The Center for Genomic Gastronomy

By Reese Kruse Images courtesy of The Center for Genomic Gastronomy Despite  the food plated exquisitely before you, you are not sitting down to a meal. You, my friend, have brought yourself to this table for the hero’s journey. Through these courses you will journey through the Golden Fleece of bio-engineered wheat fields; you will see white clouds of meringue greyed with the smog of your home. You may even be forced to slay the comfort foods of Mother in an Oedipal confrontation. The Center for Genomic Gastronomy is an artist-led think tank that seeks to fully explore the biodiversity of the biotechnology of human food systems. This is art and exploration into the most universal media of the human race. This art doesn’t just ask the questions but seeks the answers to global food problems. It speaks to all who have the strength to taste it. Zack Denfeld and Catherine Kramer founded the center in 2010. Since its founding, the think tank has added Emma Conley and Heather Julius to its collection of philosophers, scientists, chefs, and artists. This is our cultural leadership hard at task, our best people seeking mischievous and whimsical answers. The voice of global art is changing faster…

Kyle Morton: The Unlikely Saxon

By Jef Krohn Photos by Miri Stebivka Historically, the Saxons were a group  of Germanic tribal misfits who became great conquerors, eventually establishing the kingdom of England. The unlikely bunch banded together to overcome insurmountable odds in extreme circumstances, and were ultimately extremely victorious. When we take Kyle Morton—lead singer and co-founder of Typhoon, a local band of twelve musicians—into consideration for admiration of such magnitude, the expectation, at least at first glance, falls short. He’s soft spoken, small in stature, extremely shy, and carries with him a seemingly fragile sense of innocence. When you listen to Typhoon, you can’t help but be drawn to the soft, timid, unsure voice he brings to the forefront of every complex and dimensional song. However, after taking a closer, less impulsive look, you find that Morton meets the criteria of a Saxon not simply because his high school alma mater is the South Salem Saxons—but because his hidden strength, determination, and blatant fortitude redefine the term. His story has an ultra-ordinary beginning. Morton recalls a story his father once shared with him: “It started with my mother and father on a romantic getaway at the North Fork near Santiam, Oregon with candles, and…well,…

Genomic Romance — Bleeding-Edge Dating for Bleeding Hearts

Friday, Feb 14, 2014 To: Love Potion Test Group #9 Re: Genomic Romance — Bleeding-Edge Dating for Bleeding Hearts Contrary to popular belief, the Valentine’s Day Massacre was not a literal massacre involving actual death and destruction. Well, it could have been that, too, for all we know. Whatever. Here at the Genomic Romance Institute our concern is the yearly massacre that happens every February 14, when the death and destruction are primarily figurative, taking down hearts, self-respect, and basic human dignity. We’re here to help. The Genomic Romance Institute conducts research into advanced new forms of romance and bleeding-edge dating techniques suited to a fast-evolving, post-happily-ever-after society. Why live in the past when you can love in the future? (We’re still working on our tag line.) And our staff of state-certified psychologists, hypnotists, swingers, and licensed gold-diggers are working overtime to develop exciting new methods to make romance fresh and — possible tag line alert — somewhat less harrowing! Why Genomic Romance? GRI founder Clytaemnestra Rictus was a cutting edge molecular gastronomy chef until she observed that, while her experimental techniques yielded unpalatable and injurious results in the kitchen, they proved very fruitful in bars, clubs, and singles pharmacies….

Jeremy Wilson: A Journey of the Heart

By Darka Dusty Photographs by Miri Stebivka Jeremy Wilson is one of the good guys. In today’s climate of self-worship and laissez-faire “me-ism,” in which anyone needing a hand is now coldly referred to as lazy by certain segments of affluent society, Wilson, musician turned musician’s advocate, stands out among us as a superhero. Jeremy Wilson believes that people have the power to change the world. After surviving no less than four surgeries to fix a heart condition—surgeries made possible through the generous help of his friends and music community—Wilson now leads a life of philanthropy and devotion to that group. The experience of requiring major surgeries but having no health insurance was earth-shattering and transformed Wilson’s life in an unexpected way. His heart condition was the catalyst, and now his big heart drives his passion to give back to the music community every single day. The Jeremy Wilson Foundation has saved a few houses from going into foreclosure due to medical bills, helped people through cancer, and aided one musician in getting the surgery he needed to restore his sight. Wilson is visibly moved when speaking about his work: “You can take a negative experience and let it ruin…

Wordplay: What We Put In Our Mouths

By Mugroso Illustration by Ezra Butt When was the last time you swallowed pencil shavings? Sucked on a wet horse blanket? Savored crushed violets? I’m pretty sure you can say with surety that any of these treats is an unlikely experience in your recent past. Or maybe even as a child. But as an adult (over the age of 21, dear OLCC), chances are, if you are a wine lover you have done just that…whether you knew it or not. One of the things I love about a great glass of wine is the delightful nuance and artistry of the juice. Same grape variety, different soil type, different climate, different winemaker results in…difference. Some wines are similar, even very similar, but among any set of people drinking the same wine you will find difference in what seemed to be a shared experience. How we describe that difference often is in the words we choose to depict the mouth-feel, the essence in the nose, the flavor on the palate, and the finish once the wine exits and our combined senses are left to savor the experience. This is the wordplay of wine. It can be fun, fanciful, and at times downright…

Love Is the Medium

Letterpress, as it turns out, isn’t just a fancy way of saying printing. The aesthetic appeal is sublime, in the Burkean sense. Captivating like a venomous snake. Old-series platen press operator Brian Reed says he saw a woman get her fingers crushed “down to the thickness of a sheet of paper.” I take an extra step back.

Where Light Rails Come From

When two halves of a transit bridge love each other very much, they exchange a special hug. That’s where light rails come from. Birds and bees do the same thing, as do Portlanders.

Crawdads and Pizza: Exploring Portland’s Indie Comics

by Ross Blanchard This month we’re adding cartoons to the PDX Magazine line-up. This often over-looked genre blends literature and art, and its subject matter slapstick to heartbreak. Comics vary in length from single-panel cartoons to full-length novels to serials with ever-continuing story lines. On the next few pages, you’ll find excerpts from Pizza Gun (Below) and Crawdads Welcome, two Portland-based publications available at local comic book shops and online. Ezra Butt, Crawdads Welcome Ezra Butt is a 26-year-old Portland-born cartoonist currently living in Phoenix, Oregon, near Ashland. He has self-published three collections of cartoons titled Crawdads Welcome. “While I would describe myself as a cartoonist,” Butt says, “all of my work is fueled by an intense love for 18th and 19th century Naturalist artists. Beyond that, animals and plants inspire me more than any human artist I could name.” The naturalist influences on Crawdads is evident in Butt’s intricate illustrations, which have a level of detail more comparable to an Audubon or a Charles D’Orbigny print than to the typical comic strip. Crawdads characters are collection of flora and fauna who discuss love, current events, politics, and whatever else is spurred by Butt’s imagination. Tigers and peacocks live together in…

White Wine: The Interview

by Mugroso There’s the slice of the wine world that considers white wine a “palate cleanser” for the more challenging and impactful reds. The equivalent of mouthwash? Really? Or is this just another slight pointed at these vintner blondes? To answer these charges, we asked a cross-section of worldly whites to sit down for an interview and answer for the state of their ilk in this modern war of hue and esteem. This group interview was conducted on a foggy late morning at the confluence of the Yamhill-Carlton and Ribbon Ridge AVAs, the valley running away from us as we sat high atop the vineyards below. These “ladies” all brought their own bottle to share and taste, but mostly to help get them through this interruption in their daily routine. The interview format was an ensemble version of the Proust Questionnaire, but those results are annotated here for economy and somnambulistic avoidance. The Interview: MUGROSO:  Good morning, ladies. Thank you for taking the time from your busy schedules to meet and discuss the state of white wine in modern society, and perhaps to dispel some myths around modern whites. I know you are each very busy, so let’s get right…

Mole Amarillo

Culinary travelogue by Mike Allen I was running the camarero ragged with my thirst. “¿Cómo estás hoy, todavía enfermo?” Daniel asked one day, partially blocking my view of the Pacific. “Better, mucho mejor,” I said around the straw of my third, or fourth or fifth, michelada. “¿No quieres hacer algo más mientras te encuentras aquí?” I puzzled on that. I wasn’t sure what else he would have me do. I was traveling alone, without a car, still weak, in a tiny coastal town with no phones and maybe two bars, both of which were usually vacant. “¿Cómo qué? Hay todo aquí mismo. Hay cerveza, hay pizza, hay pescado a la Veracruzana.” An old guy walked by on the beach, pushing a steel cooler on wheels with a parasol above it. “Helados ricos: fresa, coco, chocolate!” he called to the fifteen-or-so pale Germans, Scandinavians and estadounidenses sitting around on the sand and in chairs, drinking and watching the surf roll in. “Hay ice cream,” I added. “Todavía no sé… Pero tengo algunos amigos aquí también,” Daniel laughed, turning to the water. He’s got some friends? I wasn’t sure what that meant. He loped down through the surf, dove in, and swam…