Billy Reed's
2808
NE Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd., 493-8127.
Lunch 11 am-4 pm Monday-Friday; dinner 4-11 pm Sunday-Thursday
and 4 pm-midnight Friday-Saturday. Moderate.
Picks:
Potato pancakes, Richmond pork chop double-cut, spicy bloody
mary
Nice Touch:
Geodesic-surfaced bar top that conducts the flow of warm
water in the winter months and cold water in the summer.
There are a half-dozen compelling stimuli in Billy Reed's
restaurant, the new hot spot in the old Standard Dairy building
on Northeast Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, that have
nothing to do with the food. In the few months since its
opening, this renovated warehouse has evolved into a full-fledged
sensory extravaganza where you can indulge in live
music, pool, televised sports, Internet service, big arty
murals of ruminating quadrupeds and warm, cozy granite bars
to snuggle up to for a drinky-winky.
Wednesday nights in March are particularly auspicious:
Rhythm-and-blues vocalist Janice Scroggins performs in a
little room that she practically has to herself. The sound
system is loud, and her sweet Scroggy voice can be heard
and appreciated from all corners of the spacious warehouse
facility. Though the dining room is cavernous and carries
the music well, the tall-backed, hardwood booths--built
with recycled wood found in old Portland shipyards--provide
a makeshift intimacy for those wishing to ignore the overt
temptations of the many stimuli.
The menu at Billy Reed's follows along with the atmosphere,
offering an expansive, something-for-everyone collection.
Indeed, this message is espoused so literally that most
dishes are partnered with a geographic name to describe
their sensibility. Grandma Peter's crispy potato pancakes
are a walloping appetizer with the personality of a starter
served somewhere below the Mason-Dixon Line. When they hit
the table, they explode as visual dynamite: Two man-hand-size
grilled patties of flaky, shredded 'taters are folded over
a bulbous mound of creamy, Southern coleslaw. Potato pancakes
are easily disturbed, and more often than not, ordering
these delicacies can result in discs that are a peaked yellow
on the outside and contain loads of undercooked spud mush
on the inside. But the Billy Reed version pleases with its
crunchy bronze skin and half-inch girth.
The potato pancakes run wide, thick-bordered circles around
other starters. The fritto misto appetizer, for example,
offers an under-portioned, though sufficiently tender, handful
of deep-fried calamari, scallops and shrimp and has none
of the audacity of the spud cakes.
The kitchen plays an enterprising game of contrasts with
the entrees: A macho Tennessee hamburger flips its finger
at the delicate California tuna salad; the Fargo meatloaf
sandwich holds ground against a New Orleans seafood sandwich;
Wyoming wild game presents a sobering challenge to the Kentucky
bourbon chicken.
More so than the Chicago poultry or Baker City sirloin,
the Richmond pork chop double-cut is a Gila monster of a
meal. It is served on a large, white-rimmed platter, with
a sharp, wooden-handled steak knife jutting out the side.
It is a particularly masculine event. Double-cut in this
case means a pork chop 4 inches thick. The slab is then
blackened on the grill with ground pepper smeared into the
skin, maybe even a little citrus to keep it sticky.
The meat is quite savory on its own, but the more noticeable
flavors of the dish come from the juicy apple cranberry
chutney that's poured all over the top and sides, slowly
seeping into the little piles of cut vegetables and au gratin
potatoes that accompany. There are pieces of diced garlic
and bacon in the chutney that further rev up the yowza quotient.
It is a dish best eaten slowly and in more than a single
sitting, though it's tempting to try to devour it in just
one.
Moving a few hundred miles to the southeast of Richmond,
the Raleigh chicken and biscuits is another hard-rockin'
meal at Billy Reed's. It stars two light and fluffy homemade
biscuits whose chief purpose is to help sop up the flour-thick
gravy covering the darkly deep-fried white meat. This chicken
dish comes with the same pile of sautéed veggies
as the pork chop, containing, among other things, some succulent
nuggets of acorn squash.
Of course, the problem with these hugissimo portions
is that it's tough to include dessert in the night's action
plan. You might attempt to halt progress on your main course
before the tummy starts to bulge, but don't beat yourself
up if you fail to self-moderate. Perhaps you should make
a separate trip to Billy Reed's to indulge in the ice-cream
nachos, a mountain of frozen vanilla glace and chocolate
chip cookies.
Without even considering dessert, a night at Billy Reed's
is a filling proposition, garnished with leftovers for second-day
sandwiches. This restaurant extends a new trend in Portland
(yea!), where portions grow, prices shrink and a restaurant
experience means more than just a meal.
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Willamette Week | originally
published March 15,
2000
|
