Back in 2007, after a three-decade run in the neighborhood, the previous tennant of this beige-brick building, Music Millenium, packed up its dusty LPs and CDs and consolidated to the east side. Album sales were plummeting. Silicon Valley disruptors were pecking at the recording industry's carrion. And music-streaming millennials were spending a bigger slice of their entertainment dollar eating out than any generation before. Rumors of a restaurant replacement were almost instantaneous.
If for no other reason, then, The Fireside would be remarkable as an almost too-perfect embodiment of America's shifting spending habits.
In the end, it took six years for the building's owner, Northwest Portland real estate mogul Dick Singer, to land a suitable tenant. From its inception, The Fireside attracted neighbors with its playful cocktails and inviting happy hour. But the restaurant didn't fire up local food fans until August, when Singer, along with co-owners Wendy Hessel and Sue Erickson, brought in a fine-dining ringer, chef Jake Martin, the final chef at Genoa and Fenouil.
The Fireside has clearly struck a chord. On weekend nights, the dining room clamors with the kind of 20- and 30-somethings once found at a Music Millenium in-store. They're here, perched on comfy brown bar stools or sitting at wood tables under what we're told is an acid-etched painting of deer in a burnt out forest. They're never far from one of two large fireplaces, one behind glass, the other squatting under a matte-black hood modeled, perhaps, on the Apollo spacecraft's lunar module adapter.
And while we found friendly service, lively ambience and nicely balanced cocktails, we also found a rustic-refined Pacific Northwest menu with more misses than hits.
The Fireside
Rating:
Cuisine and scene:
Think of a lumbersexual's lounge -- playful cocktails, rustic-refined Pacific Northwest food and a pair of cozy black fireplaces.
Recommended:
Soft-boiled egg with bacon aioli, confit duck legs, drinks and dessert.
Vegetarian friendly?
Roasted vegetables, salads and a chickpea-panissa among the mains.
Sound level:
Cacophonous.
Beverages:
Cocktails, wine, beer, cider, house and bottled soda.
Price range:
Snacks, $3-$5; small plates, $7-$13; big plates, $16-$25; desserts, $8-$10.
Extras:
Reservations for six or more, major credit cards, on-street parking, handicapped access.
Serving:
Lunch and dinner, Monday to Saturday; brunch, Sunday.
Details:
801 N.W. 23rd Ave. (503) 477-9505
Mostly, those misses involved inconsistently cooked vegetables, a frequent, unwelcome presence across two recent dinners (we also returned for drinks and snacks). Al dente rapini criss-crossed a scorched steak. Hunks of firm rutabaga huddled with too-tender carrots next to a luscious lump of braised lamb shoulder. Tough Brussels sprouts came with soft butternut squash in a cool skillet. "I've never eaten raw Brussels sprouts before," a companion joked. We eyed the next dish, a salty mussel-chickpea stew, with healthy suspicion (it was fine).
We returned a few weeks later, hoping for more luck at the bar, and mostly found it. Erickson's cocktail program is interesting and approachable, with drinks like the Walk in the Woods, a woodsy gin drink with lemon, cider and pine liqueur, garnished with rosemary, or the Green Mountain Pirate, a rum daiquiri variation mellowed with maple syrup. (One gripe: The cocktails are mostly served in stemless glasses, leaving wet streaks wherever they land. I watched our neighbors spend 30 seconds wiping moisture off the bar with their hands before putting down their iPhones.)
Yet even here, the kitchen couldn't seem to hold its focus. We were enamored of the halved egg on a smear of mild bacon aioli, the soft, orange yolk speared by small, crunchy potato chips -- this is a drinking snack worth seeking out. But the long rye crackers with their jar of thick fromage blanc were heavy going. And an overlarge bowl of mostly crumbled beet chips were badly in need of both better curation and some sort of dip.
Still, the menu's bones are strong, and fans of Martin's previous work will find things to like. The smoked trout and lightly pickled beets with apple and frisee sit on the edge of a shallow bowl, arrayed in a curve, like an ornate choker, that reminded me of eye-pleasing presentations at Genoa. A perfectly-cooked, if under-seasoned salmon, served with savory leek, reminded me of the fine fish at Fenouil.
Star rating
The Oregonian uses a star system for its restaurant reviews, with ratings ranging from zero to four stars, reflecting the critic's opinion of the restaurant's food, service and ambience, weighted toward the food.
But, as it turns out, Martin isn't long for The Fireside's kitchen. While reporting this review, The Oregonian learned he would soon leave, to be replaced, internally, by Jason Blair, a former Chef de Cuisine at The Woodsman Tavern. Martin's menu will remain in place.
If I were to revisit The Fireside, it would most likely be for the desserts. One recent evening, as a group of post-pubescents in suits (but not ties) knocked back Moscow Mules under a chopped-up illustration of early Portland, we dug into a wooden board of messy-good s'mores, all gooey marshmallow, rich chocolate and salty chocolate-graham base. Just as good were the crunchy, irregularly shaped churros, served with a smear of eggy custard and a glass of nutmeg-dusted milk punch in place of hot chocolate.
None of these issues are likely to put a dent in The Fireside's nightly din. When the location is right, Portland's dining public seem more than happy to support even up-and-down endeavors like this one.
At least, that is, until someone figures out how to digitize the hamburger.
-- Michael Russell
