On Thursday, I checked out the grand re-opening of the Gotham Building Tavern (2240 N. Interstate Ave.), which has been around for a while but just recently came under new ownership. Reviewers of the Gotham Building Tavern always take at least a moment to put down their fork and comment on the place's notable interior design. Phrases like "giant Jenga set" and "Postmodern lincoln logs" get tossed around. I was struck more forcefully, however, by Susan, the neighbor and friend of chef/owner Barry Powelson. If it's legit to talk about architecture in a food review, why can't we talk about people?

"You're from a blog?" Susan asked. "We love you!" She joked about her upcoming face-lift and asked how old I was. I told her 51, and I swear she believed me for a second. Susan then introduced me to Barry's younger sister Sherry, who is "so good with names." Sherry explained her strategy: "What I do is to remember some object related to the name," she said. "My name is spelled just like the wine, so that's what I always tell people." I asked her what object she used to remember my name, Adrian. "Avery," she said, "just like the folders!" Sherry is from Tualatin, and she and her husband just bought matching scooters to celebrate their 20-somethingth anniversary.

Finally, I was introduced to Barry, the owner and head chef of Gotham. He talked about wanting to serve high-quality, uncomplicated pub fare in the tavern, and the samples provided at the party bear this out: Tender ribs, doughy calamari, crab cakes. When Barry saw I had a camera he throws some tequila in a pan, and it flames up about 4 feet. It was a dangerous move for a man so heavily mustachioed as Barry. "I got another shot in a magazine once like this," Barry said. The shot turned out great, but the free drinks made me drunk and stupid and I lost my camera later that night.

I met Mercury food writer Allison Hallet, who's posted her recap here. I met someone who lied about being a reporter for Just Out. I also met a waitress whose name I forget, a holdover from when the Hebberoy's owned the Gotham. She definitely knew something about that whole affair, but I couldn't pry anything from her about the fall of the ripe empire and the tragedy of its founders Michael and Naomi Hebberoy. At one point she came over to the table I was sitting at. "I don't want to complain," she said with a grimace, "but we aren't getting tipped for shit."

And that was what I liked about the Gotham's re-opening: that a waitress could come up to you and dish about the other customers. It was like going to a party to which you were tangentially invited by a friend. They said to come for the free booze and food, but you stayed for the drunken conversation and a brief entree into the lives of people that have nothing to do with you. If I could offer some advice to Barry: Hire Sherry as a full-time greeter and keep the cocktails free.

Contrary to popular opinion, Los Angeles does indeed have pizza. However, like most of our other natural resources (water, air, starfuckers) much of our pizza is foul. Not being ones to let sleeping stereotypes lie, the extended Hot Knives family established our very own Team Pizza franchise so that we may, in fact, be the judge.

Up first is Echo Park, a sleepy, lakeside burg just north of Downtown that’s more known for its awesome tacos and gentrification than for its pizza pie. We stumbled upon some pretty mixed results, but we won’t jump to any wild conclusions about Los Angeles’ pizza scene based on the results. (For that we defer to an excellent example of gonzo pizza journalism.)

Last Sunday at 7:26 pm we placed the fateful calls to five pizza joints within a 5-mile radius of our mouths, including one national chain (Domino’s), one regional chain (La Pizza Loca), and three local spots (Hard Times, Pizza Buona and Masa). Pics are in order, top to bottom.

Hard Times

Our caller had a hard time getting them to even pick up; after 12 or 13 rings we decided Hard Times was disqualified. What kind of delivery pizza place doesn’t answer their phone?!

Domino’s

Immediately after dialing we realized we had forgotten to procure a scale that deals in ounces — to weigh the pizza — and made two futile trips to nearby pharmacies before returning to find the Domino’s delivery guy waiting at the door. He beat the estimated arrival time of 30 minutes by seven minutes. That didn’t save it from tasting like corporate America, however.

Thanks to its tasteless, rubber cheese and perfectly spaced burn marks (creepy!) we decided this pizza lacked character or depth. Though some of us liked the tanginess of the sauce, everyone agreed the texture of the dough was too soft and far too donut-like to be taken serious as dinner. Domino’s got a 3/10 for taste.

Meagan: No stretch in the cheese.
Aubrey: Isn’t Domino’s the one that does the…”
Evan: Republican political donations, bastards.
Aubrey: No, the cheese crusts.

La Pizza Loca

This L.A.-area chain, infamous for using Mexican queso fresco, was next to hit the doorbell, beating the projected 30 minutes by five.

During the unveiling this pie got a lot of ooh and ahhs for its grease-stained box (oohs in this case were negative, the ahhs positive). La Pizza Loca’s slice also got props for its shape: a beautiful, idyllic pointy triangle. In taste, it fared less well scoring a 5/10. While the marinara was too mild, the dairy level was off the charts. Besides the Mexican cheese, there was a mellow butter flavor released all over the palate. It also got higher points for its heavy use of crusty cornmeal on the bottom.

Alex: Proper crust, weak sauce.
Buss: Yummy, greasy, cheesy buttery.
Lake: Ehh, nothing memorable.

Pizza Buona

Pizza Buona almost didn’t make the list, some in the audience weren’t so keen on it’s we’ve-been-here-forever vibe. It’s around the corner at the busy intersection of Sunset and Alvarado in a triangular shaped space. In the end, their pie proved to be what we in the pizza judging business like to call the “Trojan Horse.”

The delivery guy, who showed up in a reasonable but not impressive 30 minutes, was definitely the most chill dude we saw that night. He caught us still wiping our fingers from the Domino’s slices so we had to explain what we were up to. His pizza, on the other hand, was intense. The slices were hard to cut due to temperature and cheese overflow. In fact, few of us could keep the cheese on the slice. The crust was both praised and denounced for being “chewy” and it got the winning (but still sad) 5.5/10.

Lake: Good with Frank’s hot sauce
Evan: Hard to serve.
Aubrey: Melts in your hand, which is a problem.

Masa

This neighborhood hot spot is a stone’s throw from the house and yet the guy on the phone estimated a good one and a half hours for delivery. When the co-owner, a grizzly pizza veteran who was muttering about famous pizza men from Chicago, showed up himself, he got massive points. He claimed to have tossed our dough too.

Too bad for him his shit flopped. Masa is well known for their Chicago-meets-Chicano deep-dish pie. But we had to test their normal cheese pizza. The guy on the phone almost refused to let us order it, and the co-owner was extremely defensive about it. We even had to order two pies because they don’t make the regular in anything but medium.

On top of these shenanigans, the pie was pathetic. The crust looked more like something you eat during Passover and the sauce was nonexistent. The chef had thrown some basil leaves on top as if to fool the judges. The cheese was OK but it tasted like a quesadilla earning a 2.5/10 rating.

Aubrey: Dough guy — so nice!!!
Buss: It is like a pastry.
Alex: CPK, man…CPK.

Conclusion

Although Echo Park hosts a number of outposts famous for New York-style and Chicago-style pizza, many of them don’t deliver and those that do couldn’t cut it with straight cheese pizza. In the end, we can recommend both La Pizza Loca and Pizza Buona, but none of us feel stoked on them.

Although all testing was conducted using plain cheese pizzas, we didn’t want to leave it to chance so we also whipped up some designer toppings to throw on our extra slices: Truffled black olive tapanade, Sage salt shitakes, Garlic tomato salad, “Meat” lovers trio. In terms of cost and authenticity, we firmly believe in the method of delivery-meets-cooking we call “Toppas.” All those recipes, which will post soon over at Hot Knives, can be made in less than 23 minutes, so you’re sure beat even the best delivery boy.

Pizza is a staple of our diet. With a base of bread and a pile of veggies, fruits, meats, and cheese, pizza is a literal food pyramid. While arguing over toppings defines our culture as much as arguing politics, the classic slice of cheese is the basis by which we judge one pizzeria from another. The cheese slice allows us to compare "apples to apples", rather than taking a slice of ham and pineapple and trying to compare that to pesto sauce and chicken. We eliminate all the wonderful clutter that can be a slice of pizza and just focus on the basics: crust, sauce, and cheese.

In order to make our Five Part Investigation of Portland Pizza as useful as possible, we have limited our scope to pizza that is delivered. While this does remove from the running the local favorites like Ken's Artisan Pizza, Escape From New York, and Apizza Scholls, we feel like there is much more usefulness in the best delivered pie. We've also broken down our search by quadrant to better address the places to consider when ordering pizza. Part one is North Portland.

We chose four places to call, including Pizza Hut as a representative of the national chains that can deliver anywhere. Surprisingly, we had difficulty in recalling even three places in North Portland that delivered. We chose Pizza A-Go-Go, Mississippi Pizza, and Tom's Pizza and Pub.

At 7:45 pm on a Friday night we called the four pizza places at the same time and ordered a cheese pizza. Right away we ran into some snags. Mississippi Pizza does not deliver! We quickly called Eddy's Flatiron Pizza (a favorite of North Portland residents Curt and Molly) and noted the time differential. The other problem was that Tom's Pizza and Pub had a minimum delivery order and a single cheese pizza did not meet that minimum, so we added an order of cheesy breadsticks.

After making the calls and dealing with the initial problems, we looked at the info we had so far, Delivery Estimates: Pizza Hut made a bold claim of only 28 minutes. Eddy's Flatiron Pizza said 35 to 40 minutes. Tom's Pizza was a 45 minute estimate, and Pizza A Go Go was a surprising hour to an hour and 15 minutes.

Pizza Hut

Coming in well under the 28 minute claim was Pizza Hut, arriving just 19 minutes and 42 seconds from the point at which we started to dial their number. Everyone was impressed, and a little suspicious. Were they just out there circling the neighborhoods with pizza's ready to deliver?

With seven people tasting and rating the flavor on a scale of one to ten, we had a wide variety of scores that averaged out to 4.57/10. Clearly this wasn't great pizza, but the delivery time was great.

Sarah: "I get an aftertaste of lard."
Willow: "I love the crispy-grease-salt layer at the bottom of the crust!"
Adam: "Tastes like Texas Toast."

Tom's Pizza and Pub

Also well under their own estimate of 45 minutes was Tom's Pizza and Pub, arriving in 29 minutes and 35 seconds. We were initially excited that a local pizzeria wasn't too far behind the national chain.

In the battle of flavor however, Tom's Pizza and Pub was decimated with an average score of just 2.42. Being rated so low after all we had tried was Pizza hut speaks especially poorly of this pizza. Interestingly, the extra breadsticks we had to order were much better received, but not part of this study.

Brian: "A spicy scent, but a doughy crusty flour tasting crust."
Daniel: "This is the pizza version of bad Mexican food."
Steve: "It's a little too soft, but I like the thickness of the crust."
Willow: "Sick."

Eddy's Flatiron Pizza

Eddy's Flatiron Pizza was the Babe Ruth of estimating delivery time. They told us 35 to 40 minutes and it arrived at 36 minutes and 10 seconds. Respect.

Unfortunately, that was the last bit of respect Eddy's would be getting for the night, gaining only a 3.2 out of ten in the category of taste. While not the worst pizza of the night, it's still in the Very Bad category.

Steve: "The thin crust and square cut is novel, but it's too salty."
Adam: "Has the weirdest texture, a hard bottom and soft top. The flavor is salty and citrus."
Willow: "Very, very salty. The crust is like dust and the cheese is more sticky than anything else."

Pizza A Go Go

Pizza A Go Go? More like Pizza A No Show. While the pizza was within their estimated time frame of an hour to an hour and 15 minutes, waiting an hour and 13 minutes is just much too long to wait.

Personally I wasn't too surprised to find that Pizza A Go Go won in the flavor category, but I was surprised that they only barely beat out Pizza Hut with a 4.71 our of 10 rating. Clearly North Portland has a lot to learn about pizza.

Daniel: "This pizza is cold."
Brian: "The crust is toasted to the supreme, but there is a carbon flavor..."
Sarah: "Pleasantly oily, like olive oil instead of lard."

Additional Data

While a delivered pizza should be judged on taste and time, it's interesting to compare that data with some other numbers. By measuring several slices we determined the average weight of a slice from each pizzeria, and then based on the price determined the cost per ounce.

Pizzeria	Taste	Cost	Size	Weight (Slice)	Speed
Pizza A Go Go	4.71/10	$0.48/oz	19"	4.25oz	73m
Pizza Hut	4.45/10	$0.59/oz	10"	2.8oz	20m
Eddy's Flatiron Pizza	3.2/10	$0.37/oz	14"	4.6oz*	36m
Tom's Pizza and Pub	2.42/10	$0.34/oz	13.5"	6.35oz	30m

(*Eddy's pizza was cut into 16 smaller squares, so we used two squares to make one slice)

Conclusion

North Portland has some of the best food in Portland, and so it's with disappointment that we can recommend no pizza for delivery in this quadrant. I'm sure that people will attempt to refute our findings and we welcome the discourse, because it's a sad day when the only prospects for a delivered cheese pizza rate less than 5 out of 10. It is my hope that we missed some secret local pizzeria that is making great pizza and delivering it under an hour.

Next Up: The Northwest Quadrant, including local favorite Hot Lips and the haunted pies of Old Town Pizza.

Team North

The North Portland Pizza Tasting Team was a diverse and experienced group of pizza experts:

Steve Schroeder: "I find Personal Power through Pizza (and Tony Robbins)."
Daniel Peterson: "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, eat two pizzas."
Adam Forkner: "I've never met a pizza I didn't eat."
Willow Wonder: "I love pizza."
Sarah Meadows: "The pizza! Definitely not you guys..."
Brian Slaughter: "One remains faithful to a pizza only because its toppings do not cease to be insipid."
Mike Merrill: "I eat pizza for breakfast."

Right away one is struck with how fun it is to say "mojito burrito". Walking by Taco Del Mar I saw a window sign advertising the new Mojito Burrito and I was impressed that little Taco Del Mar was inventing such a bold new food. The 'Mojito Burrito (TM)' was announced one month ago today on April 24th when Taco Del Mar unveiled their new multi-million dollar advertising campaign showing people enjoying their newest product offering. If you've ever seen a Taco Del Mar commercial you will agree that the one thing Taco Del Mar should not send press releases out about is these commercials. They are terrible.

But regardless of the terrible television commercials, the Mojito Burrito (TM) caught my attention. A mojito is, according to wikipedia, "traditionally made of five ingredients: mint, rum, powdered sugar, lime juice, and club soda." These are not things I would think would make good burrito fillings (well, maybe mint and lime), but the design of the advertising (part of that multi-million dollar campaign no doubt) was clearly selling this burrito on it's close relationship to the drink favored by Ernest Hemingway.

After entering Taco Del Mar, it was like a mojito-advertising attack squad had just left. Everything was saying MOJITO. When I told them I wanted the "Mojito Burrito (TM)" I was asked what kind of wrap. This sort of threw me as I expected the Mojito Burrito (TM) was a pre-set list of special ingredients. So I picked a wrap (whole wheat), and then I picked the style of beans (black), and the meat (chicken), and basically everything else. The only difference between the mojito burrito and a regular burrito was the sauce they used. Mojito sauce.

I paid for my burrito and looked at the receipt:

Ticket #: 17
Register 1 - 19471617
Wed, May 24 2006 - 12:58:10 PM
Cashier: Wand S
------------------
1 JMB CHK BUR 4.99
1 SML DRINK   1.39
------------------
Subtotal:     6.38
Tax:          0.00
Total:        6.38
Credit:       6.38
Change:       0.00

No mention of mojito. I didn't see this as a good sign. Sitting down I quietly unwrapped my burrito and took a hesitant bite. It tasted like Taco Del Mar. I took another bite, thinking perhaps the sauce wasn't evenly spread out. I started eating faster, trying to ignore the flavors I was accustomed with and seeking out the hidden and mysterious new flavor of that much-advertised sauce! IT HAD TO BE THERE! Before I knew it I was looking at a pile of crumpled tin foil. My burrito was gone, and I never tasted any mojito.

In my post-burrito funk, sipping on my Coke, I thought to myself, "Am I just not able to detect it? Is it such a subtle flavor that my crude sense of taste dulled from years of speed-eating have left me unable to taste that presumably delicious mojito sauce?" I was wrecked. But I wasn't giving up that easily.

I asked for a side of the mojito sauce, explaining that I thought my burrito masked too much of the flavor. He seemed unsurprised and filled a large dipping container full of the precious green sauce. I took it back to my table and tentatively dipped a chip into it. I lifted it to my mouth, my mouth starting to water, and I paused for a moment. This was it. The entire essence of the Mojito Burrito (TM). The subject of a multi-million dollar advertising campaign. This was like eating money.

The first flavor was a mild green chile salsa vibe, followed by the oily and salty chip. I waited for the mint and lime explosion. I waited for the mint and lime explosion.

I waited for the mint and lime explosion.

I took another swallow of Coke. It wasn't me. My sense of taste was fine. The problem was simply an incredibly under-whelming sauce being promoted as a new food. They lied to me. They lied to all of us. Taco Del Mar Franchising Corporation went so far as to trademark the words Mojito Burrito based on "a proprietary tangy lime-cilantro sauce" which tastes nothing like a mojito.

Here's an excellent article about Paula Wolfert's recently re-released cookbook The Cooking of Southwest France, or, as the author calls it, Extreme Cooking.

I've long known that Wolfert is considered the expert in authentic Mediterranean cooking. Most people know her best for her work on the cooking of provincial France, but her definition of Mediterranean extends to all countries that surround it, so you'll find recipes from Crete and Morocco, from Cypress and Turkey, as well as the expected Spain, France, and Italy.

The author explains that "not everyone is temperamentally suited to cutting up wild rabbits and draining their blood for use in sauces, or surfing the Internet and forking over big dough for fresh Boletus edulis (porcini or cèpes). Extreme cooking, like whitewater kayaking and out-of-bounds snowboarding, is only for a small segment of the population."

Still, there are people who love nothing better than rising to a suitable challenge, and Wolfert has her devotees. Before the re-release of this book, foodies hoarded their copies greedily: "Food people would lend their copies of James Beard or Julia Child, but they kept this book in locked drawers or hidden under pillows. One friend even kept hers with the unpublished manuscript of her first novel — in the freezer in case the house burned down."

The author describes the trials required to complete some of Wolfert's recipes:

"Prunes that have soaked in Armagnac for six months, minimum. The blood of a freshly killed hare. Nine pounds of fresh fava beans, husked and peeled. A 6-inch-thick bed of pine needles. One dish alone — a cassoulet — required trips to two gourmet shops, three butchers, a farmers market and a produce wholesaler. It put 72.5 miles on my car and cost $91.13."

Since the book was first printed, a lot has changed in America. You can now buy, and assume people know what you mean by, truffles, duck confit, fresh fava beans, pyrneean cheeses, and much more. Gone are the days when your only chance at actually cooking these recipes was if "your best friend spent her summers on a farm in Dordogne shacked up with a customs official."

I don't think that even I am quite extreme enough for Paula Wolfert, but I'm awfully glad she's out there. And if I need something to transport me away from yet another rainy Portland night, I just might pick up this book.

The specific flavors of candy in other regions of the world varies from the usual "American" sweets we are accustomed to. This study involved a peer review of a random sampling of 17 different candies brought back from the country of Turkey. Each of the five tasters commented on the candy before giving it a rating on a scale of 0 to 10 (up to two decimal places). One tester was vegan, and did not score any candies with animal products (those candies with no animal products have been labeled vegan). Certain products were also tested by an additional taster after she finished her sandwich. The final score was the average score of the tasters who sampled that particular candy rounded to two decimal places. The total average score of the sample was 5.40, with the lowest score being 2.07 and the highest score being 8.40. Based on this testing it can be determined that Turkish candy rarely rises above average, but when it does, it does so with gusto.

Item #001 : Luflee - Avg. Rating 5.55

Rev. Schroeder: Weird. Light. Airy on the inside. (5.75)
Dr. Wainstock: Tastes like a ruined birthday, but still delicious. (7.12)
Dr. Hason: Tastes different than a canuck Aero. (5.41)
Prof. Merrill: Sorta slimy. (3.90)

Item #002 : Gofree - Avg. Rating 4.52

Rev. Schroeder: Tastes incredibly cheap. (6.88)
Dr. Wainstock: Nutter butter faster bar. Dislike. (5.01)
Dr. Hason: Very perfumy, not as strawberry as expected. I don't trust it. (4.17)
Prof. Merrill: Like strawberry wafer pocky. A perfumy aftertaste. (2.00)

Item #003 : ETI Joker - Avg. Rating 4.53

Rev. Schroeder: Weird nougat vibe. (5.27)
Dr. Wainstock: Smells like booze and rotten almonds. (5.14)
Dr. Hason: A very strange and odd nougat. (4.82)
Prof. Merrill: Ugh, defective milky way... (2.88)

Item #004 : Tofita - Avg. Rating 3.90

Dr. Bechtolt: SO GOOD! MY GOD! Sour cherry, then fermented cherry.. (4.00)
Rev. Schroeder: Everything is right and then everything goes wrong. (4.12)
Dr. Wainstock: Cherry paper. (3.14)
Dr. Hason: Initially good, and then loses its identity. (3.70)
Prof. Merrill: Like going from cherry to pulp and swallowing the pit. (4.55)

Item #005 : Kremini - Avg. Rating 8.21

Rev. Schroeder: Bad cherry pie. Maybe some dead apples and leaves in it. (7.89)
Dr. Wainstock: Tastes like an inviting tree. (8.23)
Dr. Hason: Very autumny and tasty. (8.00)
Prof. Merrill: Christmas delight. (8.70)

Item #006 : Olips - Avg. Rating 5.05

Dr. Bechtolt: Sweeter than most lozenges. Good for a dog with bad breath. (6.25)
Rev. Schroeder: Colored like boogers. Very menthol-y. Good on "E." (7.37)
Dr. Wainstock: The viscuis insides insult my taste. I hate it. (0.34)
Dr. Hason: Forest power will make you feel better. (6.25)
Prof. Merrill: Flavor's fine. The promise of juicy insides is terribly dissapointing. (6.57)

Item #007 : Tadelle - Avg. Rating 6.86

Rev. Schroeder: Doesn't sit right with Dr. Feelgood. Feels gross. (2.69)
Dr. Wainstock: Portable chocolate mousse with nuts. I love it. (9.11)
Dr. Hason: Marbled Belgiun seahorse. Yum. (7.95)
Prof. Merrill: Fancy. Glad I only had to eat 1/4. (7.69)

Item #008 : Relax Kids - Avg. Rating 2.87

Dr. Bechtolt: I can taste colors; Dr. Feelgood put something in my water. (6.90)
Rev. Schroeder: Za za za zowee, mmmm blech! (1.91)
Dr. Wainstock: Tastes like a whore's perfume. (1.11)
Dr. Hason: Flavor's gone in 11 seconds. Rosewater vibe. (3.00)
Prof. Merrill: It feels much better OUT of my mouth. (1.41)
Dr. South: It tastes like Hello Kitty™ gum. (Yummy)

Item #009 : Babol - Avg. Rating 4.77

Dr. Bechtolt: Perfume-y. Bleck, yuck. Yeck. (2.69)
Rev. Schroeder: Super strawb. Bubble gun-y texture. Liquid is enjoyable. Erotic. (8.17)
Dr. Wainstock: Good texture. Tastes like scratch-n-sniff. (3.13)
Dr. Hason: Summertime pool. (5.75)
Prof. Merrill: Too feminine. Like popping zits in my mouth. (4.13)
Dr. South: Tastes like Barbies™. (Cool)

Item #010 : ETI Wanted - Avg. Rating 4.69

Rev. Schroeder: Very rice-y. Really alienating... but something I like about it. (6.79)
Dr. Wainstock: Tastes like a rice cake that stepped in shit. (1.87)
Dr. Hason: Passover macaroon. (2.34)
Prof. Merrill: David Copperfield walking through the Great Wall of Rice. (7.77)

Item #011 : Pop Tip - Avg. Rating 7.79

Dr. Bechtolt: Slightly better than a Tic-Tac™. Mildly herbal. (7.89)
Rev. Schroeder: Caterpillar turing into a butterfly in my mouth. (7.83)
Dr. Wainstock: Peppermint sunrise. (8.08)
Dr. Hason: Nane-licious. (7.17)
Prof. Merrill: It's a mint. (5.00)
Dr. South: It is a round Tic-Tac™. (mmmmmm.)

Item #012 : First - Avg. Rating 5.09

Dr. Bechtolt: Quite possibly the best chewing gum ever invented by Man or Whale. (9.69)
Rev. Schroeder: Berry cocktail? More like berry cock-tease. (4.20)
Dr. Wainstock: Don't like the crystals. (4.10)
Dr. Hason: An army of flavor is marching. I am weary. (3.23)
Prof. Merrill: Too sweet. (4.25)
Dr. South: Pooey. (N/A)

Item #013 : Missbon - Avg. Rating 8.40

Rev. Schroeder: Very coffee-y. Eating a coffee candle. High on the bean. (7.41)
Dr. Wainstock: Tastes like the water-cooler at work. (8.12)
Dr. Hason: Mmmm. Coffee. (8.32)
Prof. Merrill: Perfection. (10.0)

Item #014 : Ulke Viva - Avg. Rating 5.46

Dr. Bechtolt: I can't feel my legs. (6.90)
Rev. Schroeder: Nane-lusious. (4.90)
Dr. Wainstock: Surprisingly mild. Tastes like Fantasm-balls. (1.94)
Dr. Hason: More pretty to look at than to eat. (4.00)
Prof. Merrill: Like a candy cane. (5.01)
Dr. South: Two thumbs way up!!! (10.0)

Item #015 : Cokonat - Avg. Rating 3.97

Rev. Schroeder: Coko-rut. (6.23)
Dr. Wainstock: Tastes depressing. (3.33)
Dr. Hason: Not really chocolate; too light. (2.40)
Prof. Merrill: Didn't we try this already? It makes my mustache hurt. (3.93)

Item #016 : Delete - Avg. Rating 7.00

Dr. Bechtolt: I can't feel my arms. (9.00)
Rev. Schroeder: Delete Altoids™. Insert Delete™. (8.48)
Dr. Wainstock: rm - rf tastebuds (3.03)
Dr. Hason: Such an adventure. (8.00)
Prof. Merrill: Power-mint with secret gum filling. (8.48)
Dr. South: SCH#%$!@&MMMM!!!! (5?)

Item #017 : Cin - Avg. Rating 3.07

Rev. Schroeder: Jelly-za. How can I sound like Jar Jar Binks? (6.84)
Dr. Wainstock: Tastes like pastel AIDS. (0.01)
Dr. Hason: Found in the aisle of Toys-R-Us™. (2.11)
Prof. Merrill: Tastes like it is for kids. (3.31)

Research conducted by: (L -> R) Dr. Shayla Hason, Prof. Mike "Dr. Poop" Merrill, Dr. Scott Wainstock, Dr. Jona "Dr. Boogers" Bechtolt, Dr. Kystal South, Rev. Steve "Dr. Feelgood" Schroeder

For additional photographs see the Flickr group

The (in)famous Luther burger could only have been created in the South, birthplace of Krispy Kreme and the Turducken. Recently covered on CNN, written about by the Associated Press and Reuters news services and featured on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno, the Luther (and its cousin the Hamdog) is drawing a lot of attention to a small neighborhood bar in Decatur, Georgia.

Mulligan's inhabits one end of a former grocery store. The new owners, likely a gang of rogue-Irish golfers, converted the sterile atmosphere of the dairy section into a dark and casual neighborhood bar with a stage, pool tables and a Galaga machine. One of the first things you notice is that the bartenders all seem to be midgets, but this is just an illusion because the bar and pool playing area is on a raised platform, while the staff remain on the ground two feet below the floor. There is a fierce independent streak at Mulligan's, seen from the angry posts about the city's indoor smoking ban to hosting the upcoming Atone Pain Tribe's night of fire, ritual piercing, flesh hooks, and pain.

But enough about the lovely surroundings, let's talk about the Luther. What we're talking about is actually pretty simple. It's not a "pile-on-everything" burger, and it's not an over-sized novelty burger. The only difference between a bacon cheese burger and the Luther is the bun. A halved Krispy Kreme donut magically turns a burger classic into a world famous sign post of the gluttony of America.

So, how is the burger? Surprisingly tasty. It's pure pub food, and on top of that it's a burger made in a kitchen where the culinary highlight is dipping various objects in boiling fat. This is an incredibly creative and subtle modification to a burger, and the fact that it actually tastes good implies some sort of extensive experimentation where various southern foods were applied to a burger until finally -- after eating bites of shrimp, Coke-glazed turkey strips, cotton candy, pork chops, and who knows what else on a burger -- they stumbled on the Krispy Kreme as bun. Did they try it with tomato? Was there bacon on it the first time? And most importantly, have they tried deep frying the whole thing?

There is a theory, which hasn't been sufficiently documented, that the Luther gets its name from R&B singer Luther Vandross, who allegedly was the first to use a donut when he ran out of regular hamburger buns. Despite the potential celebrity involvement, credit for the popularization of the Luther burger remains with Mulligan's continued service of the glazed and grilled concoction.

The aspect of the Luther burger that is most remarkable is of course the bun. What other type of burger gains its notoriety from bun? Why is this attention on the bun so important? Because the bun is a too often ignored aspect of a quality burger. The Luther draws attention to its bun, and in doing so, draws attention to the bun on every burger you eat afterward.

1. Peanut butter. Don’t listen to what everyone says about hydrogenated oils – sweet, creamy, supermarket-brand skippy is the way to go. I spent my first winter in Portland sitting on the basement stairs above the furnace, eating Fred Meyer peanut butter with a spoon. Wait, nobody was supposed to know that.
2. 7-Up Plus. I was so anti at first, just because trying to market a soda as healthy – it has calcium and vitamin C! – is so totally dumb and absurd. But, you guys, it’s really good. It’s berry-licious. I am always kind of embarrassed to be caught drinking diet soda. That, and the hype about how it supposedly kills you, is what keeps me from buying it by the case at Safeway.
3. Reser frozen burritos. The list of ingredients is as big as the burrito. It looks so pathetic all alone slapped on a plate. But it’s yummy and it does the job.
4. Ice cream out of the carton. Especially if it’s a really big carton, like the Moosetracks ice cream my friend Elisabeth brought to dinner a couple weekends ago. When you’re alone, you can dig out all the peanut butter cups, and eat them.
5. Hard-boiled eggs over the sink. It’s like the classy bachelor food (classy bachelorette version: deviled eggs over the sink). Yeah, with salt. Mmm. I could totally eat one right now.
6. Cereal. When you’re a grownup, you can eat cereal five meals a day and no one cares. Even marshmallow treasures.

Okay, that was only six. Feel free to recommend suggestions.

I love to get mail. Every day I check to see if I got any "good" mail. Most days the answer is no, I just got the electric bills and some stupid coupons for the rug doctor and also a yuppie homewares catalog I didn't want, but every two months the answer is YES, I got my new Cook's Illustrated magazine!! This magazine is just the greatest: they test every recipe exhaustively to make sure it is the best and easiest version, and they test ingredients and equipment as well. They are top-notch food scientists, and their research goal is to make delicious food. You can see their nerdy-but-awesome TV show America's Test Kitchen on OPB on Saturday afternoons at 1:30.

Anyway, they just launched a new magazine, and sent current Cook's subscribers a free trial copy. It is called Cook's Country. It's "not about fancy cooking or expensive restaurants or foods with names you can't pronounce; this is honest country fare." Now, since I DO like all those things, the fanciness and the restaurants and the mystery ingredients, you might think I'm not in their target market. You're right, and in fact no one who reads Digest really is.

But somehow, it's still appealing. I mean, the food just plain sounds like food you can eat. Potato casseroles, apple cakes, and ranch-style chili may not be gourmet, but I bet when done right--and that's the point, these guys will do it right--it sounds like tasty food I'd like to eat. The same goes for peanut butter brownies, cheesy mashed potatoes, and jalapeno cornbread.

Most of their recipes seem like simple, filling comfort food, the kind you'd want after a hard day, or when your relatives visit from out of town. Sure, if I'm in the mood for, say, a fancy French cheese plate, or homemade pasta with lemon-cream sauce, or Japanese braised spinach stems in sake, or any number of ethnic or complicated or impressive things, I already have plenty of cookbooks to help me out. But maybe it's just because my mom's mom is a genuine Iowa farm girl, and I grew up eating her food as interpreted by my vegetable-loving California mom, but sometimes you just want a pot roast with some tasty green beans on the side and brownies for dessert. And if that's what I'm after, Cook's Country can get me there.

Some of it doesn't float my boat. They are going for a real country community feel, including pictures of Mattituck, New York's local strawberry festival, a cute watermelon pig Susy DePeyster of Sandgate, Vermont made, and a reader from our own fair city of Portland holding a big chocolate cake she baked. Likewise, I don't really give a shit about that embarassing time you accidentally made purple gravy for your new husband, or your fond family memories of Grandma Lawson's homemade bread and butter.

And plenty of the food ideas aren't going to be that useful to me either. I could do without the cookie decoration tips, and I'm not likely to make any of their kid-friendly ice cream concoctions (though next time my six-year-old friend Hailey visits, I might grab this magazine for ideas). Likewise, I'm not interested in counting calories or buying convenience food, so I won't be using their recipe for low-fat pudding or their tip on top-rated Italian dressings. And, like their parent magazine, these guys are emphatically NOT vegetarian-friendly; they love their bacon, fried chicken, slow-cooked hunks-o-beef, and more.

I guess it's a testament to the excellence of the Cook's team that even I, the kind of person that "real" country folks sneer at for being a latte-drinking, gay-loving, Volvo-driving, tree-hugging, God-hating lefty, like this magazine. At the end of the day, the Cook's team helps you make delicious food, and that's something that we all can get behind.

But don't take my word for it. Try out their S'mores brownie recipe and let me know: are they good enough to unite our great nation?

Got an impromptu tour of Veganopolis when a friend and I walked by on Saturday. We had just eaten, but wanted to see the prices and menu and while checking the place out we were invited inside.

(click for more photos)

The place looks really nice inside and they are serving everything cafeteria style! You pick up your tray and slide it along while choosing what you want, just like in junior high. They are going to serve breakfast and then have grilled sandwiches and stuff for lunch. Plus they are serving Stumptown coffee (yay!). They have an upstairs balcony seating area and some better people watching spots on the ground floor. I'm super excited to check out the food when they open on Monday.

Veganopolis
412 SW Fourth Street
(503) 226-3400
lunch@veganopolis.com