No thick plush of white tablecloths because there’s no room for them with tables just inches apart apart and noise levels beyond comprehension, these traits might describe the scene at so many otherworldly dining chambers in Portland nowadays where the civilities of the past give way to guileless gimmickries as though we’re shoppers, not collectors. And let’s not forget the prices. If you think navigating at the local supermarket where shelves are stocked with sticker shock is fruitless, dining out is a way more perilous game of arithmetic. One example is Twelve, the Portland outpost where the refugees of Eleven Madison Park didn’t bring the tranquilities of the mother ship to give new life to our 2023 Portland dining scene.
Twelve’s version of roast chicken, which I had last year when it opened.
