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Why Portland is Maine's culinary capital

Jim Buchta, Star Tribune (Minneapolis) on

Published in Travel News

I shared a welcome dinner with my friends at DiMillo's, an old-school Portland restaurant perched at the end of an aircraft carrier-like pier that offers what is arguably the best harbor view in the town. We settled into a comfy nightclub-ish banquette and ate haddock and lobster rolls that smacked of the sea.

After supper I rambled along the antique clay brick sidewalks of Commercial Street, which parallels the waterfront and is the unofficial dividing line between the trendy shops and restaurants of the business district and the working wharves that reach into the harbor like the weatherworn fingers of a longshoreman.

On the waterfront side of the street, screeching gulls perched atop pier pilings. I dodged stacks of lobster pots, hivelike coils of tawny lines and faded saltwater-stained buoys awaiting the next day's trip to sea. The Old Port is very much still a working port, where fishing boats pull up to one of those wharves to unload thousands of pounds of fresh catch that then get auctioned at the Portland Fish Exchange.

The next morning I sipped a pour-over coffee at Bard Coffee on Middle Street in the old Chapman National Bank building, designed in the early 1920s by John Calvin Stevens, a famous Maine architect. Stevens is best known for his shingle-style houses, including a seaside carriage house in nearby Scarborough that he transformed into the studio and home of artist Winslow Homer.

Just a few blocks away at the Standard Baking Co., I stood in the tiny retail space and savored a flaky almond croissant and watched a baker pull pans of crusty baguettes from an oven, all while channeling a French boulangerie. I visited daily, sometimes twice.

Later, my friends toured me around town, starting with the Eastern Promenade -- aka "the prom" -- a seaside walking path that wanders through green space designed in the mid-1800s by Frederick Law Olmsted (who also designed Manhattan's Central Park) and his brother, John Charles. The main attraction? Views of Casco Bay and the Maine Narrow Gauge Railroad Museum.

For dinner I grabbed the first open seat I could find at Honey Paw, a hipster hangout where Asian fusion meets East Coast tradition. After a couple of appetizers, I sipped a local brew and lapped up a bowl of ramen with homemade noodles and local seafood.

On Day 3, I was first in line at the Holy Donut, which is famous for its potato doughnuts -- made with Aroostook County potatoes and buttermilk from Casco Bay Butter.

Stuffed, I needed a vigorous walk, so I skipped the most popular indoor attractions: the Portland Observatory, Portland Museum of Art and the Victoria Mansion museum. I considered a trip to one of the islands on the mailboat or ferry, but opted for a snowshoe trek along the Presumpscot River a few miles away in Falmouth.


I picked up my rental snowshoes and a map from the nonprofit Portland Trails and drove to the trailhead in a nearby suburb, but I quickly discovered that the trail along the Presumpscot was far from ordinary. Under lacy sunlight filtered by pines I made my way across craggy ravines and over makeshift bridges to Presumpscot Falls, where I sat on a boulder and watched and listened to the inky river flow unrestrained to Casco Bay.

The next morning, I took the long way back to Boston. I drove along Cape Elizabeth, a rolling swath of parks and stately seaside summer houses that marks the entrance to Casco Bay. Naturally, there was a lighthouse -- this one at Fort Williams Park, where I watched ocean swells roll toward shore like silky foothills, then break in a frothy splash at the base of the Portland Headlight.

There was an old fort to visit, and a beach to walk, but I'd spent all my time watching fishing boats glide out to sea.

While I was missing my friend the poet who no longer lives on the pond, it was heartening to have a new reason to visit Maine.

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