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Rosie's
Boulangerie
1406
SE Stark St., 232-4675. Open 7:30 am-3:30 pm Tuesdays- Fridays,
8 am-noon Saturdays. Closed Sundays and Mondays. Moderate.
Picks:
Ravioli dolci with pears and candied ginger.
Nice
touch: Really good coffee that's brewed with espresso beans
but "long-style," like the expected American cup.
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Fine, upstanding citizens are beginning to raise eyebrows.
You see, there is an aromatic façade in the Southeast
Buckman neighborhood that has been inspiring neighbors to
wake earlier than usual for a chance to sink their teeth into,
wrap their tongues around, fondle and squeeze something divine.
Goings-on this prurient, this lascivious, in an otherwise
wholesome borough, must somehow denote French involvement.
Indeed, centers of fulfillment such as this are known throughout
French villages, and now in our very own Buckman, as les
boulangeries. A scandalous word! And how very strange,
wouldn't you agree, that boulangerie sounds a little
like "lingerie"? Except that, lest we confuse our carnal
pleasures any further, a boulangerie has almost nothing
to do with undergarments; instead, it is a simple neighborhood
bakery. Certainly no cause for the pulse to quicken.
Or isn't it?
If I say longtime Portland chef Rosie Lindsey's boulangerie
is aromatic, then you must visualize the smells wafting
through its modest, four- or five-person entryway and out
onto Southeast Stark Street to be cartoonlike in nature.
Think of a Tom and Jerry episode in which the house
mother, whose face we never see but who glides through her
kitchen with ease and humming glee, takes a fresh-baked
apple pie out of the oven and sets it in the window to cool.
Ahhh. The smell (we can see it!) drifts into the
back yard and tickles a sleeping Tom's nose, lifting him
high into the air and carrying him to the pie-laden window.
Yes. That is basically the same smell that emanates from
Rosie's. But there are two factors that set it apart from
a cartoon smell:
1) Unlike Tom, who was smacked down with a broom handle
just for following his nostrils, I have actual dollar bills
in my pocket that allow me to purchase whatever Rosie has
in store each fine, scented morn, without fear of animated
annihilation.
2) The smell I'm sniffing is probably not a simply drawn,
mother-made apple pie but rather something more artistic,
more European in nature, like one of Rosie's trademark ravioli
dolci ($3.50), a perfect square of unleavened pastry filled
with nothing more than small pear slices and a spoonful
of candied ginger. I have smelled and been cajoled by the
breakfast ravioli for several mornings in a row now.
These are uplifting morning pastries because their focus
is, surprisingly, not on maximum sugarification.
Ripened pears are naturally sweetened--they don't require
a syrupy coating. Of course, candied ginger employs refined
sugar, but because of its potency the mix is used sparingly
in each roll. Also, the pastry itself eschews the cocoonlike
crust of refined sugar, a lowly technique evil pastry chefs
rely on to hide a mediocre crust stuffed with unseasonable
fruits. Rosie's ravioli dolci plays a finesse game: It's
just sugary enough to tickle the morning sweet tooth, mellow
enough so that you can actually taste the pears.
Besides the smell and the perfectly understated
sweetening, Rosie's Boulangerie warrants a visit to indulge
in the tempting craftwork of butter and salt. Her savories--the
quiches, the tartes, the sandwichlike chaussons--are out
of the oven before noon, and each is a finely crafted work
of culinary pop art.
Sad fact, though: Putting your hands on some of the best
treats and curios Rosie has to offer can be an elusive experience
in the late afternoon. If you are a random walk-in, you
are left to the day's remains--sometimes there's plenty,
and sometimes the display case is sparse.
Recently, around 2:30 pm, I scored the last remaining chausson
au ratatouille ($4.25), a soft, semi-thick bread pocket
filled with seasoned eggplant, bell peppers, zucchini, tomatoes
and onions. One bite later, I was moaning the moan that
justifies any expenditure on edibles. Had there been two
chaussons available, I would have bought both. I was left
yearning.
And so walk-ins may never fully experience the potential
of Rosie's Boulangerie in the same way her budding core
of epicures do, many of whom call days in advance to order
an entire tarte aux pommes de terres ($32). This
dense-crusted pie is rich, substantial and, quite honestly,
a candidate for any meal of the day. It has eggs and cream,
so it is breakfast. Thin slices of pancetta make it lunch.
Finally, two layers of filling red potatoes give it enough
weight to represent for din-din.
As a rule, all of Rosie's pies share a crust that is sturdy
but light, heavy on butter for fortitude but mixed with
just enough ice water to maintain a flaky outer layer. If
you never buy an entire tarte yourself, hope there is a
slice available when you visit.
Rosie's Boulangerie will gain in popularity in the coming
months because quality baked goods are, of course, in high
demand during the holi-daze. And smell travels fast, too.
At this point, Rosie's Buckman neighbors have been rousted
by their noses to see what the seductive aroma's all about.
Soon the fuzz will be by to make sure things are on the
ups.
It's just bread, everybody. Relax.
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