Man Can Not Live on Seafood Alone

Vista Pub
1009 Chetco Ave.
Brookings, OR





Sometimes a traveling Suit just needs a big juicy burger.

You know what I mean?

Never mind the fact that Brookings is pressed right against the Oregon Coast just south of the spectacular Boardman Scenic Corridor, where delicacies of the sea beckon from the Pacific Ocean just a stone’s throw away.

I knew I should continue doing my suitly “when-in-Rome” duty.

But after four days of traveling the length of Oregon down the Pacific Coast Highway, I’d had enough razor clams, dungeness crab, oysters and halibut to single-handedly create a worldwide seafood depletion crisis.

Local seafood from the Oregon Coast is as spectacular as the scenery.

But today, I just needed a big hunk of red meat.

The Vista Pub was the ideal place to fulfill my carnivorous cravings.

A typical small town local joint, everything at the Vista Pub is local and gourmet in true Oregonian fashion.

And I do mean everything -- from the hamburger buns to the beer.

My friendly and enthusiastic waitress recommended a beer freshly tapped called Raymond’s Big Head Red, an Imperial Red Ale brewed up the road at Chetco Brewing.

“It’s one of my favorites,” she said.

You’ve got to love a chick with good taste in beer.

Always looking for something just a bit different, I gladly took her advice.

Hoppy, but with a nice sweet malty backbone, the Big Head Red reminded me why I love traveling the Pacific Northwest.

I swear you could bar hop to every pub in the state of Oregon and not once get stuck settling for a Budweiser or Miller Lite.

Beer drinkers in this state LOVE their craft beer.

And I love them for it.

Just don’t get into a political discussion.

My burger was a typically Oregonian compilation of delicious locally sourced gourmet components.

Organic beef perfectly cooked to medium-rare juiciness.

Smoked mozzarella from a creamery down the street.

Homemade relish with a tangy remoulade sauce.

Sautéed onions and good thick-cut bacon.

All held together by a big squooshy bun -- baked that morning in a local bakery. Of course.

The result of all these local adjective-laden ingredients?

Burger heaven.

Each beefy bite yielded an appetizing trickle of pink juices.

The relish and sauce added a delicious tangy zip while the gourmet bun was sturdy enough to hold it all together.

I didn’t get much smoky flavor from the smoked mozzarella, the subtlety overwhelmed by all the other more assertive ingredients. But the gooey melted cheese and crisp bacon were nice additions nonetheless.

Instead of fries, I got a cup of Vista Pub’s homemade clam chowder.

Why not?

From Portland to Brookings -- all 434 miles -- I hadn’t passed up a cup of clam chowder once.

Despite my overdose of West Coast seafood, I figured I had to try one last version of this Oregon specialty before I crossed the state line into California.

Vista Pub didn’t disappoint.

There are generally three components to Oregon clam chowder.

Potatoes. Bacon. Clams.

In Suit757’s book, the ratio of those three goes a long way to determining how good the chowder is.

I’ll give you a moment to contemplate which two ingredients Suit757 considers most important.

Yeah. That shouldn’t have taken too long.

As far as I’m concerned, you can leave the potatoes for the fries.

Vista’s chowder exceeded all my demands with massive quantities of big meaty clams and bacon.

You’d think I’d be full after all that. And I was.

But not too full to avoid the temptation of dessert.

You know in a place like this it’s going to be scratch made -- and good.

I mean, it would be a crime to say no to my waitress. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her.

Good call.

The chocolate cake offered up forkfuls of sweet dense decadence -- a perfect cap to my 434 mile Oregon roadtrip.

And what a roadtrip it was.

Breathtaking vistas, windswept cliffs and spectacular fresh seafood plucked right out of the local waters.

But this week proved to me that man is not meant to live on ocean creatures alone.

Sometimes man just needs a big juicy hunk of meat and a slab of chocolate cake.

Thank you, Vista Pub.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Serving up Oregon Oysters and Clam Chowder with a View

Roseanna’s Cafe
1490 Pacific Ave. NW
Oceanside, OR





The coast of Oregon is rugged and wild. Beautifully remote, you’re bound to bump into more elk and sea lions than people.

Leave your cell phone in the rental car. There’s hardly any service here anyway.

Don’t worry. You won’t miss it.

Oceanside, Oregon is one of the most spectacular settings on the West Coast.

Monstrous breakers crashing into a cauldron of white foam.

Green cliffs towering high above the surf.

Haystack rocks majestically rising up from the ocean.

That was my view from my windowside table at Roseanna’s Cafe, a rustic little place teetering on the top of a seaside cliff.

Deschutes Black Butte Porter in hand, I perused Roseanna’s menu completely disinterested in whether the food was going to be any good.

I was more than content.

Sipping the dark, sweet, toasty brew out of Bend, Oregon and watching the violence of Mother Nature unfold a couple hundred feet below me, I could have just sat there all day just knocking back West Coast microbrews, riding out this cold, storm-swept fall day.

But a Suit cannot live on beer and gorgeous scenery alone.

The first thing I ordered was Roseanna’s famous clam chowder.

I know New England and Manhattan like to argue about whose namesake clam chowder is best, but I can spare them all a lot of discord and profanity.

The best clam chowder in America is right here along the Oregon coast.

I guess folks in New England can still stake a claim for credit, since Oregon chowder borrows heavily from the New England version.

Every diner, brewpub and mom and pop joint along the Pacific Coast Highway serves up its own version of this thick, creamy soup.

Roseanna’s chowder is the best of the best.

Loaded with meaty clams and oodles of seasoning, the parsley, thyme and other secret ingredients transformed this thick hearty chowder into a party in every bite.

You have to love any chowder sporting more clams than potatoes.

Next up were the “grilled oysters”.

These were huge meaty oysters straight out of Netarts Bay just down the street.

They were coated in a thick well-seasoned breading that really brought out the salty flavor of the local delicacies.

On the side were homemade tarter sauces infinitely better than the crap out of the jar you get served at most seafood joints.

The only downside was that the home fried potatoes on the side looked better than they tasted -- a bit bland, especially compared to the flavor-packed chowder and oysters.

The waitress tried to talk me into some of Roseanna’s delicious-looking homemade desserts, but I was too stuffed to even consider it.

Oh well. Next time.

That’s the great perk of have a job as a traveling Suit.

Sure, the TSA crotch gropings, 757 middle seats and too many trips to Third World outposts like Detroit can be soul-crushing.

But every once in a while, you find a little remote nook of America that you want to come back to.

Mental note: the Oregon Coast and Roseanna’s is worth cashing in some of those frequent flyer miles for.

And next time, I’m saving room for dessert.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Doing my Part to Contribute to the Bernanke Bubble Economy

Dan and Louis Oyster Bar
208 SW Ankeny
Portland, OR





Signs of the Ben Bernanke Bubble Economy are all around us.

Ten bucks for a ball park hot dog.

Thirteen bucks for a beer at a concert. Forty-five bucks for the t-shirt to prove you were there.

Stores built around selling nothing but eight dollar cupcakes.

When “Helicopter Ben” creates trillions and trillions of dollars out of thin air, it makes the dollars the rest of hold in our wallet and bank account worth less.

That means it takes more and more of those less valuable dollars to buy the things we used to enjoy for a buck or two.

But that’s just okeydokey if you happen to be one of the chosen recipients of all the extra cash -- like government bureaucrats, bankers who are “too big to fail” or federal contractors feeding at the taxpayer trough.

And if you are not one of those chosen recipients?

Not to worry. Your congressman will send you food stamps in exchange for your vote.

Did I tell you that you can now use those food stamps to purchase $35 per pound slabs of organic, grass-fed Kobe beef and free range escargot at Whole Foods?

Do see where I’m going with this?

Whole Foods can sell a lot more Kobe beef for $35 per pound when the Federal Reserve prints money and hands it out to their hand-picked constituents.

And the rest of us chumps who still work for a living?

We’re stuck paying the same bloated prices.

Sucker.

That’s exactly how I felt as I slurped down the first of my thumb-nail-sized raw oysters here at Portland’s Dan and Louis Oyster Bar.

I mean, would you pay $3 to $4 for a midget oyster?

Who does that?

Me. Apparently.

Sucker.

I love my oysters.

It’s about the experience more than sustenance. When traveling to the coastal nooks and crannies of this great country of ours, nothing says seaside fun like a bucket of oysters.

From the placid shores of the Chesapeake to the shade of a Gulf Coast live oak hammock to the wind swept coast of Oregon, oysters bestow a sense of place on the half shell -- a salty shot of the ocean in every slurp.

Oysters are obligatory here in the Pacific Northwest where they have been harvested for the better part of two centuries.

And Dan and Louis Oyster Bar is the obligatory place to try them.

Established as a tiny bar by a local oysterman in 1919, Dan and Louis has old school charm and new school prices.

I almost fell out of my chair when my waiter told me a half dozen oysters on the half shell would set me back $22.

Attempting to justify his Bernanke Bubble price tag, the waiter went into a lengthy genealogical discussion of the oysters I was about to pay almost four bucks a piece for.

Farm-raised in the Hood River Canal, these oysters are sustainable, humanly treated, personally blessed by Pope Francis, yada, yada, yada.

I knew Oregon was the home of craft beer.

But craft oysters??

Yeah. That’s what it sounds like. Pretentiousness has no bounds in Portlandia.

Of course all this was confusing to an East Coast Suit like me.

Back home, when you order oysters, for $30 you get a big old bucket of muddy oysters pulled out of the local waters -- along with a handy oyster knife and a pitcher of Miller Lite.

No one would think to ask “what kind” of oysters.

An oyster is an oyster. And $30 will get you about three to four dozen.

Oh, and where I come from, the bigger the better. Right?

Not on the Left Coast.

Here, it seems the smaller the oyster, the more you have to pay.

My four-dollar-a-piece oysters were so tiny they almost slipped through the tongs of my fork.

That being said, these itty bitty dudes packed a lot of flavor.

My tiny farm-raised Hood River Canal $4 oysters were both saltier and sweeter than their wild East Coast brethren.

Less briny and sandy and more of a pure taste of the ocean, I was glad I splurged for an Oregon “craft oyster”.

Worth $4 per slurp?

Hell, no.

But at least I could say I tried them.

Now that that was over, it was time to order some actual food.

Unlike their itty bitty cousins, fried oysters actually qualify as real food because they are drenched in flour and, well, fried.

For half the price of my raw oysters, I got a plate of gigantic oysters covered in a thick tasty breading.

Bigger oysters. Breading. Fried. Real Food. Half the price.

I was so confused.

Are these oysters that get tossed in the fryer somehow inferior to the Pope Francis blessed nibble-sized oysters?

Maybe. But all I can tell you is they were delicious.

A glistening crispy coating and a zesty remoulade dipping sauce brought out the sweet salty flavor of these ginormous oysters.

I also had to try Dan and Louis’ version of Oysters Rockefeller.

Again, these were decent sized oysters, this time topped with a leaf of spinach and a touch of cheese browned in the oven -- just enough to add some excitement without distracting from the star of the show.

But my oyster feast still wasn’t done.

The most famous dish on Dan and Louis’ menu just might be the oyster stew.

I ordered it with a double order of oysters.

Of course.

I was glad I did. A simple broth of cream, butter and seasoning, the double portion offered up an oyster in almost every bite.

Lacking any distracting -- but tasty -- additions like bacon or onions, this simple stew let the oysters shine through.

I was already sixty bucks invested at this point -- and still hungry.

That’s the problem with eating oysters. Just because they charge you an arm and a leg for them doesn’t mean they count as real food.

My wallet was crying for mercy while was stomach was growling for more.

I solved that problem by ordering a couple cups of chowder, a specialty of the Oregon coast.

The clam chowder turned out to be the highlight of the meal. Creamy, thick and hearty, my stomach went straight from growling to crying “uncle” after just a few spoonfuls.

Loaded with clams, bacon and potatoes, this was filling soup.

The salmon chowder was even thicker, if that is possible. Smokey with generous chunks of pink salmon, I was glad I gave it a try.

Of course it would be a crime against man and nature to enjoy an afternoon of good Oregon oysters and chowder without good Oregon beer to wash it down.

In fact, I’m pretty sure the beer part of the “oysters and beer by the sea” experience is what makes it so enchanting to me.

Come to think of it, I could say the same about all my favorite life’s experiences. But I digress.

As anyone must expect, a famous oyster bar in Portland, Oregon like Dan and Louis offers up some nice local craft beer.

I started with the Alameda Klickitat Pale Ale, a local beer that is dark and hoppy without the braggadocio of an IPA.

It was a nice start, but the Ninkasi Total Domination IPA is what I came to Oregon to drink -- the type of manly, flavor-packed brew Portland is famous for.

Despite the good brew, I was a little let down that the lively and social original 1919 oyster bar up front was packed.

So I was relegated to my grandmother’s living room.

Well, not exactly.

But that’s what the more spacious back dining room reminded me of.

Built in 1937 to look like a ship’s interior, the main dining room is plastered with little pewter tea saucers and nautical knickknacks.

Portholes backlight artistic renditions of Oregon oystermen of yesteryear hauling in their catch.

Grandma’s seaside clutter and ambiance might not have been so depressing if the dining room wasn’t so empty.

A bunch of drunk guys singing in an Olde English brogue “Fifteen men on the deadman’s chest, Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum” might have livened the place up a bit.

Then again, maybe I’m glad there were no Eighteenth Century buccaneers dining with me. They’d have staged a violent mutiny when it was time to pay their tab.

Mine came to $92 for two beers, a few oysters and a couple cups of chowder.

Holy crap!

I felt ashamed as I paid my tab.

Ashamed because I was suckered into coughing up a Benjamin for some shellfish?

No. Ashamed because I realized I’m contributing to the very Bernanke Bubble Economy I rant about.

Oh well. I guess I’ll have to go drown my shame in a couple pints of $7 Oregon craft beer.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Razor Clams and Other Weird Attractions of Portland, Oregon

Fuller’s Coffee Shop
136 NW 9th Ave.
Portland, OR





Portlanders are a strange demographic of Americans.

Liberal? Oh yeah.

It seems like every other vehicle on the I-5 is a Pius with an Obama sticker.

Are you kidding? Where I come from, if you spot an Obama sticker, you have to assume it was placed ironically.

The county where I live gave Obama just 27% of the vote. And, trust me, he hasn’t gotten any more popular.

Imagine that percentage if an actual REAL Republican had challenged Obama.

Portland also has a light rail system that Portlanders actually use. Weird.

Unfortunately every semi-pro, AAA minor league mid-sized city in America is trying to thrust money-sucking public transit on its taxpayers using Portland as a shining example of success.

Trust me, it won’t work anywhere but here.

Remember, Portlanders are weird. Uniquely so.

Portland is also one of the most “homeless friendly” cities in the country. Not surprisingly, you can’t go one block downtown without being accosted by some drugged-out beggar squatting on the side walk.

Build it, and they will come. Indeed.

But besides mass transportation, beggars and strong coffee, Portlanders also have a good appreciation for quality food.

Fuller’s Coffee Shop downtown is a perfect example.

Everything at Fuller’s – from the omelets to the fried seafood to the hash browns to the toast – is top notch with an exquisite attention to simple comfortable culinary detail.

None of my Suit757 trips to Portland are ever complete without at least one meal at this 65 year old institution.

A throw-back to simpler times (before taxpayer subsidized hybrid cars and needle exchange programs), Fuller’s is a nostalgic oasis. A big mural on NW 9th Avenue depicts a scene of content customers dining at Fuller’s counter from a long ago distant era.

Happily, not much has seemed to change.

Folks still come here to crowd around the serpentine lunch counter or the couple of sidewalk outdoor tables for the best breakfast and coffee in town.

Of course, if you’ve been paying attention to this website, you know Suit757 doesn’t drink anything but beer or water.

So, sorry, I have no idea whether the coffee is any good…but one can assume.

Thanks to the utter incompetence of Continental Airlines, it had been nearly 24 hours since my last meal. And it was no longer breakfast hours.

To make a long, sleep-deprived story short, instead of arriving in Portland at 2am Eastern Time, I ended up in Seattle at 3am, drove 150 miles and got to my hotel at 6am.

After a couple hours of shut eye and two meetings, I was ready for lunch. After all, it was 2pm, according to my biological clock.

By far, Fuller’s most unique lunch offering is fried razor clams.

So unique in fact that I don’t recall ever seeing them on a menu anywhere else. And Suit757 has perused a lot of menus in his day!

Razor clams are a local Pacific Northwest delicacy not for the squeamish. I mean, these babies aren’t those little thumb-sized dudes you get on the East Coast, where you can slurp them down after quick bite and a swallow.

Nope. You’re going to get a little more intimate with your clams when you order razors.

First of all, they are Jurassic-sized – up to half a foot long! You have to break out a knife and a fork to eat these babies.

While by no means chewy, Fuller’s razor clams put up a bit of tooth resistance. You’re not going to just slurp these down. There’s no bypassing getting your taste buds acquainted with their clammy flavor.

Fortunately, that’s a good thing.

Coated in a soft, pillowy seasoned batter, Fuller’s razor clams offer up a unique taste of the sea. Fried seafood perfection.

My three or four clams were served on top of a generous bed of freshly cut French fries. The good kind with the potato skin and all.

The cole slaw and tarter sauce were excellent also.

No attention to detail at Fuller’s is ever missed.

For example, every meal at Fuller’s – even a carb loaded lunch plate like mine – is accompanied by toast.

But not just any toast. Not the kind of toast Suit757 normally tosses aside in search for real food.

That would be a mortal sin at Fuller’s.

I have no idea what makes the toast here so good. Maybe it is the dense sweet bread Fuller’s uses. Or the fact that they paint every crevasse and all four corners with a generous brush of real melted butter. Or the fresh fruit preserves they provide on the lunch counter.

Gourmet toast? Who knew?

Most shocking of all was the amount on the check. Single digits for all this great food!

No doubt about it. Portland is an odd place. But amid all the panhandlers (both those screaming at you from the sidewalk and the more subtle Obama voters) as long as the sign outside Fuller’s says “Open”, at least I know I won’t go hungry. Or broke.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Hummers, Hummus, and Guaranteed Hangovers

If there’s one thing folks in the Pacific Northwest know, it’s how to get completely obliterated – and how to have fun getting there.

While you may have to do some driving to locate some local greenery, at least the directions are clear.

And chances are that no matter how small of a town you’re in, they’ll have a local microbrewery that serves several very well-made craft beers.

After all, what other area of the country celebrates Craft Beer Month?


After a couple of business meetings in Klamath Falls, Oregon and a trip to Crater Lake to check out that national treasure, I had worked up quite an appetite – and a strong thirst.

I was also feeling good and ready for some celebration. My meetings had gone well. My rental car company had run out of lame cars, so they grudgingly handed me the keys to a PHAT Hummer H3 with three or four Priuses still stuck in the grill.

On the way back from my adventures, I saw exactly what I was looking for -- the Klamath Basin Brewery Company. I immediately pulled in and got ready to get it on with the locals.

The brewery is actually a converted warehouse and factory that at one point made ice cream. They’ve kept some of the previous company’s logos solely because they look cool.

The interior of the bar is 100% brewery – not sports bar. While there’s a couple of sports team pennants and a handful of TVs, this place is solely about the beer.

There was a band playing outside called Fat Sexy that was pretty good, but I opted for a seat at the copper-covered bar which gave me a nice view of the TVs the glass-enclosed brewery tanks, and the huge chalkboard that listed the brewery’s beers.

They have about ten in total – and American puke beers have been given the shaft. Coors Light was the only one I saw on tap. And the “King of Beers” is served only in bottles from a dinky fridge under the counter. They probably call you a loser if you order one.

I started off with a "Drop Dead Red" – a strong dark amber – while I looked over the menu.

The prices weren’t bad and they had a nice list of different steaks, sandwiches, burgers, pastas and salads. They also do patrons the service of suggesting beer pairings with each dish.

My choice was the Garlic Hummus appetizer.

It’s a cup of hummus with garlic mixed in, kalamata olives and olive oil. It’s served with toasted pita bread sprinkled with garlic salt.

And it’s mighty tasty. The salty garlic flavor went very well with the beer.

The only problem was that I didn’t realize I would be spending the rest of the evening with this dish. No matter how much beer you drink, that garlic flavor does not go anywhere.

Believe me. I tried.

In my quest to soak away the stink emanating from my mouth, I tried two more of the Brewery’s beers.

The second was "Buttcrack Brown" which smelled way better than your average buttcrack, but I imagine it's still probably a favorite of the local homosexuals.

I also really liked this beer. The best part was a nice toasted-almond aftertaste which went really well with my garlic breath.

The third beer I tried was the "Crater Lake Amber Ale" which is the kind of beer that could get you in trouble. It’s a red, but a very mild one that goes down really easy even in the middle of July.

I had one or two more of these. Or three or four.

Well, more than one and less than ten. Somewhere around there.

The prices were pretty good for a microbrewery too – about $3.50 or so per pint.

I chatted up another business traveler at the bar who always hits this brewery whenever he’s in town. He tells me this is by far the best food and beer in town.

I believed him. But when you head out Klamath Basin Brewery Company, make sure you have a couple of pain relievers for the next morning.

The only thing that will last longer than that garlic taste will be your hangover.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying a Shirt.