I went to Ox tonight. It’s a newer place in NE Portland. They have a brand spanking new bar space next door called Whey Bar. Both are located around the corner from Toro Bravo so I’ve started referring to this part of town as The Barnyard. Ox has received a bunch of press, they don’t need mine. However, from my previous post you will notice I had to right a blood sausage wrong so that is what I was doing. I was also celebrating Julia’s 100th birthday, as I have done on this site before. Thanks for being tall, foulmouthed, starting your true passions late in life, and for making Letterman try raw hamburger meat on national television. You still inspire me, let’s eat.
My dining companion and I usually try popular spots by arriving super early, just after opening. At Ox this tactic is ill-advised because you will be devoured by hoards of children who will very nearly out number the amount of adults in the facility. Perplexing, no? Who knew so many kids were fans of Argentinian style charcuterie? You learn something new every day. I am certainly not questioning their taste.
Since I’m not getting all linky-linky with this post I feel comfortable saying that this drink menu smacks of newfangled pedestrianism and the cocktail was under chilled and sort of a no-mans-land of elemental flavor. Maybe I miss-ordered, no worries, I immediately recognized my error and self corrected:
Important point: Ox is a STEAL. The portions are HUGE. In fact, I have an Emilio-Estevez-in-The-Breakfast-Club sized sack of leftovers. As my long suffering Father would say, “eat with your stomach, not your eyes.” I still have no idea what that means, or maybe I am just willfully disdainful of the lesson.
Order the potatoes! These are $5.00. Huge garlic punch in the aioli, your children will be disease free well into the winter, coming from me this is high praise.
This did not do it for me. Other than the nice char on the paté I was left thinking of what Chinese hot mustard really means to me. I think of the strong bastard packaged in plastic tablespoon packets or ladled at the end of hot lines, hits me in the far recess of my sinuses and causes me to sniffle a little. Not on this plate, an extremely mild dish. I lied and told the waitress that I liked it because as you will find if you poll any of my exes; I refuse to communicate.
Loved this, super damn amazing. I remember the marinated octopus at The Woodsman and how I immediately thought – whoa, this tastes like beef parts, awesome – and of course the next extension is to pair octopus with beef parts. I’d like to thank this dish for existing, you are fucking rad.
Nice empanada, great vegetarian choice. Pickles to the 9th degree. Ever had the sweet tea vodkas and think, wow, this tastes more like sweet tea than sweet tea does, not sure that’s a good thing? That’s these pickles.
Very nicely plated. Supposedly they were a little tough? Who cares, eat your vegetables, kid.
This dish makes me a little emotional. I’m going to spare you most of it, but will let you know that my life is a good bit different these days than it was even two months ago. I’m trying new things for a living, just momentarily, and when you try new things, pursuits you’ve always wanted to but never dared, defeat feels so immensely crushing. Safety is basically the result of a predictable outcome, take away the outcome and you cut the tether-cord.