#PDXNPC

We were on our final day, by which time we had just given up on searching out new experiences. We went to Elmer's for breakfast. Elmer's is a west coast chain. The food is decent, standard American cuisine. Meals that you can get anywhere in the country. No better or worse really. It is the kind of restaurant that your boring aunt and uncle would treat themselves to for their anniversary. That's what sort of dire straights we were in, as my two foodie companions were

After Elmer's we went about singing our final note in Portland. Donuts. A high note indeed. Hat ready, let's go!

My suggestion was to visit Voodoo Donuts, a famous Portland standard. I'd been to the Eugene annex in 2013. I'm sure that people out there will roll their eyes and call them overrated. Who fucking cares. You can't overrate donuts. Donuts are a gift from Heaven. They're fried dough covered in sugar or sugary sauce. If that's not your definition of a donut, then you're doing it wrong.

Voodoo donuts made their name in the competitive deep fried dough covered in sugar world by creating concoctions of unusual donut pairings. Donuts with unusual, often breakfast cereal, ingredients. Creations like the triple chocolate donut covered in coco puffs, or the voodoo doll, a jelly filled donut in the shape of a person with a pretzel stake plunged into it's heart. I enjoy the gimmick.

Hey, they also sell a coffin shaped box full of donuts. I don't know for what sort of event anyone would ever require such a good/service, but I do know that If I lived in Portland, I'd buy it at least once. Hell, I'm going to make it a provision that coffin-donuts are to be served at my funeral.

Adam is firmly lodged in the camp where Voodoo Donuts is considered to be rather kitsch. That didn't stop him from buying and enjoying several donuts. But it did compel him to try a couple of the competitors. Who were also good. Because donuts are fucking delicious and difficult to screw up(looking at you Krispy Kreme). So blah blah blah, other donut shops that don't sell coffins full of donuts. Phooey and P'shaw.

When lunch approached, I wanted a burger. I'd been searching google for suggestions the entire trip and settled on a food truck that was described as the best burger in Portland.

I love a good burger and fries, and make a note to try and find a good burger joint in any new town. I settled my hopes on a food truck somewhere on the north side. We jumped back onto the yellow line north in search of lunch and beer.

The foodtrucks were parked in a lot that was owned and operated by a bar. Sweet gig for the owners of that bar. You order food from the trucks and then goto the bar and eat. Lots of food options that require absolutely zero extra work on the part of the landlord. I might have to start my own bar and follow that line of business.

We sashayed on in. Sara and Adam had their own preferences, and I left them to it. I wanted my burger.

And the fuckers were closed. On a Monday. Who closes on a Monday? I guess it makes a little sense, as much as being closed any other day of the week. But Monday closings seems to be common in Portland, and by common, I mean I noticed it twice. Stupid Portland.

I had Korean Fusion instead. Fuck you burger joint! And fumed as I ordered Cider at the bar and enjoyed my liquid happiness. After a while, I began to grow bored and restless with the sitting. I dislike bars. And since Adam was still intent on trying more beer, so we paid up and sallied forth to find a nearby brewery. I think it was Widmer Brothers.

Upon sitting down in the brewery, our server set down several small glasses of beer before us gratus. “Here,” he said, “This is our new award winning brew.” Well, I was buzzed when I walked in and I had finished the beer sample that they gave me, and it was the best beer that I've ever had, hands down. I don't like beer at all. I have tasted scores upon scores of beers to confirm my bias. So I tried this beer too, since it was free and I was buzzed. I liked this beer.

After we got our round, our server returned and said he “The cook saw your shirt, and he'd like his quest.” Yep, I was wearing my NPC shirt.

“Well fuck yeah!” I declared in intoxicated enchantment. “Have yourself a seat!”

“Where to start? Well the first thing the cook is gonna need to do is located and defeat Steven Seagal. Mind you, it's old dilapidated Steve, where he has the evil looking goatee slapped onto his potato shaped head. After that, he should be allowed into the tournament, and here's how that's going to go, he'll be fighting through Eighties action movie heroes, you getting all this down?”

“Sorry, I'm not going to remember all of this.”

“Not to worry, neither will I, but it ain't our quest so not our problem. Anyhow, one by one he's going to take down the action stars until he finally gets to the final boss, Jean Claude Van Dam. Or should I say bosses, Jean Claude Van Dam and Jean Claude Van Dam. They're twins like in that movie that they were in where they played twins. Do you remember.”

“I don't know that...”

“Parent Trap. Jean Claude Van Dam plays his own twin in Parent Trap. They're separated at birth and all that something or other, I'm kinda fuzzy right now. There's a tournament. And your man is going to have to take both of the at the same time.”

“What's all this for?” Asked he.

I shrugged my shoulders. If I knew that I wouldn't be here. Most of that was true. I finally got into the Portland talking to strangers spirit, and all it took was throwing a fair quantity of booze in a short amount of time. Now we see why it's called social lubrication.

The cook saluted me as we left, I returned the salute. #PDXNPC

We filled the remainder of the day with aimless wandering, notable only for the one sidetrip to the airport where we took pictures of the surrounding countryside from the roof of the parking garage.  Several of the surrounding volcanoes were visible.  We took our standard crappy tourist pictures.

Until we finally returned to our hotel room to wait out the rest of the trip.

Dinner was at the Jim Dandy Drive In. Because it was across the street from our hotel and had a cool name. The burgers were good enough. They offered a bacon shake, which Adam of course ordered, but alas they were out of the ingredients. Pork teases. The cook also liked my shirt, and stated as much, because Portland. I was starting to grow used to the quirk of the city,

Portland gifted me with self-discovery and understanding. Before I stepped back on the plane that would take me home, I realized I must be their messiah. And then I was pulled aside once more for TSA to check my bag. Stupid fekking Granola. I had forgotten about it. Fortunately it didn't attract any hippies.

As a note, I ended up with a week's worth of a really nasty case of food poisoning. Don't know where I picked it up, but I was the only one to suffer the Wrath of Lewis and Clarke.

Ah well, I suppose any messiah has to suffer.

Until next time Portland.