The most Portland meal that Portland has ever Portlanded

There's a skit comedy show on cable called "Portlandia." It's in its fourth season. We own the first two on DVD.

Somewhere along the 5th or 6th episode, Rob and I deemed the show a documentary. While laugh-out-loud funny, each skit has an impressively astute foundation of truth about life in a town whose heartfelt motto is to keep the place weird.

We love living near but not in Portland. Woodhaven is close enough that we can go visit but far enough that it feels like we have entered a parallel universe of hipsterness decorated with bowties, sleeve tattoos, and mason jars.

Last week we went into Portland to see a concert (Steely Dan ~ the first time I have ever smelled pot in the Schnitz Concert Hall).  Always looking for new food, we scouted out a restaurant within walking distance of the parking garage AND the concert. Our find got good reviews and had enough meaty, gluten-laden options that we decided to give it a try. Little did we know we were going to be in an episode of "Portlandia."

Mind you, we weren't literally in an episode. I mean, there weren't cameras or sound guys around. But after ten minutes of waiting in the lobby, I started to look for them.

The restaurant was called The Picnic House, self-described as "Picnic-inspired dining in the heart of downtown Portland." Yeah, I don't really know what that means either. But it sounded novel. And like it might include a red checkered table cloth or at least a crisp Rosé. What I didn't expect it to mean was grass on the walls.

We had a lot of time to look around...and take pictures. Although we had reservations and arrived a couple of minutes late due to traffic, we waited at least 20 minutes before being seated. We...and everyone else lingering in the lobby with a tree trunk hat rack...were told that it would be a few minutes because tables were being bused. This as we spotted at least a half-dozen unoccupied tables, set and ready to be peopled. The hostess's song and dance had that feeling of trying to convince us the restaurant was very busy and that we were lucky to get a table at all.

Our table -- ready for us when we walked in -- was stuck in a corner behind two other tables and a lamppost. The hostess, us, and our waiter had to shimmy between purses to get to the table. As Rob gazed at the lamppost hugging the table next to me, he observed, "I think we're in Narnia."

I was wearing my fun hipster glasses and suddenly felt like I was mocking the wait staff. They were all very retro-hip with suspenders, bowties, oxford shoes, and piercings. I'm pretty sure Rob and I were the only ones in the place without tattoos.  The whole place felt like a caricature of an already delightfully exaggerated town.

After the wrong bottle of wine was delivered to the table (in over 20 years of ordering wine in restaurants, that was a first), I gazed at the fake birds scattered about and then noticed a bagpiper on a unicycle ride past the window. When I mentioned this to Rob, his first response was to ask, "Was he dressed as a Stormtrooper?" Because, you know, Portland. (Check out the Unipiper here.)

As we waited somewhat patiently for our food and drank our wine -- whose label had a bird on it -- we amused ourselves by eavesdropping on the table next to Rob. It was a table of four and there were issues. Lots of issues. The waiter kept coming back with more dishes and apologies. Something had gone terribly wrong, so the kitchen tried to make it up to them with a free plate of Brussels sprouts. Personally, I would have preferred dessert but, well, Portland.

Dinner finally done and our concert time uncomfortably near, we summoned the bill. It was delivered tucked in a book of poems, sonnets, and ballads published by Harvard. How precious. We had Volume C. Rob serenaded me with "The Battle of Otterburn" (author: Francis Child) as I got ready to head to the restroom.

As I washed my hands, I noticed something was missing. Naturally, I took a picture.

And then I decided to take this one since it was the only way to make sure I had properly placed my lipstick.

Perhaps it was the restaurant's way of trying to make a point about vanity and how we all just need to be comfortable in our own skin, regardless of what may or may not be on it.

Or maybe the restaurant is still looking for that perfect mirror with bears wearing monocles etched in the corners. Because, obviously, Portland.

The restaurant's logo/mascot/Facebook profile pic