This morning was one of those sublime Saturdays that demand little by way of work. After French press coffee, our ambrosial wake-up call, we leafed through the papers and weekly coupon booklets. Still feeling slumberous, we boiled eggs and listened to Car Talk on MPBN.
Our morning terminated at Hot Suppa, a local diner that got good marks from Abigail’s co-workers.
Burrowed into a Victorian home on Congress Street, Hot Suppa’s environ is a microcosm of Portland itself. Segregated socio-economic classes do not exist here. Opulent brownstones share the block with subsidized apartments. Bike shops for muesli-minded ecotopians share space with the Rite Aid that serves as local grocer for the car-deprived. The Somalian refugee community lives in the backyard of our celebrated Whole Foods.
Faddish exposed brick walls, coffered ceilings, and iridescent wall paintings signal that Portland’s got panache.
Our Cuban sandwich was tasty, but I was sorely disappointed in the beer. The Abita Turbodog is an unimaginative and seltzer-like brown ale donning the mantle of a stout. Has ever a wimpier beer been wrought by the hands of men? Bad dog. Very bad dog. If you’re going to make a classifiably criminal brown ale, at least fess up to it.