I brought my little family back into Canada late last night after spending the better part of July adventuring south of the border.
Along the way we ate at countless restaurants, cafes, food carts and roadside diners (recommended by some of the worlds greatest Twitter followers), cutting a gigantic spoon-shaped swath of excess across the entirety of the American West. The trip, undertaken in our VW camper van, took us through Seattle, Astoria, Portland, San Francisco, Berkeley, Morro Bay, Los Angeles, Barstow, Kingman, Moab, Salt Lake City, Boise, and so on back to Vancouver. It was a delicious, totally self-indulgent safari, one that saw us dining at some of Americas most iconic establishments and nibbling through a hundred small towns, the names of which were lost to us as soon as they disappeared from the rear-view mirror.
But as we waited in line at the border-crossing last night, I was glad that the journey was coming to an end.
Though I was certainly yearning for my own bed and the many ancillary benefits that come with not having to drive 400 miles before nightfall, it was my work that I missed most of all. When the border guard asked if I had anything to declare, I wanted to say that I had missed the atmosphere at Chambar, the food at LAbattoir, the service at Bishops, the cocktails at The Diamond, the ramen at Motomachi Shokudo, the Main St. Farmers Market, the food carts of downtown, and the myriad other things that make my job so much fun. Because if the journey had taught me anything, it was that from the low end of hot dogs and authentic Neapolitan pizza all the way to the high end of sushi and relaxed fine dining, we really are living in one of the best food cities on this side of the Continental Divide.
That is, of course, a wholly subjective opinion, but its not cheerleading. After meals at some of the West Coasts most legendary and talked about restaurants (Chez Panisse in Berkeley, Animal in LA, for examples), I didnt come away covetous of them in the least. Only Portland made me the least bit envious.
Oregons biggest city may stand astride the West Coast like a food-lovers colossus, famed for its food carts, its fondness for high quality ingredients, its cocktail bars, its large number of neighbourhood restaurants, and most important of all: the discerning tastes and appreciations of its people, but Vancouver is no slouch in comparison.
If a citys customers make its food scene more than chefs (and I believe they do), its in this realm that we have a major leg up. Our metro populations are roughly the same (in the region of 2,300,000 apiece), but fully 42 per cent of Vancouverites are visible minorities and Portland is known as the whitest city in the United States (a staggering, Rockwellian 73 per cent white).
That stat doesnt exactly translate into a whole bunch of apple pie and turkey dinners on Portlands trendy Mississippi Avenue, but it does follow naturally that our food scene is far more diverse. In the realm of Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Thai, Italian, and other cuisines, we have them beat hands down.
Still, what makes Portland a better, more exciting food city is the way it is governed by an open minded, permissive sensibility. Ive said this before and Im happy to say it again: the only things standing in the way of Vancouver being one of the greatest food cities in the world are our civic and provincial governments. Modernizing ancient, culturally-constricting zoning regulations and fixing our (still) ridiculously Draconian liquor laws are the silver bullet.
To wit, if I wanted to open a 60 seat bar that served food in my neighbourhood of Strathcona, it would probably cost me a million dollars, give or take, plus unbearable taxation on my health, sanity, and patience.
Since new liquor-primary licenses are nearly impossible to get (we see more eclipses and comets), Id have to turn to the black market (Craigslist), where they sometimes appear selling from one operator to the next for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
But even if I were lucky enough to snag one, Id never get permission from the City to build a bar recessed in any residential neighbourhood, no matter how close it was to the downtown core, so my efforts would be an exercise in pointlessness. Id most likely be directed instead to the Granville Entertainment District, aka the biggest civic disaster since the (unplanned) Great Fire of 1886.
In stark contrast, if I wanted to open it on a neighbourhood high street in Portland, Id be welcome to. Whats more, Id be all-in and on my way with requisite permits and licenses for less than $1000.
Sigh. Things have been changing for the better in recent years, but the pace has been unnecessarily glacial.
The legislatures baby steps in changing the way alcohol can be served (and transported, yawn) has been appreciated, and the City inviting food carts back onto our streets was a step in a very positive and appreciated direction, but the root problems still have not been addressed.
The task, I fear, is too much. Our operators remain tied up in dizzyingly Byzantine and cost-prohibitive red tape, so much so that its nothing short of astounding that were so damn good despite all the adversity and dysfunction. To imagine them unleashed like their Portland cousins is a dream, but oh, what a beautiful dream!
