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BY JEAN WENZEL |
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Fusion 4100 SE Division St., 233-6950 Lunch and dinner Tuesday-Saturday, brunch Sunday. Credit cards accepted. Picks: Red curry mussels in coconut milk; grilled portobello mushroom with caramelized onion and sour cream; Fusion burger Nice Touches: Authentic Portland, no nasty corporate aftertaste; you can eat your meal while sitting on the vintage furniture if you promise to be good.Eight or nine years ago, Fusion would have opened on Northwest 21st Avenue. That was before Zefiro and Wildwood ratcheted up culinary expectations and rising rents nudged out local bookshops and pharmacies, sending restaurateurs with vision but without titanic budgets off the Northwest grid. Instead, Fusion shares a parcel on Southeast Division Street with a Maytag repair shop and the Tropical Fish Hut. You're not likely to happen upon Fusion while making the scene, although nearby neighborhoods further west on Division and Clinton streets show evidence of encroaching cool. Fusion is a dicey choice for a name. A catchall first applied to post-nouvelle world cuisine, it now serves as a rationale for meandering menus unburdened by any purpose other than to parlay every possible trend into cash. Here, however, it describes a bistro fused with a vintage housewares store. It might just as well be called Kismet. Owners and bargain hunters Patricia and Billy Hahn put together the restaurant's kitchen for a song. Eight years ago Patricia lucked onto a set of 1950s white globe lights in mint condition; they blend seamlessly with the original blond-on-black linoleum tile floor and the oak soda fountain, which has been in place since the building opened as a drug store in 1946. Now the pharmacy's closed, and deuces and four-tops are pushed up against window seats with faux-leopard cushions. Inner tables are a mismatched collection of retro dining sets so groovy it's hard to choose where to sit. The Hahns resist all offers on the furniture in the restaurant's dining area; it's not for sale, but everything at the back of the room is tagged for trade, including lamps, mirrors, pitchers and vases. Step into the '50s living room (or '30s or '40s--turnover is speedy), order a glass of wine and test drive the couches and end tables. They're priced to sell, so you may end up with dinner and an easy chair. Fusion's menu is a work in progress. Chef John Schuberg, veteran of McCormick & Schmick's and the Lotus Cardroom (talk about fusion!), is well within his ken, trying things out and finding what works. This isn't Genoa, and you won't eat as they did in Big Night, but by themselves the light meals are satisfying and civilized. The daily hot plate special might be penne with smoked salmon in creamy lemon-dill sauce or a stuffed pork chop with homemade applesauce. Red curry mussels come in a huge pile, garlicky and steamed in coconut milk, white wine and a touch of red Thai curry--a simple, elegant dinner. Mesquite-grilled Jamaican pork tenderloin, served cold, is fanned over a South-African chutney of dried figs, apricots and golden raisins, and drizzled with a gritty, porter-moistened jerk spice. The rich pork and reduced fruits call for a cooling, astringent side dish, but not the black-bean salsa provided--something like a Thai papaya salad in lime sauce would be better. The light meals are fine, but Fusion tends to omit a starch. The pork tenderloin could use a nutty pilaf or rizcous; the portobello mushroom starter calls for crostini; and the need for big hunks of bread to dip in the luscious steamer base of the red curry mussels seems obvious. Fusion has good bread, but you need to ask for it. Sandwiches include bread, of course. Among them are mesquite-grilled chicken with avocado, tomato and bacon; smoked ham and Swiss with mango chutney; and a Thanksgiving dinner of a sandwich with house smoked turkey and cranberry compote. Among the starters is a grilled portobello sliced like a steak and served with caramelized onion and sour cream--perfect. There's also baked brie with sliced apple, roasted garlic or spicy romesco tapenade, and hummus with pugliese bread. Most everything at Fusion is downright simple but so good: the spicy marinades, mustards and preserves; the French chevre; the caramelized onion; the mesquite wood smoke outside in the fresh air. Leave room for dessert. The hot caramel sauce atop Fusion's ginger-pear bread pudding is super sweet, but that's OK when it's deliciously cut by the mild bread, custard and fresh pear. A huge nut brownie with chocolate sauce and chocolate whipped cream is an addict's fix--order a glass of milk to go with it. Chocolate pot de crème is daintier, a perfect amalgam of chocolate and cream like a fresh bonbon. This isn't communion; if your companion begs a taste, the answer is no. Like the menu, the wine list is limited but well chosen and described. A palette of beers, from pale ale to porter, all jibe nicely with the food. Fusion's furnishings are fun to look at, the shopping's good sport, and the staff is accessible and genuine. In the evening, mirror table tops are stripped of their white paper, and votives in little chandeliers sparkle like dangling earrings. It's the kind of place where you can wear that little find of a cocktail dress made the same year Fusion was built. It's no match for the corporate-sponsored extravaganzas that have elbowed into the city's restaurant scene, but Fusion is very Portland: quirky, funky, aiming to please and right at home.
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