My first trip north of Rodeo, CA introduced me to a couple things: what it’s like to be stranded in Ashland when the 5 freeway closes down due to blizzard conditions, and the cultural landscape of the Pacific Northwest that can only be described as alternative. This is the region whence came Starbucks, yet there are more bookstores per city block than coffee shops with green or brown signs. Oregon and Washington are beautiful, hilly countrysides full of art lovers and liberals, a wonderland that would be a beacon to many if it didn’t have a storm cloud hovering overhead at all times. Literally. I don’t think I saw a blue sky once in Oregon that wasn’t partnered with a rainbow.

In Portland, I didn’t see a blue sky at all. Then again, I would have been happy hanging out inside the West Coast’s largest bookstore all day, or exploring the rest of the offbeat city of bridges, rain or not. Truthfully, I didn’t know much about Portland before I got there, but I could have guessed that Mele and I would end up eating donuts in the rain at some point. Before our trip, I guessed two things: that I couldn’t visit Portland without having some Voodoo Dougnuts, and they wouldn’t be worth the hype. Sadly, I was right on both counts.

Street carts and outdoor counters puzzle me in a city with constant precipitation. Voodoo Doughnut was not the only place that encouraged people to wait in the rain, but it did have the longest line. While there is nothing culinarily spectacular about Voodoo, it’s an interesting place with a creative menu, and a fitting tourist spot for the city that inspired The Simpsons. That said, I’m not sure if “the magic was in the hole,” and I really don’t know what that is supposed to mean. There was nothing enlightening in either donut we tried, the “Voodoo” or the “Portland,” and I have no reason to wait in that line again.

Of course, the Pacific Northwest isn’t all liberal white people browsing indepedent bookstores, hanging out in eccentric cafes and eating at unique snack shops or hip international bistros. Seattle and Portland are multicultural cities; likewise, my best meal during our visit to Portland came from the side of Portland where the streetlights are painted imperial red. At Bun Bo Hue Restaurant in heavily Vietnamese Southeast Portland, tradition wins over creative redesign and soup wins over fried dough.

That isn’t to say that Bun Bo Hue Restaurant serves the usual kind of Vietnamese food. The restaurant’s signature dish, Bun Bo Hue, is specifically central Vietnamese fare, originating from the imperial capital. Unlike the North’s famous Pho, which has garnered popularity in America at the speed of sushi, Bun Bo Hue has stayed relatively unsampled by laymen like myself and remains deep in the hearts of Little Saigons everywhere.

The interior, however, looked like every Vietnamese restaurant I’d ever been to. Flat screens aired Vietnamese television, heavily made-up older women waited tables and the cilantro was shaped like snake scales. A Yelp! review described the place as dumpy, but it’d be considered a pretty nice hole-in-the-wall by Southern California’s standards, and the only thing I worried about was whether or not I’d be able to read the menu. Fortunately, I already knew what I wanted, and a little phrase like “pig knuckles and congealed pig blood” wasn’t going to scare me away.

Okay, “pig knuckles and congealed pig blood” did scare me a little, so I didn’t follow suit with everyone else in the room and order the extra meat option. I soon regretted this choice. While the gelatinous blood squares were far from delicious – not bad, but boring, like an over-boiled vegetable – the pig knuckles served as poor man’s oxtail, delicious fall-off-the-cartilage stew morsels that had me fishing through soup broth for more. Also hearty were the noodles, which were more of a comfort vermicelli than the thinner pho variety, and a perfect vessel for a more potent broth.

Based on everything we tried, Bun Bo Hue Restaurant is worthy of recommendation to anyone passing through Southeast Portland. The fried chicken skin, crispy without being tough or crumbly, burst with a spectrum of seasoning. That was the name of the game: The pork dish, aside from the rather forgettable garnish of pork fat shavings, was a welcome bombardment of pepper and other intense but purposeful flavors, and of course, the bún bò hue was a sensual feast of taste profile counter-measures. Aside from sweet onions, Vietnamese cilantro and a side of lime wedges, bun bo hue is a very different soup than pho. In place of sweet, bún bò hue broth is tangy, like lemon grass. Instead of being rich and fatty, bún bò hue broth is peppery and multifaceted. Both soups, however, have the tendency to overpower the senses and leave you sitting up and taking deep breaths, because you can feel the flavors staining the walls of your mouth and esophagus. In a good way.

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This entry was posted on Friday, January 22nd, 2010 at 2:31 pm and is filed under travel.