PORTLAND’S CULINARY ISOLATIONISTS

The plane climbs from the dry brown geometry of Los Angeles into and above the clouds. They solidify to a billowy tundra as though we had pulled the ground up after us, then melt into mist as we drift down, across the Columbia River and into the soft rolling greenness of Portland. It is like a drink of mountain water. How thirsty I have been. . . .

And hungry--for Olympia oysters on the half-shell or very briefly sauteed in butter with the thinnest possible crusting of flour. And for salmon just out of the cold northern waters. Poached or grilled or baked until barely set, there is nothing better on this Earth. But I seek without hope. Restaurants do not shine in Portland. There is none of the cult madness afflicting the other Pacific Coast cities. “In Praise of Culinary Isolation” was the stiff-upper-lip title of a recent article by Karen Brooks, restaurant critic for the Willamette Week.

There are glimmers, however, small, but strengthening. Tiny restaurants, muffled in odd locations, have steadied to the point where reservations can be difficult. They are mostly chef-owned and the chefs are skilled and aware of what is happening elsewhere. A culinary academy has been established. I suspect the isolation is about to end.

As usual, the young chefs are showing the way. Karl Schaefer, chef-owner of Le Cuisinier; James Van Buren, chef-owner of the Echo, and George Tate at the Heathman Hotel were the brightest lights I came upon in a recent visit, guided in my out-of-state blindness by Karen Brooks. (One should be skeptical of the whirlwind analysis of reviewers from somewhere else. “We like best that to which we are accustomed,” says my friend, Robert Lawrence Balzer, and our chauvinism is apt to show at its worst in tasting the efforts of others.)

At Le Cuisinier the chef does all his cooking in an open kitchen about the size of a closet and the dining room is scarcely larger than the kitchen. The walls are painted in soft burgundy and white, hung with Monet prints. We had a beautifully clear, intensely flavored smoked pheasant soup with excellent noodles; lovely little Belon oysters propagated in Washington; a delicately smoked pork called Lachsschinken with perfectly ripe melon; a superb filet of Alaska king salmon, sauteed, with dill in the velvety beurre blanc. Sweetbreads were crisply glazed in a rich reduction, wild rice was improved with almonds and pine nuts, and broccoli was perfectly finished. The meal called for the indulgence of an admirable Grand Marnier souffle.

Schaefer is a graduate of the American Culinary Institute, to which he added valuable experience at Le Perroquet, Chicago. He has contrived a practical menu listing five basic ingredients--Oregon petrale sole, breast of chicken, beef tenderloin, etc.--to be prepared according to the whim of the evening. He achieves the admirable simplicity of integrity, the rarest of cooking virtues. This was our most satisfactory meal, one I would be glad to come upon anywhere.

Le Cuisinier, 1308 Burnside St. (503) 224-4260.

The Echo, only slightly larger than Le Cuisinier, keeps a lone vigil in a night-deserted shopping center. The room is pleasantly plain, but the menu strolls off into cute names and promises of disconcerting elaboration--which turn out to be somewhat unfair to the quite superior preparation. We were able to skip without pain the Slow Tango in Paris--escargots with walnuts, tarragon, Pernod and cream--in favor of Tartar Too, a suave interpretation of beef tartare, served with a tiny, sliced loaf of bread, and, ignoring its title of Couquille & Me, excellent little scallops in a dill sauce.

A hearty bean soup with crunchy vegetables and a well-constructed salad with a fine, down-slanted dressing arrived mercifully untitled, accompanied by excellent fresh croissants. Dungeness crab legs--another of my hungers--were laid in a rosy cluster with tarragon in the sauce, and were fine, although wild rice seemed an inappropriate accompaniment. A rack of Oregon lamb was beautifully rare, and the light mustard-herb sauce did no harm. A strange vegetable turned out to be rhubarb marinated in honey, ginger and paprika, with sweet marinated onions.

Van Buren is another graduate of the Culinary Institute. His menu is very brave in this conservative city, and, according to Brooks, his dedication extends to butchering his own meats and smoking his turkeys. But this admirable endeavor is weakened by his insistence on quirky embellishments, although sense to some must be admitted, and none, at least in our experience, was actually harmful. Still, I have no regrets at missing Soignee-Fried Brie Cheese with Honey and Kiwi.

The Echo, 6175 Lombard Ave., Beaverton. (503) 643-5252.

The Heathman Restaurant seemed much improved over an earlier visit when innovation was heavy-handed and not really innovative at all, undeserving of the wide-eyed awe with which it was presented. Also, unreasonable as it may be, I continue to associate dining rooms with lofty dignity, and this one seemed too consciously ordinary, like a rich man driving a Honda instead of a Mercedes. But I forgave everything when I ordered Sichuan blackened salmon with citrus beurre blanc --mostly because I could not believe it--and found it excellent. It was neither blackened nor Sichuan--black pepper did not really justify the description--but it was as fine a salmon as any I discovered in my quest.

They also did nicely with a juicy rendition of Oregon free-run chicken, and catfish responded well to careful handling and a dark sauce with mushrooms and cilantro. The smoked salmon, which is quite different in Oregon--smokier, juicier, served in thicker cuts--was exemplary.

All the restaurants served Oregon wines and, although we moved blindly through a list of unknown names and made no great discoveries, it is another reason for optimism. Good food is found in wine countries, Waverley Root said many times.

Prices seem wonderful to an Angeleno. Most ranged from $20 to $40 for two, with $60 the outside high (food only).

The Heathman Restaurant, Southwest Broadway at Salmon Street. (503) 241-4100.