Paris in Portland
There’s something about winter nights in Portland, the rain drumming on awnings and splattering on black sidewalks, that conjures thoughts of Paris ― at least, the Paris of my imagination.
In this mood, shy of catching the next plane out, I find it helps to rent an old French movie or two ― say, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg or Ma Nuit Chez Maude ― after a bite at one of my favorite Parisian, that is, Portlandian, haunts.
At the edge of the Pearl District is Le Bouchon: comfortably crowded, warmly welcoming, and delicious, from the onion soup to the lamb shanks. But it doesn’t duplicate the look and feel of a Paris bistro like Carafe, which could have been lifted whole from a leafy Left Bank avenue, with its banquettes and zinc bartop, its croque monsieur and cassoulet. (Bring your own French accent.)