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After taking note of the tiny sign marking Fenrir's entrance on Southeast 11th Avenue, one climbs narrow, winding stairs into a converted apartment with white walls adorned by knickknacked shelves and black-line paintings of wolves. Take care not to accidentally stumble down the hall into the kitchen upon hitting the upper landing—turn right, not left.
Everyone who works there is an owner: John James Dudek runs the front of the house, Tyler Hauptman does wine, Ian Wilson makes the food. It's a charmingly let's-team-up-and-fight-crime approach to starting a bar and small-plates restaurant. It's easy to feel at home here, as Dudek happily narrates the provenance of the bronze bust of a toddler that has somehow eerily remained in the space since before 2nd Story opened, and the Norse myth of the ravenous, man-eating wolf-god Fenrir, who remains locked away beneath the earth so it won't devour us all.
But though it opened in spring, the place still feels like a work in progress, with the menu sometimes bearing only glancing similarity to the food that's ultimately served. The trout was a no-show on multiple visits, and the mussels played peekaboo. The vegetable salad was listed with warm yolk and breadcrumbs, but came out as a lovely little medley of julienned trombone squash and heirloom tomato in basil oil ($8). The halved beef-shank marrow ($12), meanwhile, was listed with parsley but plated with radicchio and mustard seed, which struck a fine balance among acid, bitter and fat. The thick-marrowed bones, however, were painfully hot to the touch.
The main dishes are ambitiously off-grid. And as with a lot of true eccentrics, they sadly often don't succeed. The roast pork belly ($16) arrived as a slab atop grim decorative smears of inky shallot ash, with a tender interior but up to a quarter-inch of charcoal on its outer husk. The pork skin noodles ($14) were interesting in concept but not really in execution, arriving limply in a cat dish of thin broth. And the raw lamb salad came two different ways ($14) on two visits—first with radicchio, then with a mountain of frisee. In both, the lamb played the role of extra, while dark half-crisp breadcrumbs dulled up the greenery.
The humbler dishes, however, are touched with simplicity and homespun care, and these are almost uniformly excellent: a buttered vegetable side with haricot verts and squash ($5), house-pickled mackerel in dill sauce ($4), oysters in mignonette made from Commons Farmhouse Ale ($6), and a varied bread selection with housemade salted Jersey butter.
And the drink program is terrific, with a generous wine list and cocktails reaching back to well-regarded obscurities like the Vieux Carre ($10), the blackstrap-and-falernum Corn & Oil ($8), and the Japanese Cocktail ($8)—the last a character-filled mix of brandy, orgeat, bitters and lemon. Brandy is a hallmark of Fenrir; it's one of the few places in town to offer brandy flights ($15), which pair beautifully with the cheese plate ($14).
So far, patrons seem to be sticking with Fenrir's strengths. On recent visits, the bar was full, loud and happy, with the small dining rooms less well-attended. Even with a culinary experience up and down enough to cause whiplash, it's hard not to leave without a certain affection. The tucked-away spot could be a beautiful hideaway—simple small plates, excellent drinks, convivial atmosphere—if they could just leave that raw lamb and pork skin for the hungry wolf in the basement.
- Order this: Stick to the light left side of the menu: pickles, cheese plate, mackerel, oysters, vegetables.
- Best deal: The $15 Armagnac flight. Delord 25-year? Yes, please.
EAT: Fenrir, 2005 SE 11th Ave., 400-7883, fenrirpdx.com. 5 pm-midnight Wednesday-Saturday, 5 pm-10 pm Sunday.
WWeek 2015
