Portland: A Love Story

When I was sixteen, I made a decision that, at the time, was motivated almost purely by romance. The spring of that year, I was accepted by the college of my dreams--a place I imagined to be ethereal, mystical, and full of whimsy (and indeed it has, at times, been all three). For several months before receiving that thick, confetti-stuffed envelope in my mailbox, I would stare wistfully out the windows during class and think about how I longed for well, rain. I had, somewhere along the way, settled on my school not only for its reputation for gleeful dorkiness and intensity, but also for its prime location in the city of roses. Of course, I had never actually been to Portland, nor did I have the faintest clue what picking up and moving halfway across the country to go to college would really be like, but I was lovesick nonetheless.

For all my imaginings about what little mysteries this city would hold, all those hours I spent poring over college course catalogs and restaurant reviews, I was downright slaphappy the moment I read the word "congratulations" because I knew those hopes and images would finally begin to take shape. So, four years ago in April, my parents and I stepped into PDX for the first time, and the shift from romantic fantasy to utter adoration was well underway.

Working in college admissions, prospective students often ask me why and how I made my decision all those years ago. I always tell them to scrap the logic of it all (or at least table it, since I was definitely the kid with the meticulous notebook filled with stats about each college that made it on to my radar) and just feel it. I say that I knew I was in the right place when I saw the cherry blossoms in bloom and inexplicably burst into tears, murmuring some incoherent oohs and aahs to my parents from the backseat of our rental car. But I've been thinking about that story lately, and I realized it just isn't complete. Sure, the moment that fantasy became reality about college was when I stepped onto campus and could not muster even the feeblest attempt to stop the waterworks. But I hadn't just fantasized about college--I had a whole romantic notion of an unknown city I had yet to explore, and I knew I had to fall in love all across the board if I were going to make the leap.

So I want to amend my story just a little and add the moment when I knew I wanted to be in Portland. It's all very simple. Just take a wide-eyed, embarrassingly enthusiastic teenager still caught up in the throes of veganism, sit her down at a diner on Belmont, and place before her a plate of sweet and steaming cornmeal pancakes the size of a record. As if there could have been any turning back after that.

There are, of course, many things I have since come to love about Portland (from bicycle rides across the Hawthorne Bridge at 5:30 in the morning, or the fact that we have a whole festival devoted to pickles), but it all started with the pancakes. In some ways, I prefer cornmeal pancakes to their traditional buckwheat or buttermilk brethren, though admittedly I can't think of a pancake I've encountered that I haven't enjoyed on some level. But when push comes to shove, nothing quite stirs my heartstrings like a fluffy-crisp cornmeal pancake drizzled with honey and slathered with butter (I didn't retain the veganism of my former years).

CORNMEAL PANCAKES WITH FENNEL AND BLACK PEPPER

Made with some guidance by the LA Times, who used the Joy of Cooking as a reference.


These are a departure from the corn pancakes I had when I came to Portland (these aren't vegan--see note below). I've eaten those in many incarnations--plain with syrup, with apples and walnuts, or with jalapeños and salsa. If you take out the fennel seed and black pepper, this recipe can serve as a base for a whole range of flavor combinations, so play around with it!

Sometimes flipping pancakes is hard...

FOR THE PANCAKES*:

1 cup yellow cornmeal

1 tsp salt

1 tsp ground fennel seed

1 tsp ground black pepper

2 tbsp melted butter

1-2 tbsp honey

1 cup boiling water

zest from one lemon, plus 1-2 tsp lemon juice

1/2 cup milk (I used whole milk, as always)

1 egg

1/2 cup flour

2 tsp baking powder

*To make these vegan, substitute any mild vegetable oil for the butter, maple syrup for the honey, soy milk for the whole milk, and 2 tbsp of soy yogurt for the egg. Follow directions accordingly. Thanks to Isa Chandra Moskowitz and her book Veganomicon for the help on this one.

1. Mix together the cornmeal and next five ingredients in a large, heavy bowl. Pour the boiling water over the top and whisk to combine. Add the lemon zest and juice and stir lightly to combine. Cover bowl tightly and let stand at least 10 minutes.

2. Beat together egg and milk in a measuring cup until smooth. Add to the cornmeal mixture and whisk to combine.

3. Sift flour and baking powder into the cornmeal mixture and fold into the batter, being careful not to overmix. 

4. Heat a cast-iron skillet, non-stick skillet, or a griddle to medium-high. Test the surface by dropping a little water onto the pan or griddle (if the drops dance around, then you're all set). Lightly butter or grease the pan or griddle, then pour the batter using a 1/3 cup measure. Cook until bubbles stop appearing on the top of the cakes, then flip (this usually takes 1-2 minutes, but you can always sneak a peek under each cake to see if they are slightly browned and crisp and ready for flipping). Turn and cook until cakes are set.