Yaws and Such

R.I.P. Yaws in Portland

A week or so ago I wrote about committing dietary adultery when I strayed way off course and ordered french fries with gravy. From that little admission of trespass the story has morphed into one concerned with a classic old restaurant in Portland, Oregon called Yaws. Yaws first opened in 1926 and closed in 1982. Subsequently it appears to have attained almost cult status, although I seriously doubt people drive by and leave flowers at the site of the former restaurant as they would at the grave of a rock star or a certain platinum blonde of the 50's. Even so, it seems my family members who grew up in Portland and went to Grant High School all remain loyal in their esteemed memory of this lost icon of food, especially the cruisin' drive-in variety of the 1950's and early 60's.

Among the recollections of Yaws is that of the "Tootsie Roll cop," an off-duty city policeman hired to keep the cruisers under control and who was always quick to hand out one of the many miniature Tootsie Rolls he kept in his pocket. Thick shakes, french fries with gravy, and the Yaw's Top Notch Burger were all bricks in the edifice of this once popular eatery. If you read the link above you'll discover the restaurant owners were equally diligent in providing for both their customers and their employees.

I ate there once, probably in the mid 70's. I went expecting to find a glorious time piece from the 50's and, instead, found an ailing senior on life support. I don't remember much beyond disappointment. I think by then people had moved on, abandoning the old guard of the cruisin' era and moving into the era of the "next thing" where the old was out simply by virtue of age and predictability. I seem to recall a whole slough of fad restaurants in the late 60's and 70's. Restaurants like Yaws were left to atrophy and expire.

This lesson and its subject remind me of many others I've known over the years. Many, like Yaws in Portland and Ships in Westwood, are gone and missed by many. A few remain today. Old restaurants, stalwart institutions, that offer a slice of life and provide a million memories that stretch for several generations every day they're open for business. Some of the old timers have fallen off the mark but others remain true to their original commitment to quality and value.

If you're lucky enough to live within reach of one of the great old restaurants then do yourself a favor: Drop in now and then. With few exceptions, they won't be around forever. And you'll miss them when they're gone.

R.I.P. Ships in Westwood

Cotton Candy

Each year between Thanksgiving and Christmas our local Steam Railroading Institute operates "Polar Express" excursions as a fund raiser. They take passengers by train to the North Pole and Santa's Village (a surprisingly short 45 minute ride through the country from here). It's great for kid's and once at Santa's Village there is a large building filled with amusements and activities for kids as well as crafts and junk for adults to buy. It was there, this weekend, at Santa's Village, at the North Pole, that I discovered one of those bizarre twists in this modern regulated life.

Among the many concessions available was a cotton candy vendor. It was staffed by a young woman who appeared to be a junior or senior in highschool. Thinking this might be a good time to introduce Evan to cotton candy I wandered over and poked my head in the service window. The walls were lined with plastic bags stuffed with multicolored cotton candy, but she had the big round open metal tubs one uses to make the confection and they appeared to be on and ready for action. "Can you still make one of those pink numbers that comes on the paper tube?" I asked. She shook her head no. "The Health Inspector won't let us. He says it's unsanitary or something."

Unsanitary? Who cares, unsanitary! It's a friggin' Phyllis Diller wig of spun sugar. There's not one thing in the world to recommend ingesting cotton candy beyond its color, the experience of it melting on your tongue, and holding onto that paper tube as you pick, pull, and bite at the thing. Et tu, cotton candy? Would they cloak you in the false dignity of sanitation?

I walked away as much disgusted as disappointed. We re-boarded the train before departure time and ate the peanut butter sandwiches we'd packed. I didn't even stop to consider an Elephant Ear, French Fries, or Deep Fried Oreo-- all of which were available and all of which must have met the approval of the health inspector. Fat free spun sugar on a paper cone? Not on your life. Deep fried Oreo? Step right up.

Let's EAT!!!!!

We ate lunch at the Ponderosa this afternoon. It was a first for us as a family. We found ourselves there at Evan’s request. If you don’t know (and frankly, if you don’t have young children or an AARP card, you shouldn’t) Ponderosa is a steak house buffet. Emphasis on buffet.

Ev and I had grabbed dinner there a few weeks ago when Mom was busy on a bike ride. It’s a great place to take young children because they have everything a kid could ever want: mac ‘n cheese, meatballs, spaghetti, pizza, a desert station with soft serve ice cream, and Jello.  The restaurant actually features a pretty good salad bar selection as well so I’m all set. Today he was in the mood for meatballs and red and blue jello and so there we went, Mom, Dad, and Evan.

As I’ve already indicated, buffet type restaurants really appeal to two audiences: Families with young children (young enough to be indiscriminate of quality) do well because of price and selection.  Buffet restaurants also appeal to the senior set for much the same reasons. A jumbo buffet for 6 bucks on a fixed income makes a lot of sense.

I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that there is one more demographic occupying the booths and tables at the local buffet:  The obese. I don’t want to be mean, insensitive, or discriminatory but I was distressed by what I saw.  When I see people, men, women and children, with significantly inflated body mass indices, set over multiple plates piled high with wings, meatloaf, deep fried fish, potatoes and gravy, pasta, rolls, and multiple desserts, I think someone needs to call the cops. I’m sorry, but if obesity is a national tragedy and a crisis in the making, then perhaps it’s time to outlaw buffets.  At least establish age parameters like we use to regulate access to alcoholic beverages.  The sign should read:

                          Buffet service is limited to patrons 12 and under or 65 and over.

                                                          NO SHARING!

                                                            We Care We Card

In the meantime, we'll start stocking a few boxes of Jello in the pantry. We're staying home. I can't stand to watch.

Quality Forever

My friend Dan sent me a link to Men's Health Magazine which featured an article entitled "America's Eight Greatest Guy Foods."  I have to admit to never reading Men's Health Magazine.  That's not a slam, it's just that I barely even get my nose in the journals I should be reading. At the same time I'm not a huge fan of "the best," "the greatest," or even "top ten" ratings. In my experience they are usually commercially linked to the entities included and I usually think they're wrong to boot.

Not so this latest article.  Just because he's wrong about at least 5 of the 8 entries doesn't disqualify the author's opinion when it comes to hamburgers. As he describes in his piece, when you sit down to a juicy hickory cheese burger at the Apple Pan, all other hamburger experiences fall to the wayside. Actually, it happens even before you sit down.

Walking up to the Apple Pan is like approaching a Disney landscape: the perfectly proportioned, unassuming white sided house with the double wooden screen doors.  It looks like something out of the 1940's and that's because it is. When you step in you take a glance, figure your place in the lineup, and wait for your seat to open on one of the 26 red top stools that have supported some of the finest, and happiest, tushies in the City of Angels since 1947.

As with any great restaurant memory, much of it is owed the circumstances surrounding the experience; the friends you met, the staff you liked, the comfort of the surroundings. When it comes to the Apple Pan I can check all those boxes in addition to the one adjoining the comment "best hamburger." I haven't been eating meat for the past year or so but I reserve a spot in my cheating heart for these. No steer lays down his life for any higher purpose.

Make mine a hick-cheese, well-done fries, and a Coke.  Oh, ya, and a slice of chocolate cream pie.