A Good Year for the Roses: Revisiting Portland, Part 1

Apologies in advance for the length of this one. If you want to skip to the present, the history lesson ends about halfway through, right about the time we hit Echo and the Bunnymen.

oregon portland sign

In 1992, new Brown PhD in hand, Jay received an offer to join the Classics Department at Reed College in Portland, Oregon—a world away, physically and philosophically, from Providence. At that time in Rhode Island the savings and loan crisis hit and the Governor went to jail. The polluted Providence River was covered with concrete and corruption ran rampant. We were both, I think, ready to leave the weird little state and move on toward our post-graduate school life.

Reed is known for its mandatory freshman humanities programs, its seminar-type classes, and a brilliant/quirky student body. One of Jay’s best friends, Brendan (who is both a bit quirky and exceedingly brilliant), went to Reed and had regaled us for years with stories of his time there. It’s also about as far west as you can go in the contiguous 48, which held a sort of frontier appeal for us.

We packed up the cat and moved to Oregon.

oregon berries

What a beautiful place. For both of us, it was a bit like going to summer camp: gorgeous surroundings, lots of activities, and the need to make new friends.

We even laughed about how we would look back on our time in Rhode Island as a blip in the continuum of our lives. We felt certain we would insouciantly toss our heads and say, “Can you believe we ever lived in Rhode Island?”

Jay took advantage of Oregon’s brilliant rivers, fly fishing for trout and steelhead. I had a boring day job, but one that only required me to punch a clock thus leaving me the flexibility to really explore my fitness avocation. I met and worked with national-level fitness leaders and benefited from having the Nike headquarters in my backyard.

oregon vegetables

After a year, Jay received a sweet offer from Boston University, so we re-packed the cat and moved back to New England. More specifically, to Providence. Even more specifically, to the same neighborhood we lived in before. Essentially we took the longest possible route from one part of the East Side to another: 6,000 miles, through Portland, Oregon. And now, we laugh, with very little insouciance at all (because we are quite aged at this point) and say, “Isn’t it weird that we ever lived in Portland?”

Last week, I headed back to Portland for work (Portland leads the country in the use of green infrastructure for managing storm water and combined sewage flow). I almost didn’t recognize the city. Old sketchy neighborhoods are now full of Brooklyn-worthy hipsters. The homeless population has multiplied. Water quality in the Willamette River has improved dramatically and the city boasts more breweries than any other in the nation.

I’m not a beer drinker, though, so I arrived a day in advance of my professional obligations to take a directed exploration of Willamette Valley wine (many thanks to Eric Taylor for his recommendations). In my next post I’ll talk about what I ate on this trip (hint: A LOT), but for now, here’s a brief review of what I drank.

Purchased, but not yet tippled: Oregon gin! I bought the No. 1, rumored to be of the aromatic variety.

Purchased, but not yet tippled: Oregon gin! I bought the No. 1, rumored to be of the aromatic variety.

The Willamette Valley is an easy drive from the city: in less than 45 minutes, I found myself smack-dab in the middle of Burgundy-worthy vineyards. Along the way, I took a quick stop at a pick-your-own-blueberries farm to do just that ($1.50 a pound! How could I refuse?), sang along (loudly) with some songs from my youth, and felt a deep appreciation for the Oregonian tendency toward humility.

oregon music

oregon berries and grocery

My first stop: Elk Cove Vineyards, known for their Riesling and Pinot Noir. I started with their 1999 Sparkling Wine (80% PN, 20% Chardonnay), which had notes of rye bread on the nose and citrus on the palate. Elk Cove does the dosage on this with their ice wine, which lends some honey to the palate as well. It made me crave Lay’s Potato Chips. Then I moved on to a series of Pinot Noirs from different vineyards with various soils. I brought home a 2004 PN Windmill #1, which included grapes from Elk Cove’s oldest vineyard (planted in 1974). It smelled of smoke, dried herbs, strawberries, and wet earth. The palate was pleasantly acidic and I imagine serving it with duck or lamb. My other acquisition was a 2012 PN Mount Richmond #4, from volcanic soils. This wine has JAY written all over it: big black fruit, smoke, and assertive tannins scream for something like a lamb shoulder (and I have just the preparation I want to try—more in the next post).

Gorgeous vineyards at Elk Cove.

Gorgeous vineyards at Elk Cove.

I moved on to Adelsheim Vineyard, one of Oregon’s founding wineries. Like most of the Valley, Adelsheim’s vineyards benefit from a large diurnal range, which give the grapes a chance to cool down at night as they work their way to ripeness and then to maturity. I tasted a moderately oaked chardonnay: OK, but not my thing; I prefer chardonnays that are pretty austere. Then I moved on to the Pinots and walked away with another JAY wine, the 2011 Calkins Lane Pinot Noir. The grapes hail from Adelsheim’s warmest vineyard; the wine is redolent of cherry with medium tannins but still a fair bit of acidity. This wine wants some game meat, but would also be happy with a well-seasoned roast chicken.

French soul, Oregon soil at Domaine Drouhin.

French soul, Oregon soil at Domaine Drouhin.

My final stop of the day: Domaine Drouhin. The place is legendary, due in no small part to its kinship with Maison Joseph Drouhin in Burgundy. The estate owns vineyards in Chablis, the Côte de Nuits, Côte de Beaune and Côte Chalonnaise and produces some very fine (and when I say “very fine” I mean VERY FINE) premier cru and villages wines. In the lavishly appointed tasting room, I experienced DD’s expression of “French soul and Oregon soil.”

First up: a 2012 Chardonnay. Nice, but again, a little too much butter and cream for me. I also tasted a 2013 Rosé, which was delightful with strawberry, apricot, and lemon blossom on the nose. The take home was the 2012 Pinot Noir Dundee Hills, an opulent, deeply colored burst of red fruit and earth: not particularly in the French style, but a delicious wine nonetheless.

The real excitement, though, came when I learned that one can purchase certain selections from Maison Joseph Drouhin exclusively at the Oregon property. I am thrilled to say that I snagged a 2008 Gevrey Chambertin Champeaux 1er Cru. If you are very nice to me, I may invite you to share it.

oregon whisky

For the next few days, I worked (and ate), but my final sip before leaving Portland came at the Multnomah Whisk(e)y Library: Bruichladdich Cuvee 382 La Berenice, aged in American bourbon and Sauternes casks. Redolent of toffee, honey, and spice, it’s not something I could drink every day, but I profoundly enjoyed that single dram.

You didn't think I was going to let you get out of this post without one sewage-related picture, did you?

You didn’t think I was going to let you get out of this post without one sewage-related picture, did you?

Thus ends part one of my Portland trip. While much has changed, much remains the same: the roses and rhododendrons still bloom riotously, giving this City of Roses one of its many nicknames, so I’ll sign off with a song originally sung by one of my favorites, here covered by my most favorite:

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