New-fangled fish and chips at Big Fish in Kennebunkport.

Best thing in a bun: The blackened fish po’ boy at Po’ Boys and Pickles. Massive pile of seasoned New Orleans style whitefish stuffed in a crusted French bread bun — oozing roasted red pepper mayo and Cajun coleslaw. Perfection.

Best tubular bakery item: The chocolate cork at Standard Baking Company. Essentially the world’s most awesome dense chocolate cake packed into a portable, palm-sized tube. A “to-go” cocoa rush.

Best new take on a classic: The fish and chips at Big Fish in Kennebunkport. Tempura-fried ahi crusted with pepper and crunchy panko crumbs. Hand-cut shoestring fries crisped to a golden brown and dipped in hoisin ketchup. Killer.

Best booze named for a dead British actor: The Rathbone Sour from John Myers at The Corner Room. Brilliant at all things cocktail, the mix master has outdone himself with this one. Ingredients — basil muddled in ice, a dash of lemon juice, gin and — the kicker — St Germaine Elderflower Liqueur.

Best reason to stay overnight in Camden: The pork breakfast sausage at The Hartstone Inn. Cumin-spiced sausage patty the size of a fist wrapped in thick, juicy slices of applewood smoked bacon. Seriously. Made by James Beard Award finalist, chef Michael Salmon.

Best thing to squirt in your Latte: The liquid “crack” at Scratch Baking Co. in South Portland. Espresso and sugar boiled down into a gooey simple syrup. ‘Nuff said.

Best noggin’-sized breakfast pastry: The cinnamon roll at The Good Table in Cape Elizabeth. Steamy fresh, the size of my head and wafting with fragrant sugar and spice.

Best drink in a plastic-coated paper cup. The What’s Shakin’ Bacon shake at Silly’s. Thick sprigs of meaty bacon sprouting from peanut butter creaminess. Picture a well-tended chia pet. A mind-blowing blend of salt and sweetness.

The sweet chicken wire bagel bin at 158 Pickett Street.

The Judges: Adam and me

The Battleground: South Portland, Maine — one weekend in late February.

The Weapons of Choice: Everything and Sea Salt Bagels.

The Reason: Foodies we deeply respect deemed the bagels at 158 the “best in Maine.” Yet, the voraciously happy bagel buyers at Scratch seemed to know something. Who was right? Which of these former partners did bagels best?

We were determined to find out.

Scratch: Bagels purchased and brought home for toasting:

My face scrunched in doubt when I first pulled the Scratch bagels out of the bag. They were so light. When they buckled under the pressure of the knife – reacting more like croissants than bagels – I got worried.

Once toasted and slathered in Scratch’s homemade herb and chive cream cheese, however, my fears went out the window.

Good. God. Almighty. They were great bagels.

Light and airy, yes, but intensely flavorful. The Sea Salt bagel, especially, hit my tastebuds with a savory barley malt. Smoky salt slowly dissolved on my tongue. As I chewed, the wheat and grain came alive and perfectly blended with the fluffy cream cheese that was whipped into a delicate froth. Simply marvelous.

Now, bagel purists may say that Scratch’s soft-style bagels are simply rolls with holes posing as bagels. But me? I am more a stickler for flavor than texture. And these were killer.

­

A pile of Sea Salt and Everything bagels at Scratch Baking Co.

158 Pickett Street: Eaten in the restaurant:
Bedazzled by an abundant bagel bin and the aroma of fresh bread, my senses were heightened simply by walking into 158. Tempted by the more expansive options (Scratch only offered three), we nevertheless stayed the course and ordered the Everything and Sea Salt with herbed cream cheese.

Denser and chewier with a more assertive wheat taste,158’s bagels certainly were more traditional. An interesting fact considering the common beginnings.

Piled high with seeds of all sorts – including copious amounts of sunflower – the Everything was the perfect example of what a classic bagel should be.

The Sea Salt bagel, however was a bit too salty. An herb cream cheese­­ mellowed it slightly, but I still puckered.

The Verdict: Scratch by a nose. But, just barely. Both establishments make truly fab bagels. And, If there is one thing I’ve learned, it is that bagel preferences are extremely subjective – and very, VERY personal.

Weird and wonderful flashing-eyed lobster at Viet Bangkok.

1. The authentic Pho.

2. The trippy, giant lobster mounted to the wall.

I’ll take them one at a time.

The Pho: Viet Bangkok serves a pleasant version of this classic noodle soup. Laced with roasted ginger, anise and freshly chopped scallions and cilantro, the restaurant nailed the “musts” of this Southeast Asian stable. Thin rice noodles were velvety and fresh – easy to wind around chopsticks and slurp up into our awaiting mouths. Aromatic steam billowed and curled from the light, sesame-oiled broth.

Two juicy lime slices (thank God!), a handful of cool, crisp bean sprouts, a few sprigs of Asian basil and a pile of fresh chiles waited on a side plate for our measured addition. The result – an earthy “green” flavor that epitomized tasty Pho.

Where the dish faltered a bit was with the beef. Most traditional Pho requires that rare meat slip into a hot broth for a flash boil. Our Viet Bangkok beef was pre-cooked, a tad tough, and clumped in the middle of the bowl in a huddled mass. We had to pry it apart. Not any easy feat with chopsticks.

While the Pho didn’t quite pass our strict “San Francisco” test, it was good — and a lovely surprise here in Maine.

The Lobster: Three feet long with flashing eyes that blink while you eat – what’s not to love?! The fake lobster was just the sort of wacky Asian-restaurant kitsch that makes me giggle. Our waitress confirmed that the mounted masterpiece is a native of Vietnam. Beyond that, she had no more insights. Pity.

As for the rest of our meal? Mixed results.

I was disappointed in a Basil Roll starter. Adam kinda liked it. As thick as an Italian salami, the roll featured scarce chunks of pork, scant bits of cucumber and rare sprigs of basil hiding amongst vast amounts of fridge-flavored lettuce. Not a homerun.

Tom Kha soup and basil rolls -- a mixed bag of starters.

A Tom Kha soup pleased us both with tender chicken floating in a rich coconut milk, a zingy balance of sweet and sour flavors, and fresh onions, mushrooms and galingale (a root related to ginger).

The night’s big fail was a massive bowl of Duck Masaman Curry. An overly heavy sauce drowned hapless potatoes, onions and bell peppers in a dense morass. Not one hint of spiciness managed to burst through the gloppy stuff, which was more like a burnt brown sauce than a curry. The duck itself resembled shoe leather — in both consistency and taste. Truly unappetizing.

So, my advice? Stay away from the curry and go for the Pho.

Blogger’s Note: This post is the second 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.

Unibroue's "anniversary" ales paired well with meats and cheeses.

Specifically, Belgian-style re-fermented Canadian beer sporting noir-ish labels that depict Quebecois folklore.

Novare Res Bier Cafe held what I can only describe as a seriously kick-ass, nine-beer Unibroue tasting last night. It was well worth getting drenched in the downpour.

Richard, the Unibroue rep, was cheerful, knowledgeable, and told damn good stories. Something about a flying horse and something else about a devil. Well, anyway, I truly did learn so much about these strong, (mostly 9%) award-winning ales that my head is still spinning.

Er. . .or, maybe I’m just a tad hungover (time for some Hair of the Kahn?).

Best-selling golden ale La Fin Du Monde kicked off the evening with its champagne-like effervesence. Triple wheat Don De Dieu followed right on its heels. But the evening really got swinging when the corks popped on the next few beers — Unibroue’s three, hard-to-find anniversary ales and its out-of-stock strong amber, Seigreuriale. Novare Res owner, Eric, matched these four with a savory selection of meats and cheeses.

What I (and many others) particularly love about Unibroue ales is that they pair exceedingly well with food. Balanced and full bodied, these brews have character and complex taste, yet they don’t take your tastebuds hostage (like say, a Victory HopDevil does — albeit in a good way).

Edition 2005, mahogany colored with a rich head of foam, was my favorite of the anniversaries. Paired with a Tuscan ham and blue cheese, the beer’s dark spice and cinnamon balanced the bite of the blue. Adam preferred the Unibroue 17, an intensely malty dark ale with mocha accents. We both loved the Seigreuriale — as did everyone else in the room. Its subtle notes of citrus and apricot tamed the salty salami and pungent New Hampshire landaff.

Quatre Centieme, a frothy blonde ale, held its own as a gingery palate cleanser before the dessert course. Then, hauled out with a bit of theatrics, gooey raspberry-filled donuts helped prove how Trois Pistoles conquers sweetness. Black and port-like, the popular dark ale is perhaps my go-to pick of Unibroue’s easy-to-finds.

Capping off the evening was a display of versatility by the strangely delicious Quelque Chose. Served three ways — lightly chilled, on the rocks, and steeped to 130 degrees — the ripe cherry, clove and honey flavors presented themselves in widely varying degrees. Fruity and refreshing, the iced version was my choice. I promptly pictured myself on a tropical beach sipping a frosty glass — fanned by palm-frond wielding muscle men.

All in all — a fantastic evening with a truly magnificent brewery. I’ll let Adam’s photos tell the rest of the story:

The hand-chalked Unibroue sign announcing the event.

Happy campers sample the brews.

The organizer of a Boston-based barrel-tasting event poses with his wife and oversized Unibroue bottle labels.

The three preparations of Quelque Chose: (From left: lightly chilled, heated and iced).

Coasters bearing Unibroue's distinctive logo.

Trois Pistoles tamed the sweetness of the gooey raspberry filled donut.

The Kapha Kick tisane at Homegrown Herb and Tea

Despite its proximity to my East End home, I’d never been to the Munjoy Hill tea café before Friday. An error I’m glad to have finally corrected.

Perched on a stool, I perused the menu’s dizzying array of “to order” ayurvedic teas and herbal tisanes. Caught up in the amusing names and detailed descriptions (how could you not love a hangover cure called “Hair of the Khan”?), my ordering decision slowed to a snail’s pace.

Finally, I settled on Kapha Kick –  it’s promise to “lift my soul” sounded like the perfect solution to overindulgence.  I slowly slurped the tasty mixture of ginger, damiana, cardamon and diced apple peel and pondered eating something.

Homegrown offers a daily soup option in the cooler months (Sept-April) and a daily salad option in the summer (June-August). May’s a mystery.

Friday’s crock pot special — an herby lentil soup – was full of health and vigor. Loaded with carrots, celery, potato and spice, it pleased with a garlicky broth and heady steam. The accompanying rosemary crumpet — while a tad too chewy for me — soaked up the hearty stew just fine.

Drawn back to Homegrown again on Saturday, I tried one of the limited-time seasonal tisanes that had caught my eye the day before. Dense with coconut milk and the scent of lavender, the Coco-Kava was a revelation. Creamy and lightly spiced with cocoa and sedating kava-kava, the milky liquid was slightly sweet and soothing to both body and mind.

Owner Sarah Richards measures out a tea order in the background.

Other preparations now firmly on my “to try” list are the Yoga Tea — a mixture of gotu kola, Soloman’s seal, sage, ginger, rose petals and spearmint — and a wicked spicy sounding conconction, called El Mexicano Por Favor, that features cumin, allspice, cayene, and — get this — sarsaparilla.

While I enjoyed everything I ate and drank, my most enduring impression of Homegrown has little to do with food — or even tea — and everything to do with watching owner Sarah Richards handle a very busy Saturday afternoon.

Fluid and graceful, she balanced competing demands with the precision of an aerial artist. At each door chime, Sarah would raise her gaze to smile at the newcomer before pivoting on her heel to simultaneously grind a custom tisane mix, ring up an order and tease her assistant, Jewel.

Seating areas swelled to capacity, and still new folks poured into the small Congress Street space. Every few minutes a regular bustled in to grab pre-packaged tea satchels to go. Sarah would pause for a hug or to query a customer’s enjoyment before tapping a glob of honey into a large pottery pitcher or pouring a steaming stream of water into an oversized cup.

The service was measured and fairly paced despite the imbalance of worker to guest – a feat only explained by the warm attention and enduring calm of Sarah and Jewel.

Methinks Portland is a cozier place because of Sarah and her staff. If you haven’t already, give Homegrown a try – it’s like entering a welcoming embrace.

Sign for the French Press Eatery in Westbrook.

The Plan: Hunker down and work and eat my way through half a day.

The Start: 8:15. Breakfast order in, I am booted up and typing at a round wooden table along the large, front windows facing Main street.

The Early Fail: 8:30. A basket of three steaming hot donuts appears under my nose. Crystal clear that the cashier’s minimizing “oh, about this big” hand gesture was utter lie.

Goal sunk.

Even at 2:00 pm – I still couldn’t handle a sandwich.

As big as regular donuts, twice as puffy and piled high with ingredients, these outrageous donuts are not for health nuts or the faint of heart.

Two of my three choices – the Bacon-Maple and Cinnamon Sugar –  even sported mini “hole” versions of themselves tucked into their middle voids. The third, Double Chocolate, was more of a donut sandwich — extra puffy, sliced in half, and coated with a thick chocolate glaze that trickled down the sides and oozed out the middle.

Completely ridiculous. And, deadly, decadently good.

At $5 for three, the donut basket was a great deal. It could feed a family of four. A dozen costs $18. One costs $2. Other options included a classic Crueler, Raspberry Jelly, Boston Cream, Chocolate Glazed and a peanut butter-and-banana-filled concoction called The Elvis.

Biting into the donuts caused an intense “fresh from the fryer” reaction in me –  a slight film instantly coated my tongue as the jolt of sugar and fat hit my blood stream. After eating only a third of each, I was ready to explode (okay — confession — I eventually nibbled my way through most of the Bacon-Maple). Topped with real bacon crisps and a dense maple glaze, the mixture of sweet and savory was right down my alley (see Whole Lotta Shakin’)

Decadent donuts (from left to right): Bacon-Maple, Double Chocolate and Cinnamon Powered Sugar.

I sat there in a bit of a food coma and spent the next few hours sipping too many cups of French Roast (beans from Rock City Roasters), working and glancing around at my surroundings. A wooden, almost deco style, semi-circle coffee bar extended across the vast majority of the room – rugged, chipped concrete pillars breaking up its mass. Thin, hand-blown drop-lights illuminated the order counter and expresso machine. Local art and photography graced the walls.

After two hours of morning quiet, I worried that the eatery had yet to capture a following (a cause championed in a January Maine Today review), but by 10:30, the place filled up with “ladies that lunch,” local moms and other laptop-toting self-employeds. A constant chatter and buzz continued until I left at 3:00.

My new goal: Spread the word about the killer donuts and – someday – go back for lunch.

Sala Thai's spring rolls were crisp and fresh.

The veracity of Adam’s argument (which is reoccurring and touches on the meager amount of bean sprouts, as well) is quite heated, and, hearing him, you’d be apt to assume that our recent meal at the Washington street restaurant was thoroughly lousy.

The truth is more complicated.

While the Pad Thai was just about the worst we’ve ever eaten, many other aspects of our Sala experience were genuinely nice.

I was charmed by the dozens of delicate wooden mobiles suspended and slightly swaying from the ceiling. We both reveled in a tender duck entree. Crisp and fresh, the spring rolls were a delight.

But the restaurant’s website doesn’t boast about the duck. . .or the spring rolls. . .or the atmosphere. It boasts about the Pad Thai. In fact, it calls it the “best in town.”

Oh, the irony.

Sala’s Pad Thai was a variation on the classic dish that I found truly perplexing. It tasted overwhelmingly of fish sauce and red chile  — the punch of tamarind and garlic completely absent. Somehow both oily and pasty at the same time, the noodles were simply unpleasant going down. Scant quantities of shrimp and chicken did little to help, and the tang of the lime and crunch of the bean sprouts were sorely missed. Maybe we got a bad batch. Maybe they were out of limes. Whatever the reason, it was just not good.

The bulk of it remained on the serving plate.

We fared much better with the Tamarind Duck. Served in a tangy (if not exactly spicy) brown sauce, the duck was well-seasoned, perfectly roasted, and boasted just the right amount of fat. Cooked with onions, green peppers, ginger, pineapple, scallions and tamarind sauce, it was pleasant and hearty.

Our choice of starters – although not gush-worthy – were satisfying. A pungent Tom Khar Gai soup offered that sweet, coconutty richness expected in the simple stew, and the spring rolls were, again, fresh and delightful.

Not so for the accompanying peanut sauce, however. Lacking a certain zestiness, it was completely overpowered by the thick layer of crushed peanuts coating the top.

Service was pleasant, but rushed – a puzzling development considering the general dearth of other diners and the early hour. On two occasions, Adam had to snatch back both the soup and the duck from our waitress’ eager bussing routine.

Unfortunately, the uneaten Pad Thai sat there — still on the table, mocking us – for the entire meal.

Blogger’s Note: This post is the first 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.

The giant chalkboard menu at Nosh.

A few hours ago, Adam and I entered the hip, orange-painted environment of the new Congress street cafe starving and craving a bit of the naughty.

Our diet this past week leaned heavily toward salads and homemade soups, so we may have over compensated a bit with our choices — pig belly reuben, duck confit sandwich and hand-cut fries sprinkled with bacon dust and dipped in blue cheese.

Yes, yes — I’ve un-buttoned my pants in order to sit upright and type this.

Everything we ate tonight was terrific. Simultaneously crispy and meaty, the fries were piping hot and full of just-yanked-from-the-ground spud flavor. Sprinkled with sea salt and the aforementioned bacon dust, these puppies just may give the reigning champs at Duck Fat a run for their money. My only quibble? The quantity seemed a tad meager for the $5 price tag.

My duck confit sandwich featured shavings of braised duck leg, candied orange and cherries, fresh greens and cotija (a hard Mexican cow’s milk cheese) — all piled on a thick white bread grilled until brown and dripping with butter. Heavenly.

This devilish porker on the men's bathroom wall.

Truly a triple-bypass on a plate, Adam’s reuben almost defies description. I can’t remember the last time I sank my teeth into something so decadent and rich (and I’m counting desserts). Pork belly slathered in melted cheddar, caramelized onions and Russian dressing oozed out both sides of the grilled rye bread and caused that stain on my jeans. I could handle just a few nibbles.

The atmosphere at Nosh is lively, trendy and cozy all at once. A brick wall and poured concrete bar run one length of the room, while a wooden banquette and copper-topped tables extend across the other. At the far end, menu items cram an enormous chalkboard that hulks over the sandwich-making area.

Down the back corridor, the loos feature cheeky hand-painted murals of giant pudgy pigs – tipsy looking flying ones for the ladies and devilish ones for the guys. Check out the photo on the left (but you really need to see these for yourself. . .).

Not all the food is quite as caloric and artery-hardening as our first-visit selections — the menu includes albacore tuna and roasted turkey –- but none of the fare seems the least bit ordinary. Offering gourmet sandwiches and small plates along with local-leaning draft beer options and an impressive wine list, this mid-priced eatery is just what Portland needed.

In my humble — and very full — opinion, Nosh has hit it out of the park from the start.

A heap of greens offered on Vignola's Sunday night prix fixe menu.

Sunday night offerings being meager in Portland, we thought we’d struck upon a quiet way to cap off a busy weekend, enjoy small plates of culinary diversity and avoid shouts of “Who dat!”

Best laid plans and all. . .

With little fanfare, the Dana Street eatery has chosen to offer a prix fixe menu on Sunday nights. $25 for three courses. Take it or leave it. Too tired to move, we took it. The results were — again — mixed.

Options for the first course were two salads and two pizzas — all made for two. We chose the Organic Mista Greens, which came piled high in a creative and crispy mix. Flavorful and full of snap, the greens themselves hit the mark. How can you not love fresh, flavorful greens in February? Sheep’s milk cheese and lightly spiced walnuts added a yin/yang pungent/sweet flair — that is, when you could find them. My beef? Not enough of the cheese and nuts, and barely enough of the Maine honey vinaigrette to qualify as dressing. Beets were listed as an ingredient, but heck if I found a-one. As Adam put it, “That was a nice heap of greens — I just wouldn’t call it a salad.”

For entrees, Adam picked the roasted lamb leg and I chose the pork saltimbocca. An artistic fan of balsalmic reduction and basil oil provided a dense and herby slathering sauce for Adam’s slightly gamey lamb. He pronounced the meat tasty if slightly overcooked. Paired with root veggies and mashed potatoes, it was a satisfying, if uninspired, meal.

The sides were the stars of my pork dish. Salty and earthy, the crispy kale packed a wallop of flavor into a crunchy bit of greens. Mushed into the zesty mound of soft polenta, it was flavorful fun on a fork that completely overshadowed the slabs of breaded pork. Tough, a tad chewy, and not exactly warm, the pork was — lets say — a disappointment.

Crispy kale and polenta were the standout sides of my pork entree.

Perhaps still craving appetizers, Adam and I both choose the savory cheese plate for dessert over the sweet offerings — a mango semifreddo and a chocolate coconut caramel tart (the latter combination screamed “CAVITY!!” to me).

Plopped on a small pile of fennel and greens and topped with a chilled dollop of pear compote, the three cheeses were a smidge too mild for my taste. Adam was happier with the selection, but hardly wowed.

A Bayley Hazen blue was the standout of the trio, providing a dense — almost licoricey — paste that melted on the tongue. A mild white cheddar and an aged Beemster Classic couldn’t compete.

It was a pleasant meal, with lovely service from our waitress Liz, but not at the level we’d hoped.

We’ll try for an “all app” dinner at Vignola again — just not on a Sunday.

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!