Putting Boda in the same category as the rest of Portland’s Thai restaurants is like equating grandma’s from-scratch Sicilian with greasy-good college town pizza. It’s a matter of ethnic authenticity.

Boda's exquisite bitter melon soup

The Thai food at Boda is simply – well – unAmerican.

And in this case (unlike Arizona’s hideous new immigration law) – it’s a good thing.

Boda’s menu doesn’t cater to the sweet-craving American palate the way 95% of Thai restaurant menus do. I challenge you to find another Thai restaurant in Portland (or in Maine for that matter) that serves bitter melon soup stuffed with minced pork.

Oily and aromatic with sesame overtones in a savory broth, the soup provoked my tastebuds like little I’ve tried before or since. It awoke areas of my tongue I didn’t know existed! A remarkable balance of flavors, it played the role of appetizer to a “T” – kicking my hunger into overdrive.

And it killed with a crisp martini.

We started the meal with the soup and an obligatory grilled skewer (the house specialty). The list ranged from pork belly, to king oyster, to asparagus wrapped in bacon. Not much of a skewer fan (I just don’t see the point, really), I found the shiitake version a tad underwhelming. The teriyaki seasoning tasted predominantly of soy and the nicely roasted mushrooms just seemed lonely on that skinny stick. The accompanying pickled onions were tasty, but did little to perk up the dish for me.

I turned back to the soup with its acerbic bouillon and spoonfuls of bean thread noodles and was happy as a clam until the entrees arrived.

My tilapia with herbs in a banana leaf conjured memories of mountainous rice terraces and thick jungles. Earthy, like a cauliflower, the fish was dense in a way that tilapia rarely is – buoyed by a bed of cabbage, shallots and hearty mushrooms. Cooked in a bevy of spices (chili, Thai basil, lime leaves, lemongrass, lemon basil, garlic) — it was heaven for the senses.  Aromatic steam released the moment I pierced the leaf and it wafted through the rest of the meal. I alternated bites of meaty fish with balls of sticky rice dipped into a puddle of spicy lemon basil broth. Sheer perfection.

Tilapia with herbs in banana leaf

While not at the level of my fish, Adam’s Thai chicken wings were fun to eat (gotta love messy finger food) — piping hot and doused with chile. Each bite into the spicy carmelized skin revealed hints of vinegar and fish oil in equal amounts. An accompanying pile of uninspired daikon and carrots lacked a strong pickled flavor, however, and did little to cool the wings’ heat.

Full at this point, I began to rethink my anti-skewer stance and wish we’d leaned more toward the lighter dishes and tapas. Fried taro sticks, Thai Northern-style sausage and Kanom-krok quail eggs all sounded just brilliant. Ah well, next time.

Boda’s atmosphere blended mod and rustic. Rough pine tables and floors mixed with cement walls and platinum and glass drop lights. Service was earnest and knowledgable. Our server was dead right with each insight and suggestion.

My one quibble with the environment is the large television hanging over the bar in the back dining room. Tuned to a reality show and set a bit too loud, IT was very American indeed.

Blogger’s Note: This post is the sixth in a series of Thai restaurant reviews being conducted — and posted on the same day — by a group of Portland bloggers and writers. For other reviews, check out Portland Food Map.

Po' Boys & Pickles' Sign stands out on Forest Ave.

She just couldn’t believe Maine could produce an authentic version of the Crescent City’s beloved sandwich and neither could I, really. (Raves from my colleagues here, here and here not-withstanding).

Although I’ve snacked on my share of this New Orleans’ staple post raucous nights of zydeco dancing and Hurricanes, I felt ill-equipped to make a qualitative verdict without some native perspective.

After a phone call tutorial (more like a “dictatorial”), I had my list of the “Three Key Elements on Which to Judge a Po’ Boy”) and I was ready to get down to business.

First, the list:

1. Fresh French bread. Foremost and vital. According to my friend, the bread must have a thin, crisp, parchment-like crust and a fluffy light center. “Its gotta be firm enough to withstand the moisture when doused with sauce, but not so heavy that a doughy bread flavor dominates the fillings,” she said. Although not an extreme purist (someone who insists on New Orleans-baked bread – preferably from the Leidenheimer or Gendusa bakeries), she warned me not to be lenient with “any ole’ hoagie roll.”

2. Stuffed to the gills with the main ingredient. Whether fish, fried oysters, fried shrimp, sausage or roast beef, the sandwich must not be greasy and must not be skimpy, she emphasized.  ‘If you ain’t pushing it back in, you ain’t eating a po’ boy.”

3. Dripping in sauce. Whether plain mayonnaise (or MAY-NEZ, as she pronounces it) or gravy on the meat versions, or homemade tarter or remoulade in the fish versions, the po’ boy – if it’s dressed – “must be dripping, tangy and have a bit of heat.” A “dressed” po’ boy simply means it has sauce, lettuce and tomatoes. Apparently, “un-dressed” po’ boys do exist.

So, how did Po’ Boys and Pickles stack up?

Very, very, very well. But, alas, not perfectly.

The Bread:
While fresh, crusty and close to the vital po’ boy style, the bread didn’t quite hit the mark. Perhaps my friend’s hoagie warning rang a bit too loudly in my ears, but the self-contained roll (instead of a “sliced off the loaf” roll) seemed sorta “sub” like.

My blackened fish po' boy was tasty if not perfect

The Fixin’s:
My blackened fish and Adam’s Debris (roast beef) both were stellar. Flaky fresh with a slight heat, the fish was well-prepared and plentiful. Slow roasted and nicely spiced, the beef was piled high and very tender.

The Sauce:
My fish dripped with a super-tasty roasted pepper mayo instead of the expected tartar sauce and – frankly – was all the better for it. A river of it flowed down my arms as I ate. Adam felt the horseradish mayo was a tad tame for the spiced beef, but I liked it fine. It didn’t ooze out in the same voracious quantity, however.

Other Eats:
A shared Golden Fried Oyster Salad gave us the chance to sample the fried seafood. While the cornmeal crust was tasty, Adam and I both felt the oysters (and the salad in general) was way too dry. Perhaps the mayo in the oyster po’ boy would overcome this weakness. The mesclun mix, green beans, shallots and blue cheese dressing failed to moisten up the breaded shellfish even a little bit.

A toffee bread pudding was – in a word – killer. Too stuffed to eat in the restaurant, we carted it home and fought over the too-small portion. I’ll definitely go back to try the fried shrimp po’ boy, the gumbo and my very own order of pudding.

A call to my friend with my assessment yielded a stunned pause, and, finally, “A good po’ boy in Maine. Well, that’s almost enough to make my grandpa roll over in his grave.”

Seems Po’ Boys and Pickles will be quite the story down in Baton Rouge.

Peanut butter cookies from Scratch Baking Co.

I’m telling you, it was epic. Brow furrowed, I hunched over my laptop, punching things in and erasing — sweating over “most romantic restaurant” and “best pizza” as if my opinions meant life and death.

I almost gave up. I mean, best pizza for when? Grabbing a bite on the go (Micucci’s)? Late night after too many martini’s (Otto)? Hanging with friends (Flatbread)? Snuggling with my honey (Bonobo)?

THIS foodie town requires sub-categories! Practically every query required considerable thought.

Except, that is, the category “best cookie.”

You may disagree, but that one was easy for me. Bigger than your average bread plate and stuffed with whole peanuts, the peanut butter cookie from Scratch Baking Co. in South Portland is hand’s down — without a doubt — the best cookie in town. Toasty warm, firm but pliable, and bursting with flaky, buttery goodness, this cookie truly is lovin’ from the oven.

Now, this is not to say that great baked goods can’t be found all over greater Portland. Rosemont Market’s Guinness cupcakes and Standard Baking’s gingerbread and chocolate corks, for example, are wonderful in their own right.

But cupcakes and corks are not cookies.

Consider this a throwdown? I (and my thighs) defy you to tell me of a better cookie around!

Otto Pizza is a First Friday Art Walk must

It goes like this: Leave the office at 5 pm. Stroll through Whitney Art Works and MECA. Check out what’s at Space. Pop into Otto and grab a slice. Devour it while ambling over to Portland Museum of Art. Peruse the first-floor special exhibit. Stop for a martini at Norm’s. Continue on to a few West End galleries. Settle in for a beer at Blue and listen to some music. Pop into Otto again (they are open until 2 am!) for another slice (or two). Go home.

I’m tellin’ ya, it is the perfect Friday evening. And the visits to Otto are a critical part.

I love standing in the tiny alcove of a pizzeria, enveloped by the smell of baking dough, and peering over Adam’s shoulder at the pie options displayed in an orderly row. The four nightly choices are always yummy and interesting –  sweet Italian sausage with roasted red pepper; spinach, feta, plum tomato and Genoa salami;  mushrooms, caramelized onions and fontina cheese;  sliced potatoes with scallions, bacon and fresh herbs.

I could go on.

Thin with a crispy crust and oily overtones (in the good, NYC-style way), Otto’s pies are just what Portland needed on Congress street in the heart of the Arts District. Give my itinerary a try next month. Or, comment back with your own First Friday food agenda (or Otto Pizza story)!

BFFs Dan and Shelley dig into Duck Fat fries

Watching someone bite into a Duck Fat fry for the first time has to be one of my favorite repeat food-lover moments. The pause. The stunned stare. The look of rapturous joy that accompanies such a pure guilty pleasure. And, finally, the statement – “that is the best freakin’ fry I’ve ever had in my life.”

Not to say that everything else at Duck Fat isn’t wonderful. It is. The duck confit and meatloaf paninis deserve thunderous accolades, as do the super-creamy shakes (especially, for me, the coffee one), but the fries are, without a doubt, the stars of the show.

Crisped to perfection in the thick grease that gives this little bistro its name, the fries are then lightly sprinkled with a peppery spice mixture, scooped into a paper cone and placed in a spiral metal holder. The heaping, steaming pile of love comes with a choice of dipping sauces. While the Thai Chili Mayo has earned top spot in my heart, the Garlic Aioli and Truffle Ketchup have their merits, as well.

Sigh.

Well, I’m off for a run. Gotta prepare for another day of gastronomic celebration.

Adam grooving on the cob at El Rayo

The tortillas should have been pan-crisped (or a least warmed). The meat in the pork taco was a tad dry (although the fish taco was moist perfection). And, the tops of the stools were so tiny it was like sitting on a pin (even for Adam’s teeny, tiny tushie).

But all was forgiven when I bit into the corn on the cob. Oh. My. God.

Grilled and coated with chipotle mayonnaise and cotija cheese, this was not my mama’s Midwestern side dish. Savory, sweet and oozing with cheesiness, I powered through the cob in a heartbeat. Called “edible crack” by El Rayo regulars, this corn sticks in your mind even more than it does on your teeth.

Case in point: when I spied it on plates at the 20 Mile Meal, I made a beeline for the long line snaking out from El Rayo’s table. I didn’t want to get too full on other things before I’d had my cob.

It’s that good.

Expecting microscopic bacon bits floating in my frappe, I sat back in my seat in shock when the waiter plopped down the glass. A thick sprig of meaty bacon grew out the top like the sprouts on a well-tended chia pet. I started sippin’ and the crisp strands sank into the nutty cream below — perfectly distributing salt into the sweetness.

I set my half-eaten sandwich aside (not that the jerk chicken wrap wasn’t tasty) and concentrated solely on the shake. Across the table, Adam was smackin’ his lips over his own strange mixture, the Sherry Baaaby, a blend of vanilla ice cream and Sandeman’s sherry.

Also on Silly’s shake menu – The Bees Knees, with honey, graham crackers and cinnamon; Twist & Stout, vanilla ice cream with Guiness; and Key Lime Pie, with a whole slice of pie blended in.

Micucci's Front Entrance on India Street

Not to say the guys behind the counter don’t have attitude. A paper plate inked with a thick sharpie warns that patrons best not ask for a reheat of their slice (the pizza comes out when it comes out. If it has been sitting there for 20 minutes, well, that’s your problem), and a recent query by a fella about purchasing “just the dough to make pizza at home” was greeted with a scoff and an eye-roll.

But the attitude is well-earned.  Snag a slice right out of the oven and your eyes will roll, too – only in a good way. Bubbly hot cheese and flecks of herbs mingle with a sweetly spicy tomato sauce that conjures up visions of Sicilian grandmas stirring steaming pots. Lines for the pie get long (especially on the weekends), but once you’ve had a slice you’ll line up like a good soldier time and time again. Trust me.