Ramen/Burger

Biwa is, if not my favorite, one of of my most enjoyed restaurants in Portland. It is in every way a super sexy establishment. The open kitchen with full wrap around bar, the amazing menu, the friendly staff, and their creative drinks all add up to a great experience.

I first went to Biwa soon after they opened several years ago. I had a strange anxiety about it at the time; For years and years I had aspired to open the first Ramen joint in Portland, and now there was Biwa. I was disappointed it couldn't be me, but also excited that there would finally be a legit Ramen shop in my home town.

I was sorely let down. The broth was okay, I guess: I bit salty, no depth, a little thin. Don't even get me started on the noodles. They had none of the characteristics of a classic chuka-soba. I was bummed out, this hit so far below my expectations. I had to later admit that it wasn't a bad bowl of noodles, it would've been quite tasty if not for the fact that it was trying to pass for ramen. I turned my back and didn't return for over two years.

After college I moved into the same neighborhood as Biwa, and one lonely October night I found myself sitting at their bar. I stayed away from the ramen offerings and dug deep into the Yakimono (literally "grilled stuff") menu. Holy cow! This was food of the type I had not had since I was last in Japan! Perfectly prepared pork belly, grilled garlic cloves, plump onigiri, and on and on. I sampled a glass of sweet potato Shōchū over ice, a pleasant drink somewhere between vodka and sweet sake. What a meal!

I went back several times before I attempted the ramen again. The improvement was remarkable. The noodles were perfect, and the chicken broth (one of two options) was rich and meaty. Finally, I sighed, a passable ramen in my hometown.

Sometime during my frequent trips I introduced my friend Tyson to Biwa, and soon after came our friend David. We gathered at the ramen bar like beasts at a watering hole, packing away bowl after bowl and countless skewers of grilled meat. Heaven.

I had heard rumor of a mythical burger, served only on the night of their opening anniversary. Then further rumor that they had expanded it to Friday late nights, and perhaps even every night. Some heard it was served only after ten o'clock, I heard eleven. Conjecture and speculation ruled. One night Tyson and David found themselves at Biwa without me (grrrrr) late at night. A small slip, carefully printed on blue stock, was presented to them. Late Night Menu, it read. And there, at the top: Biwa Burger.

With rage in my heart I listened to them recount each bite, describing the light brioche bun nestling the Wagyu beef chuck patty and thick cut chashyu slab; the full, deep green butter lettuce leaf caressed by the house made kimchi mayo. Soon enough my rage passed as I too was able to enjoy what is surely, and consistently the best burger I have ever had.

Because we are brash young men, seemingly unaware of our own mortality, we soon took our Biwa trips to its (il)logical conclusion. Ramen/Burger. Beginning at 9pm, Biwa has a special bar menu, which includes a dramatically reduced price on the Ramen. Then, at 11pm the burger is served. One summer night, the three of us entered Biwa, found a comfortable spot at the bar, and consumed our respective warm bowl. We retreated to a nearby Karaoke bar and rested for the next phase of our attack.

Upon our return, the maître d’ did a double take, and the cooks behind the bar raised eyebrows all around. We sat in the same stools and ordered with confidence: Three Biwa Burgers please! A frisson spread through the place. A bold applause rang from the back kitchen, our server clapped us heartily on the back, the grill cook reached over the bar to shake our hands. We were heroes.

We were very, very full heroes. This feat has been successfully attempted only a couple more times, but the legend of the Ramen/Burger Three still thrives in the Restaurant. I once walked into a bar near my house and was greeted with a chorus of "Ramen/Burger!" by a table of off-duty Biwa staff. One of my proudest moments of 2010.

In short: You owe yourself a trip to Biwa soon.

Glimpses

My hands clasp and embrace with opposing forces. working it's way underneath the small ring, my index finger smoothly lifts, popping the seal. Carefully, carefully I prize the lid so as not to stain my hands with the pungent smell. Six fat fishes.

Over my shoulder, his face framed in his upraised hands, themselves framed in the windshield. If not for his look of disgust, I would not be so outraged. My wool clad hand obscures him, middle finger raised.

Like sites in a gunners turret, my foam clad fists target on my good friends head. Our frenetic pace is seized by the sudden stillness of the standoff. In my peripheral, the uninitiated woman titters uncomfortably. We lunge simultaneously.

It's sort of red, with maybe swaths of a dark yellow/brown, but probably not. It's certainly not black, like we often say it is. Dozens of white, or perhaps they're blue, squares hover there, all layered upon each other, corners poking out, brighter in the middle. The monitor screen blinds me when, at last, I crack my eyelids.

My whole body moves the thin bead along the line where the wall intersects the plane of the door casing. The paint, a pleasant dark sage, glides off the bristles with a slight waver, forgivable at anything beyond this magnified concentration. My tongue emerges from the corner of my mouth.

A Flicker, Colaptes auratus, mulishly pecks at the broken crest of a telephone pole. It looks bored though.

She looks annoyed that I am standing there, shyly asking for a glass. When she returns, I correct this by grinning at her. Her crow's feet, laugh lines, and other wrinkles deepen in a genuine smile. The pint is frosty from their fridge.

Skills

I often dread the question, "what do you do?" because what the person means is "How do you make money?" I admit that this is not an entirely pointless question, particularly in this society, but it irks me that this is one of the first questions asked when meeting a new person. Now, the reason this annoys me so much is that most of the people I regularly interact with are in my age/socioeconomic group and people in my age/socioeconomic group do not make a living doing things they enjoy or choose to associate themselves with. This does not mean that I don't have friends who do not love their jobs, or are not proud of the good work they do, but I think most do not see themselves as Barista/House Painter/Child Care Provider/Online Tech Support/What-Have-You. That is what they do for money.

It would be neat if, when asked the dreaded question, people responded instead with Comic Artist/Bass Player/Quilter/Singer\Song Writer/What-Have-You. It would be even better if when people asked that question, that was the answer they were looking for.

Someone once asked me what I did to stay out of trouble. I knew exactly what they meant and was able to tell them about my fondness of cooking, and the new print I was working on, and my kung fu class. I feel this gave a more telling description of my character than heaving a sigh and saying I do home remodeling and general contracting work. It's not that I don't like my job, it's just not who I am. Unfortunately, whenever I've tried to use that phrase on others, they either assume I mean what they do for work, or think I'm implying that they are troublemakers.

What I'm getting at is, I wish the question were "What are your self selected skills?" Meaning what are the activities that you have invested your personal time into becoming better at? What are you best at? Why that activity?

Now if only someone would coin the phrase that asks that as simply as, "Whad'ya do?"

Return?

I am probably just dooming myself by writing these words, but I want to start writing in this space again. I originally set out in December of 2008 to write a post every day. Well, I did do that for a while, but things petered out and I didn't get nearly that close with (a still respectable) 135 posts in 2009. Then only 11 in all of 2010, and none so far this year. hmm...

I am intrigued by the "thing-a-day" concept, and have seen some pretty cool projects come out of it. I am currently five months into doing a silly thing on Facebook I call "Today's jimmity-jam" which has me posting a song I like everyday. Now this is actually much more difficult than it sounds, what with selecting a suitable song, finding it on youtube, and keeping track of them all so as not to have duplicates. Buuuuut, it's not very creative. I'm just sharing things that other creative people have done.

SO! I plan to write everyday! But, I do not consider myself I writer, so it's kind of a weird choice. I plan to start with writing and expand to some different projects like drawing, painting, cooking, martial arts things, and videos.

I hope to see y'all 'round here!

Breakfast innovation

This morning I was lazy and felt like going to the diner and getting some pancakes. However, I didn't want to get dressed, nor spend the money. So I rallied, went to the kitchen, and created a breakfast masterpiece.

Now, what you are looking at may look like a burnt mushroom/basil/chevre omelet, but if you look closer, you will be able tell that the burn marks are, in fact, a thin layer of crisp fried prosciutto.

I started by laying down two thick-cut slices of prosciutto into the skillet, overlapping slightly at the edge. I then added chopped crimini mushrooms on top of the crackling meat, cooking them in the released fat. A few dollops of chevre, and a loose bunch of minced basil were added to the mushrooms while a whisked up a pair of eggs. I poured the eggs on top and quickly and continuously scooped up the egg dribbles that escaped over the edge of the prosciutto. After a moment waiting for the eggs to set, I folded the omelet over, sealing it closed.

The Prosciutto had a crisp snap as the fork bit through into the moist interior, and added a smokey meat flavor to the omelet. The presentation could use some work, but overall I am very pleased with this sudden spike of inspiration.

Field notes on handwriting

Some notes on handwriting:

1) I noticed yesterday while signing a receipt at a phở restaurant that I have somehow, without thought or intention, removed all vowels from my last name in my signature. It reads Eli Gbsn. I'm not sure when this happened or how, but it has, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Too, the "i" in Eli is no longer dotted.

2) For the past week or two, I have begun to write the numeral four differently than I have my whole life. I have always written it in one stroke, with a closed top, as so: 4. But now, I have an involuntary urge to write it in two strokes, with an open top. This is rather annoying because whenever I come upon the number four, my hand stutters with uncertainty and somehow comes out with this new, unintended four.

That is all.

VROOM-VROOOOOOM-VROOOM

It's probably my y-chromosome that makes me so entranced by this video, but I love it.





Song of the Day: Please Set Me At Ease (Hip Hop mix), Madlib This song is SO good