coffee Co. location recently opened in downtown Portland, drawing plenty of local headlines and a few protesters last week. But is the coffee any good?

I wish I could tell you but, honestly, when it comes to coffee I have the tastes of a 14 year-old girl. I'm the sort of person that dumps sugar on Frosted Flakes and actually likes the flavor of Red Bull. Regular coffee tastes like acid-flavored acid to me and I can only drink a cup if I dump in a few handfuls of sugar first. Still, mochas aren't half bad and I can even go so far as to say I like the Snickers-flavored stuff that Dutch Brothers sells.

Fortunately, the downtown Bikini Coffee location sells a similar drink. Unfortunately, it tastes like it's made out of a new hybrid-brand of super sweet sugar brewed in a lab by sadistic flavor scientists. It's just too damn sweet, even for me. As for the rest of the Bikini Coffee Company's menu, it's similar to what you can find at other coffee shops with a few exceptions. There's a "make your own drink" flavor list and a few other offerings named "Blond," "Redhead" and "Brunette."

The downtown location is much smaller than I was expecting and has a sort of tropical theme. I figured the bikini girls only worked the register but I was wrong. They brave the machines themselves and I'm amazed that they're willing to do this, given the possibility of, you know, permanently scarring themselves with 180-degree cups of near-boiling liquid.

In a city that still supposedly holds the record for the highest number of strip clubs in the country per capita, it's hard to get upset over a coffee shop with girls dressed in swim suit tops and shorts. There's at least two strip clubs within a few blocks of the Bikini Coffee Company and who knows how many others within a mile radius. If it makes the protesters feel any better, if this location takes off (no pun intended) it'll open up the opportunity for some local entrepreneur to open a Bikini Briefs Coffee Co. As for myself, despite the perky staff, in more ways than one (har-de-har-har), at downtown shop, I think I'll stick with Dutch Brothers and Stumptown Coffee.

Labels: coffee, sex

I had never heard of the Bikini Coffee Co. or the Portland metro area's other "sexpresso" shops until I saw a sign hanging outside of an upcoming location on SW 5th yesterday. After reading this and watching this* I still can't figure out the answer to the first question that popped into my mind: isn't slinging 175-degree lattes while you're basically naked an incredibly stupid thing to do? I wonder how many second degree burns the BCC's flagship location in Salem sees in a given work week.

I'd love to see the waiver that the women that work at these places must have to sign before they're allowed behind the counter. It must be 10-pages long. My sister spent a few years working at a Starbucks while in college. I remember her telling me about a waiver she had to sign regarding potential on-the-job burns. For her own safety, corporate policy also required that her and her fellow baristas wear pants, aprons and leather shoes to off-set injuries. Some customers would come in and order their coffee extra hot. While she managed to survive her Starbucks stint without landing any scars, she could probably tell you tales of what happens when a 200+ degree cup of joe accidentally lands on bare skin.

These bikini-clad baristas: way braver than me.

* According to that news report, Salem is located somewhere right around Hells Canyon.

Labels: bikinis, coffee

Speaking the praises of Stumptown Coffee has become as much a Portland cliche as bragging about how you don't bother to carry an umbrella, wear a jacket or use any common sense at all when it starts pouring down raining. That said, I never see or hear anything about the art that's on display at the company's shops around town. There always seems to be something random or interesting hanging on the walls. Or at least more interesting than what you'll find down at Coffee Shop X. For example...

These portraits could be found at the downtown location last summer. I don't know if I'd put them up in my living room but I'm sure they'd serve as helpful visual aids when it comes time to explain the whole "birds and the bees" to the kids.

This one...maybe not so much. Those other two could be hanging over a blackboard in a middle school health classroom as we speak.

Just to prove that the artists Stumptown picks aren't all into subversive depictions of sexual deviancy among members of the animal kingdom, here's a cell phone photo of one of the paintings that can currently be found at the Belmont location:

The prequels really could have used some more of that. All Chewbacca was allowed to do in Episode III was stand around talking to Yoda.

Labels: coffee

I found these portraits hanging in the Stumptown Coffee over on SE Belmont.

They creep me out.

Now that you've seen them, they probably creep you out too.

Happy to be of service.

Labels: coffee, creepy, Portland

The afternoon began with a boring trip to the DMV. Two hours later, I was a stoned mess, dropping phrases like "harshing my mellow" without irony while trapped in a hazy bubble. Moments later, I was on a spontaneous trip to Tad's Chicken and Dumplings, babbling in a passenger side seat and suddenly very eager to catch Meet the Robinsons in 3-D before this strange, wonderful high wore off.

How did this happen? When it comes to substance abuse, I'm remarkably uptight and boring for someone totting around a BA from the University of Oregon. What had led me down this path? One word...

Kava.

Another word:

Ignorance.

A few more words...

Pied Cow Coffeehouse (3244 SE Belmont St.).

I'd driven past Pied Cow on a million different occasions, figuring it was just another locally owned bean shop in a town full of them. But what always intrigued me was the location: an old Victorian homestead that looks like it might be the last known residence of Wednesday Addams. With some time to kill, I swung up Belmont.

I was out of my element. The interior of Pied Cow looks like the sort of place that would be a hit among, with all due respect, stoner-lesbian backpackers. There's a Buddhist shrine with a creepy, nude doll thrust in the center. The front room is filled with Turkish furnishings and oil paintings of annoyed women (see above). The most impressive bit of decor: a painting of two pirate ships in the bathroom with electric lights built in the hulls.

The Twin Peaks soundtrack was trickling down from the ceiling as a waitress brought over a menu. Beyond assorted snack plates and traditional coffee drinks, a few things stood out: a full selection of flavored tobacco and hookahs and something I'd never heard of: kava. Half a page was devoted to a description, part of which went a little something like this...

"Kava ($2.50): This drink, a daily ritual for many people in Fiji, tastes like dirt (but in a good way!). Known for its tendency to numb the mouth while loosening the tongue, it has become a favored drink for the euphoric sensation reported by drinkers. Give it a try!"

I asked for a single serving and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. I'd seen grandiose descriptions of tea before. I figured all $2.50 would get me was the same buzz typically brought on by a cup of Earl Gray.

The waitress returned with a teacup, a spoon and a large bowl. The kava tasted exactly like what it resembled: water sucked up from a mud puddle. The numbing effect kicked in within a few minutes but where was the euphoria? I kept at it, alternating between bites of the cookies with sips of the sludge, expecting nothing.

Two cups later, I was talking at a mile-a-minute about David Lynch movies (note the background music). A conversation between a group sitting nearby about a reality show had suddenly become hilarious. Numbed mouth? Check. Loosened tongue? Check. Euphoria? On the way...

30 minutes later, I was behind the wheel (a bad idea) and headed towards my parents' house for dinner (a worse idea). A song on KMHD, a remix of an old jazz standard about the legend of Jesse James, was now, officially, the "best song in the history of the world." The neighborhood nearby, with a chalk drawing of a sun in the middle of an intersection and a few houses littered with sculptures, was deemed "fucking beautiful."

I made it across town without incident and promptly dived into Wikipedia to find out what I should expect next. Things were getting weirder. I found myself unable to focus on the text on the screen but discerned enough to find out that, when consumed in high quantities on an empty stomach (like I had done), a kava high is similar to that of a few massive bong rips. The next phase would be drowsiness and, whenever I decided to pass out, "vivid dreams." In the middle of reading about the first DUI arrest for kava use in Utah, I lost interest and cut over to the trailer for GTA IV.

I was getting paranoid and my ability to speak had been mostly reduced to a pathetic series of "ummm"s and "yeaaaaah"s. My sister agreed to play detox doc. It's all a blur now but somehow we decided chicken and dumplings would work as an antidote. A trip out to Tad's was in order. My parents accepted a muttered, distorted explanation. On the car ride to Troutdale I found myself dropping the aforementioned "mellow" bomb. The rest of that conversation is probably best forgotten. This much I remember: the restaurant's ancient jukebox, with a playlist unchanged since the '50s, sounded fantastic.

The internet warned me to expect another hour or more of this. My inability to keep my voice at a acceptable volume was grating on my sibling's nerves and Tad's family-friendly clientele. Sensing something was "off," the waitress quickly brought out a plate of vegetables and a basket of rolls. The food cut through the high like a knife through margarine. A cup of clam chowder later and I was back on terra firma. This, of course, buzzkill'ed plans to see Meet the Robinsons but we went anyway. The kava was well out of my system by the time I hit the hay. I missed out on the dreams but, all things considered, for $2.50 I got my money's worth.

Something this fun should probably be illegal and I'm surprised the Feds haven't already banned kava nationwide. Regardless, I have a feeling that the typical kava drinker doesn't experience the same thing I did. A combination of my nonexistent tolerance along with the large quantity I consumed on an empty stomach no doubt contributed to the intensity.

Wikipedia tells me people in Pacific have been drinking kava for thousands of years while other locals reject it as a vice. Western tourists still love it though. An article dating back to 2005 from USA Today says the FDA, at one time at least, was looking into reports of liver damage caused by the use of kava dietary supplements. Several countries in Europe and Asia have already banned or reduced its sales.

Meanwhile, kava bars are supposedly popping up around the states and exports out of Fiji are up 50% over last year. A key quote from one herbal products guru: ""There's nothing else we know of that acts as an anti-anxiety agent that doesn't make you stupid." That's all fine and dandy but it doesn't explain that "mellow" bomb I dropped. Kava definitely made me stupid...or at least more stupid than usual. How many patrons are really hitting these bars to take the edge off serious anxiety disorders? Three?

A Google search on "kava bars" and "Portland" didn't turn up anything so, if this is a full-fledged fad, it hasn't hit out here yet. Regardless, kava smacks of something that's sure to be banned if it catches on.

Long story short: enjoy while it lasts, everybody. Pied Cow stays open late.

Labels: coffee, drugs, Lynch, Portland