LePigeon

Last night, as I was sitting on the back of Jason's bike drinking a cold vodka and sparkling lemonade with some fresh picked raspberries floating on the top (in a travel coffee mug), I decided that I would probably sell my last item of clothing to pay the babysitter in order to have this experience. A deep blue Oregon summer sky and a cool evening breeze carried us through the East side to enjoy an actual date, yep folks, that's right, a night on the town without our two little munchkins in tow. I think the night could have ended right there- with a bike ride for which I was providing none of the sweat and energy to propel us forward- but then we arrived at LePigeon. If you want to be fancy you can say Le Pigeon with an affected French accent like "Le Pi-gyon," which I find much more fun. Jason keeps telling me that all the cool kids in town just say it like anyone on the West coast would say Pigeon and add the "le" for effect.

Thanks to some Christmastime generosity of friends we had a gift certificate to Le Pigeon. Le Pigeon is one of those restaurants that folks describe as New York meets San Francisco but in a uniquely Portland way. It is a place where you make reservations to sit shoulder to shoulder next to strangers at the same long table, or, as in our case, at the bar. And the bar is really not a bar at all, but rather the kitchen itself with its copper hoods sitting like a king's crown on top of fiery burners. While we munched on our cheese plate that had organic goat's milk cheeses from Spain to Oregon we watched skilled, but friendly chefs perform their art and talk to us at the same time. Chefs at LePigeon have won awards such as "Best Chef 2007" from Food & Wine, but for me the true test is what goes in my tummy. Nicked named "Bones" and "Top Shelf," our chefs were intense in their focus and their rhythmic motions making them seem part musician, part artist, and part creative genius. "Top Shelf"'s forearm, tattooed with a butcher knife and vines, never stopped moving as he spooned oil in circular motions over Jason's piece of halibut. With his head thrust forward under the copper hood and his face set with determination, he attacked every dish with an intensity that I envied. What would it feel like to care about something so much? To make such beauty both in process, in presentation, and in consumption that only lasts for a moment on the plate is an art that seems ephemeral like music.

Jason ordered Blood Pudding for an appetizer which, in case you are wondering, is just that ...pig's blood. And the scary thing is it was unbelievably good. All this was just a drum roll, though, for my meal which was PIGEON! I was a little worried that maybe Venice was getting a bit fed up with their pigeons in San Marcos square and maybe had entered the business of selling fat, tourist fed pigeons to unsuspecting foodies in the Pacific NW. But all my fears were abated when I took that first succulent bite. Putting aside any thoughts of nasty little birds eating the leftover lunch of a homeless person, I bit in with gusto. I can say that the little guy, complete with his feet sticking up in the air (which Jason ate) met a good end in this excellent restaurant.

So, while we were finishing up our meal on some Lavender Panna Cotta that tasted like some pure form of my favorite scent, who should start snapping pictures in the restaurant but a photographer from Gourmet magazine. I briefly considered tossing my hair, flashing a smile, and then throwing myself at her feet begging for a job.

http://www.lepigeon.com/