Daddy Mojoâs (1501 NE Fremont St., 282-0956)
is the closest Portland will ever get to a Detroit bar. At least, this
is what an enthusiastic Motor City friend tells me while touting the
sports diveâs menu of crawfish, meatloaf and sushi. All available wall
space at Mojoâs is mounted with flat-screen TVs sporting basketball and
footballâthat is, when itâs not taken up with framed and autographed
photos of retired Belgian tennis star Kim Clijsters; the owner is a fan.
Heâs also a sushi chef, but nonetheless held onto the soul-Cajun
recipes heâd bought from the barâs founder, which range from jambalaya
to racks of ribs. Meanwhile, a sawbuck at happy hour will net you a
massive spicy-catfish maki roll thatâs a lot tastier than youâd expect
in a bar with $2.25 domestic beer and a $3.50 cheeseburger and fries.
Still, the menu can be haggled with. âSix days,â says the bartender,
Noriko, to one of the longtime regulars. In six days, on Super Bowl
Sunday, she planned to make him off-menu prime rib and lobster. Perhaps
it was a consolation prize; he keeps losing sports bets to her. Later,
one of the other regulars tells me about the Super Bowl where Terry
Bradshaw played through a concussion. If this is what bars are like in
Detroit, I have a $500 house Iâd like to buy.
WWeek 2015