September 21, 2007 -- By Claire Evans

It doesn't seem likely, what with the nearly constant threat of rain and the multitude of fine restaurants in this town, that Portland would be a hot-spot for adventurous open-air dining. A cursory stroll through downtown, however, reveals quite a different picture: Dozens of ad-hoc food carts, parked trucks and lunch stands rub elbows along the street and clog up empty parking lots, cloying the air with sumptuous spices and meaty gristle. Despite the allure of these al fresco hotspots, not all food carts are created equal - and the best ones aren't always downtown. Here's a roundup of our favorite eclectic carts that are worth the trip.

The Whole Bowl [NW - SE]
What is it about the "bowl" (and, while we're at it, the "wrap") that has hippies salivating? It seems that every organic restaurant worth its dreadlocks offers some variation on the theme. Perhaps it's a back-to-the-land diss to the politics of portions and the class-consciousness of courses. More likely, the sheer simplicity of a steaming bowl of veggies just feels good. The Whole Bowl, a tidy little Pearl District cart, is stacking its bets on the latter: Its hearty, no-frills bowls of layered brown rice, beans, creamy avocado, sharp Tillamook cheddar, drizzled with a dreamy garlic-lemon concoction they call "tali sauce," should convert any cynical capitalists.

La Chiquita (Formaly 3 Hermanos) [map it]
You can't swing a piñata stick in East Los Angeles - or in East Beaverton, for that matter - without hitting a cheap and cheerful taco truck; if you're stuck roaming hungrily within the Portland perimeter, however, a fragrant asada taco is much harder to come by. Luckily, we have 3 Hermanos, an unassuming taco outpost parked on North Denver and Killingsworth. It doesn't look like much, which is a sure sign of authenticity - after all, the point of a truck is its low overhead. Its menu is prolific, even going so far as to include nachos and something called a "Super Burrits" (I'm banking on that one being a typo), but it's the basics that will keep you coming back: Colorful carnitas, pastor and birria tacos ($1.50 a pop) double-wrapped in steaming hot corn tortillas and sprinkled with diced onion and shredded cilantro, served on paper plates with a wedge of lime to offset the heat of their salsa verde.

Fat Kitty Falafel [map it]
Falafel is a delicate beast. If those lumps of hashed-up garbanzo beans are mistreated, bathed too long in boiling oil, they can become disastrously greasy; if the dripple of tahini atop their mounds isn't just-right, they turn inedibly messy, or, worse, unpleasantly dry. Needless to say, despite the ubiquity of this pita-sporting staple, a good falafel sandwich is as rare and fleeting as peace in the Middle East. Luckily, we Portlanders have Fat Kitty Falafel, a sidewalk-grazing institution on SE Division Street that - thanks to its owner and principal yarn-spinner Al Herre, an NYC transplant - serves off-the-wall banter and cilantro tahini along with its perfectly seasoned, cucumber-decked sandwiches. Grab a handful of paper napkins, just in case - these babies are the real thing.

Tàbor [map it]
Perhaps the most defining trait of Portland food-cart culture (speaking of, didja know that those downtown cart-clutters are referred to in foodie circles as "pods"?) is its staggering variety; it seems that for every burrito or hot dog-stand, we're blessed with at least one four-wheeled restaurateur offering something completely different. Tàbor, a Czech cart that rubs elbows with more ordinary fare in the SW 5th & Stark "pod," is no exception. While it looks like a tiny fairy tale relic or a miniature ale house, Tàbor's lunchtime fare is far from cute. Their "Schnitzelwich" ($5.00), a heartily breaded pork loin served on a titanic ciabatta roll with crisp romaine lettuce, paprika spread, sautéed onion and horseradish, is the stuff of legend, while the rest of their menu is pure Bohemian splendor: Classic borscht, fluffy potato pancakes, and, of course, a hell of a goulash.

Flavour Spot [map it]
The waffle, with its elegant and demanding little troughs, is the brainchild of the Belgians, but that doesn't prevent our home turf from having its own page in the grand history of the waffle. After all, it's here that Bill Bowerman ruined his wife's waffle iron by pouring rubber into it, and young Steve Prefontaine broke records wearing those same waffles on the soles of his feet. With the arrival of Flavour Spot, an innocuous food cart parked primly in a Videorama parking lot on North Lombard, Portland's association with waffle greatness lives on. Flavour Spot, most notably, delivers delicately foil-wrapped waffle sandwiches filled with veggie sausage and the sweetest, honey-thick maple butter folded inside of them. Just barely crisp on the outside, the waffles themselves are as fleecy as the balmy mornings on which they're optimally enjoyed. This might be the best thing on the menu, but from the looks of it (a fresh waffle wrapped around a chocolate-coated slab of vanilla ice cream? A PB&J offering? Vegan mallow-fluff? Nutella?) there's much more to discover. And at an average price of $4, the risk of trial and error is deliciously encouraged.

New Taste of India [map it]
Not to be confused with the Real Taste of India - its competitor in a preeminently unclear mealtime battle of wills - New Taste of India doles out a gut-busting lunch special that somehow crams six dishes, a mountain of steaming basmati rice, and two pieces of fluffy Naan bread into its teeny $4.50 price tag. The Saag Paneer, a mushy meld of spongy white cheese and curried spinach, is worth that much in itself; of course, it pays not to worry too much about the mystifying ratio of money to portion-size, since the whole spread quickly turns into an indeterminate pond of potatoes, cauliflower and peas as you dig into it. Until someone has the gall to open up a New Real Taste of India, this is by far the best deal in town.

Husky Or Maltese Whatever (Formally Snow White Crepes) [map it]
This institution's unpretentious, savory fare - the spinach, tomato and mozzarella crepe is a downtown standard, sprinkled with salt and pepper. The new location of the cart-now-restaurant is on 36th and SE Powell.

Garden State (cart) - [map it ]
If food carts are the response to the flighty economy and allows Portland's food scene to continue to thrive, I say keep the 'shanty eateries' coming. The owner, Kevin Sandri, brings life to his selection with mostly organic and local ingredients. Sandri always has fresh vegetable soups available which goes amazing with the chickpea sandwich (A lightly fried chickpea patty, tasty greens on ciabatta) or meatball hero (beef meatballs swimming in zesty marinara and mozzarella).

Ziba's Pitas [map it]
Ah, the pita: Staple of unenlightened vegetarian sandwiches, so often rendered soggy by an overzealous spoonful of hummus or a leaky tomato. It's a crying shame that something so novel - it's a pocket of bread, after all - could be so often abused. Don't believe me? One visit to Ziba's Pitas will set your mind straight. Purveyors of completely different strain of Mediterranean flatbreads, Ziba's is a Bosnian join that stuffs its flaky, savory, pastry-like pitas with feta cheese, zucchini, and spinach before baking them into golden puffs served alongside tangy eggplant-pepper relish ajvar. If there's any room left in your belly after tackling one of these ribbony, hand-held delights, try one of the oblatne, a layered, caramel-gooey wafer dessert ($1.50).

Moxie Rx [map it]
More old-timey traveling medicine cart than budget lunch spot for 9-to-5ers, Moxie Rx - a converted vintage trailer-cum-brunch spot next to the Fresh Pot on North Mississippi Avenue - seems as though it hitched a ride into town from another era. Hawking macaroons and homemade pignoli cookies alongside smoothies and hangover-zapping Tonics, Moxie Rx proprietress Nancye Benson is part Betty Crocker, part Dr. Quinn - and all heart. Lunch picks, like the ever-popular Swell (a basil-tinged egg sandwich draped in prosciutto), are artfully presented on real plates, while the display window of crumbly muffins and scones, poised on vintage cake stands and tucked into stylish baskets, manage to taste like comfort food while looking like Bergdorf Goodman.


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