Shrimp are popular the world over. Many devoted eaters even save the tails and shells of shrimp for stock or broth. The shrimp's strong swimming stomach is what most American's are familiar with. But rarely, in this country at least, do we see a shrimp’s head, much less eat one. 

Recently, at a dinner at Simpatica Catering and Dining Hall, I had the chance to enjoy this delicacy. Usually discarded long before consumption, eating whole shrimp is messy, but the head alone is worth the extra napkins.

Simpatica hosts formal dinners Friday and Saturday nights. It is not a walk in restaurant, but a reservation-only dining hall, a serious foodie haven. Each menu is its own entity of mostly Northwest fare, planned individually and served by course.

It has taken me years to fall in love with the egg sandwich.  As a kid, I barely even ate eggs and loathed most sandwiches.  I could not comprehend why someone would combine the two.  The sandwich, as I saw it, was no more than a poor excuse for a real meal, and eggs were only edible when smothered in enough cheese to mask all their taste and texture.

The first time I enjoyed an egg sandwich myself was New Year's Day, two-thousand and one. Two friends and I sat in front of a chain restaurant too prevalent to bother naming, and inhaled sausage, egg and cheese on croissants.  Breakfast had not even been my objective in the short ride, much less a breakfast sandwich, but our driver bought me one anyway, and I was unable to refuse.

A cold, January dawn met us in that east coast parking lot, unforgiving and cruel.  It was close to eight in the morning, and still none of us had
slept. With no leaves on the trees surrounding the strip mall, the wind tore through the car, inhibited only by conifers and weak human architecture.  In my hands, destiny.  Still drunk but sober enough to know it, I was crossing a great barrier: I was loving an egg sandwich.

“I just try to do everything a little bit different,” says Ed Wiszowaty, owner of Eddie’s Pizza.   “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

When Ed first arrived on the Portland food scene in the early 1990s, he was following in his family’s footsteps.  Born of Chicago pizza restaurateurs, Ed introduced his own style of pie by way of a cart in Skidmore Market.

At first, he was unsatisfied.  The bottom crusts of his creations failed to achieve full crispiness in time with the melting mozzarella, leaving customers with a pile of soft cheese and dough.  But a stone oven — how pizza is typically made — is too heavy to lug around in a cart. 

Let’s face it: Portland is a foodie city.  Even a good drunk desires a solid meal, no matter if the drop ceiling is falling in the dive around the corner.

Your bartender can be tattooed in all the wrong places with a voice like a broken combine, so long as those russet tots come fresh out of the fryer.  The steer that died for your burger ought to have lived a decent life, and a local cheddar should grace what’s between that made-fresh-this-morning bun.

ADVERTISER UPDATE
The beef short rib is a tasty cut of bone-in meat.  Popular wherever cows are a prevalent food source, this fatty delicacy is especially good when slathered in teriyaki and hot sauce.

Located near the chuck, forward of the belly and south of the midline on the cow, the short rib, or 'flanken rib' as an old style butcher would say, refers to the last three little ribs and strip of meat on the animal.  The thin, Korean, or kalbi, cut is tender enough to be barbequed, and cooks fast. 

Kokiyo Teriyaki, at 8537 N Lombard St., is right in the heart of things, and chock full of meat.  Upon arrival, one cannot help but notice there is a border of cocks along the walls – that’s roosters to you – and the immediate smell of garlic and ginger.  Booths are filled with happy customers, some waiting for their take-out, others already enjoying a hot, simple dinner.  The interior is immaculately clean and neat, the tables covered in warm yellow clothes to match brightly painted walls.