Voodoo Doughnut, or life in the hole

There are two locations -

Voodoo Doughnut: 22nd SW Third Ave, Portland, OR
Voodoo Doughnut Too: 1501 NE Davis, Portland, OR

They say at Voodoo Doughnut the magic is in the hole, but what they don't tell you is that the area around the hole should be treated with love too. So don't go rushing in. Enjoy what you are about to be given. Every city has its places with a cult following - the pig out joints, the family favourites, the eateries that have been there since time began, and the drunken stumble that satisfies those food urges that you can only have at three o'clock in the morning after many, many drinks.

I've no doubt that 'Cat Daddy' (a.k.a. Kenneth) wouldn't thank me for describing Voodoo as a drunk hangout, but his two outposts are open twenty-four and twenty-one hours respectively so at certain times of the day, it's inevitable! I met the Cat at his newest venture, Voodoo Doughnut Too, which is out of downtown Portland in the residential north-east quadrant of the city. Opened at the start of this year on the fifth anniversary of trading, by a thousand person parade, you can't miss it, even if you wanted to. It's hot pink - always an eye catcher - and the interior is a kooky mix of schoolroom tables, coffin shaped sofas, pinball machines and blazing techno music. At certain times of the year, weather permitting, the Cat has held rock concerts, drive in cinemas and lets not forget that you can also be legally married there. That's right. Marriage vows and doughnuts. With a raised eyebrow and flaring nose I thought - after all, why not? Then came the stories of various doughnut related contests - a classic eating contest as well as a 'how many doughnuts can you stack on your penis' contest. "The official record is four", Cat told me "but one guy had five. He was disqualified for having a pierced appendage."

You should be able to discern that this is a very 'different' place. At times it feels as though the owners (the other being an unmet Trase Shannon) go out of their way to be deviant (before deciding upon doughnuts they considered, among other things, a vintage car tour of Portland, or a mother-in-law babysitting service). If you want to open a business, why be boring? Yet as fun and exciting as all the paraphernalia is, there's no point in titillation without the end product. This was a major concern to the Cat. "I had a background in bars, hotel management and the service industry" he said "but had never done any full scale culinary work. So the first thing we had to do was find out how to make doughnuts." Seems fair, I thought. They set out for Los Angeles, California where they learned how to handle a rolling pin and when to throw the flour, before returning to Portland. Here they refined, adapted, created and spun their own designs to create the signature Voodoo collection. They also tried a myriad of oils to be more 'healthy' but eventually Cat simply though "Sod it, it's a doughnut. It's supposed to be bad for you." Amen to that, brother. The rest, as they say, is history.

They were schooled well. I opted to try the classics: a simple glazed doughnut and an iced chocolate doughnut. If these were not right, I thought, what hope was there for the 'triple chocolate penetration', the 'butter fingering' or the 'cock and balls'? Of course, they were right. Slightly chewy but as soft as a baby's behind. Not too sweet, but sweet enough. I could have done three more, put it that way. I felt a little staid but well over fifty percent of doughnuts sold at Voodoo are the classics. Yet MORE evidence that people want simple food, done well. And in any case I was given a 'maple bar with bacon' for my travels and a more adventurous frame of mind.

All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable hour. The man had a dream and he's realised it. But a warning: even the seemingly timeless doughnut is not immune from global economic fluctuations. "Last year, the price of a sack of flour tripled." Cat mentioned, looking uncharacteristically serious. "If we can get Voodoo Too through the next six months, we'll be fine." Cue much gulping and difficulty on my part. Not sure what to say. I suddenly saw bank managers making aggressive phone calls and the Cat losing his innate cool. But then, the product is so good, the reputation so strong and the trail to the door so well trodden that there will always be people who want an old-school, fun, cheap date. I'll be taking the woman. And if you ever come to Portland, make sure you do too!

Unless you are a woman, in which case take your man, obviously!

Snow at Simpatica

You know things are hairy when your plane lands and everyone starts clapping. As we touched down into Portland, Oregon for Christmas at the in-laws, the visibility was so poor that we didn't know we were on the ground......until we were on the ground. Oregon is currently experiencing the biggest snowfall in forty years, which as far as I'm concerned is utterly wonderful and beautiful. It's re-igniting childhood fantasies of sleds on powder-soft snow, or giant snowmen with coal for belly-buttons.

I've eaten some great food since I've been here. Getting to Sel Gris was in itself a mission - cars in the Pacific Northwest are not designed for freezing rain and fifteen inches of cold snap - but once there it was well worth it. Being one of only five tables that had braved the weather to meet their reservations, the kitchen had plenty of time to produce excellent food for us. The place describes itself as 'bistro-style' which I would query - the waiting staff were far too formal to be 'bistro' and the food, although interesting, was much more contemporary than I would expect of a bistro affair. My Lyonnaise Salad was deconstructed to the extent that the wonderful braised, smoked bacon was placed on the side, and poached duck egg was served on top of some warmed Frisee. The signature French salt was a fantastic touch on the egg. Don't get me wrong - it was delicious - but to my mind, not bistro. The place borders on becoming pretentious, and I've no doubt that head chef Daniel Mondok has deliberately kept a leash on his creative instincts as he is aware that great food is ultimately very simple. Technically, the food was brilliant. The flavours were great. But for me - and I must stress that everyone else at the table loved the place - it didn't feel entirely whole.

At the other end of the scale is Simpatica. This was a dining experience that I enjoyed thoroughly. Christmas Eve brunch - a rare hanger steak, eggs over easy and a celeriac gratin - was utterly fantastic. The beef had a beautiful flavour and was tender although very bloody and the gratin was an inspired variation on the classic gratin dauphinoise. But the real clincher about Simpatica was the setting: the basement of an industrial warehouse, kitchen completely open, cooks in jeans and t-shirts, waitresses with big hearts and relaxed smiles. It felt somehow more real - and less forced. It felt as if someone was cooking purely for the love of cooking and letting the ingredients, many of them smoked and cured on the site of Simpatica's sister enterprise Viande Meats & Sausage, speak for themselves. It could have been the early morning bloody mary, but I felt utterly at home.

This is a key concept about good food. You must feel at home. If you're cooking for friends, cook what you crave, not what you think is expected. Don't go overboard - or do, if that's what you want. Take it easy. Relax.

A good book that puts this idea far more succinctly than I was given to me yesterday as a gift. It's called Roast Chicken and Other Stories. Give it a go if you get a chance.