Portland Magazine

One thing I’ve observed about Portland is the city’s strong Irish presence.  By my cursory count, it is home to at least five Catholic churches and a handful of Irish-Catholic schools—both good barometers of a place’s “Irishness.” Additionally, Portland features the Maine Irish Heritage Center, formerly St. Dominic’s Church. I’ve heard through the grapevine that the Center holds informal Irish (Gaelic) language discussion groups—quite a compelling reason to check the place out. As a part Irishman, my drinking sensibilities lead me naturally to the city’s charming Irish pubs. In my humble opinion, the best among them are: Ri Ra Irish Pub and Restaurant (72 Commercial St.); Bull
Feeney’s (375 Fore St.); Brian Boru Public House (57 Center St.); and Awful Annie’s Irish Saloon (189 Congress St.). Though they are all top-notch and manage to exude the magic of the Emerald Isle, Awful Annie’s has an old-world grittiness that the others lack.  If you
happen to run into me at one of these great places, knock your glass against mine and share an Irish cheer: Slainte!

–Collin “Biermeister” York

One of things I’ve learned to love about Maine is the fact that no one seems to be in a rush (unless they’re me and aren’t morning people and tend to leave the house 5 minutes late on a regular basis). As a California native, I’ve sat in my fair share of gnarly traffic… as in: 70-mile commute turns 2-hour trip. I’d learned to navigate from Hollywood by way of Route 101 to the 10 to the 710 to the 405 to the 241 toll road. That, and my GPS was equipped with traffic alerts. Green = go. Yellow = delay (indicated estimated delay, usually 15 min or so) and Red = PARKING LOT. SEEK ALTERNATIVE ROUTE UNLESS YOU BROUGHT YOUR AUDIOBOOK! So…really, I used my GPS as my own personal traffic alert more than a map. But I’ve learned that with a little Kenny-G and some easy listening tunes, I find some zen and can just enjoy the ride for the most part.

Anyway.

The traffic alert system in my GPS doesn’t even kick in up here until I hit Massachusetts, which I find a little adorable. Case in point: Maine doesn’t have traffic to speak of.

“Rush Hour” = 10 minutes in Portland. It’s a kitten compared to the metropolis of Boston, Chicago, Baltimore, DC, Atlanta, NYC, San Diego, Orange County, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle…

It should be a widely-known fact of life that yours truly suffers from road rage and impatience when it comes to traffic. This is not a new issue. It’s unfortunate, but the reality is that Cute Girl in the Cute Car with the Cute Sunglasses is actually using language that would make a priest blush. But it makes me feel better to know that I can rant and rave without repercussion, because unless you’re sitting in my passenger seat, you can’t hear me. Ah, the joys of “privacy”.

The construction on the 295 that makes me sit for more than 15 minutes at 10pm? That makes me upset. Traffic that makes my 20 minute commute more like an HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES? That just straight-up makes me a grouch.  Cmon, if I knew I was going to be in traffic, I would have 1) left earlier  and 2) arranged for a carpool, because in bigger cities … the carpool lane is a beautiful thing.

To the guy in the blue Prius that laid on his horn for 10 minutes straight?

RELAX.

Traffic is NOT moving. Put on an audio-book or tune in to 94.7 and listen to something soothing.

Be the epitome of a real Mainer: calm. Lacking in urgency. I’m just saying … this is not New York City. If I wanted to be honked at, I’d risk life and limb and drive around Times Square.

Here’s to a cheery Thursday!

–Taryn “Diego” Bruette

Boda is a great restaurant to go to late-night, with a delicious menu offering authentic vendor-style Thai food. I considered myself to be a quasi-Thai connoisseur until I went to Boda. Like the “small plate” trend, the servings are small but the taste is huge. Holy cow! Or should I say Holy Quail!  I ordered crispy quail wings with Sriracha (I swear the hot-sauce has its own cult following), bacon wrapped scallops, and pork belly skewers. My favorite: crispy quail wings, cooked to perfection. Whatever you do, do NOT compare quail to chicken, it’s offensive. Especially to our server, who handled the eternal chicken-question—“So what does it taste like? Chicken?”—with grace and patience. He stood up for the bird. I encouraged the server to start a quail wing night special—25 cent wings! (I imagine sports-fans in Thailand flocking to the local brewpub for quail-wings and beer.) He wasn’t into it.

5 Reasons Boda is a West End Gem

1.) The late-night menu is an amazing alternative to greasy diner-style grub

2.) If you work in the hospitality industry, their hours cater to YOU: 9pm-1am

3.) They have a full bar. Not to be confused as a post-bar after party. The atmosphere is quiet, cozy, and relaxing. Hopefully it stays that way.

4.) On Sunday nights, the late-night menu is half-off. Starts at 9pm. It’s packed.

5.) You don’t have to fly to Bangkok to experience real-deal Thai; you can walk to 671 Congress Street!

–Betsy Schluge

I just started as an intern at Portland Magazine last week, and I was really excited to find out I’d be going on a photo shoot my second day here. The place was close enough to walk, but since I’m not well aquatinted with Portland, I had to Mapquest it. Even then, I almost got lost after some random guy tried hitting on me and I lost my concentration. After I finally found the place, I brought out the camera. It took me at least fifteen minutes to get it to work. (This is a simple point-and-click digital camera set on automatic.) I’ve been working with digital cameras and setting everything by hand for four years and I can’t get one that is already set and ready to just click and take a picture for me. I finally got some good pics so check out our October issue and look for my photo cred!

–Krystin Talbot

Catchin' the Fall Buzz!

After the brutally hot end of summer we had here in Portland, I am anxiously awaiting the fall.  I love being able to walk on an uncrowded beach, watching the leaves change, and perhaps most of all I love Shipyard’s Pumpkinhead ale.  Though my final semester at USM and my time spent working afford me less time than I would like to be out on the town, I have heard that Pumpkinhead taps have been springing up as the seasonal beer at a couple local pubs.  Even lacking some needed pub time with friends, I still manage to swing by Hannaford and snag a twelve-pack of this delicious pumpkin-pie-in-a-bottle brew!  This has definitely become the symbol of a changing season for me in Portland.

I know that fall is nearly here
when I taste pumpkins in my beer.

–Joshua Lobkowicz

"End" is just so...negative.

Do not make the mistake of calling the East End the East Side; I’ve
been living in Portland for a little over a week, and locals have
already corrected me several times, with sets of raised eyebrows, for
misidentifying where I live. “Don’t ya mean the East End?”

It seems logical enough that the eastern side of town at
least could be called the East Side, but oh, no. One thing I’ve
noticed in my time here is that Mainers—and Portlanders in
particular—are fiercely proud of their linguistic heritage.

–Collin “Biermeister” York

And fall is here!

It should really be the obvious signs that signify a change in seasons (specifically from summer to fall). I probably should have noticed a drop in temperature in the evening. I also should have noticed that the leaves on the trees are turning brilliant shades of burnt orange and maroon. And I probably also should have noticed that the munchkins have returned to school. September inevitably marked “fall” for almost every child between the ages of 6 and 18.

But no, I don’t really notice that it’s transitioning from summer to fall until Starbucks comes out with their heavenly Pumpkin Spice Latte in September.

Now, I enjoy Starbucks coffee. Most of it I credit to the fact I’m a Southern California (aka SoCal) transplant, and it always seemed to me there was a Starbucks every half a block or so. In fact, my university used to just have the coffee carts and the Starbucks beans but no actual Starbucks baristas…and then (choir of heavenly angels descends) they installed an actual Starbucks into the business building. Crappy imitation Starbucks baristas no more!

In the summer of 2009, I moved to Maine. (And no, I have never lived here. But the reasons I moved make a really long story. Join me for coffee sometime, and I’ll tell you all about it.) Being the Self-Proclaimed Starbucks Junkie that I am, I immediately scouted out the Starbucks locations within a reasonable driving distance from my Yarmouth residence:

1) Freeport Outlets
2) Falmouth, across the street from Shaws and a block or so up the road from Wal-Mart
3) Downtown Portland across the street from Bard Coffee (although Bard makes a great cup of coffee too)

Why do I waste my time/energy on Starbucks when I could have Dunkin Doughnuts, Maine Roasters (also right down the road from my residence in Yarmouth) or Bard Coffee in Portland?  (*** FYI: I’ve had a cup of joe or two at Bard. I love the fact that they put artwork in my foam. And no, I don’t mean someone crafted the Mona Lisa or Starry Night in my coffee cup.)

For one, I’m not a dark-roast kind of girl. No espresso for this kid. Sorry Maine Roasters, love your hot apple cider (and really, it’s quite good), but I’ll just have to go on good authority that your cappuccinos are fantastic.

The day that Dunkin Doughnuts starts making lattes with foam and syrup and whole milk is the day that I’ll conform.  But I’ve never really just been a cream/sugar-in-my-coffee kid.

The Starbucks baristas are just…so fake happy to be making my Pumpkin Spice Latte with whole milk and extra foam. At 7AM, I actually believe fake-happy people are legitimately happy.

The short answer here? Pumpkin Spice Lattes signify Fall to me because:

1) They start serving it in September

2) September means School

3) School means fall

4) Fall means changing leaves

And it all comes full circle: fall is upon us. One of my favorite times of the year, but it never REALLY sinks in until that latte is in my gloved hands. (And for the record: I don’t need a Gingerbread or Peppermint Latte from Starbucks to know that winter has arrived, either.  Bitter cold is usually a good indicator.)

–Taryn “Diego” Bruette