We needed something to soak up some alcohol, so we grabbed a cab to the Potato Champion. Gerd found this guy while doing culinary research in Portland. It’s a cart in downtown where they serve fries covered with stuff. The cab driver raced us to the Potato Champion straight away.
Now when I say raced, I mean raced. At one point, we may have gotten airborne cresting the peak of a bridge. And this is where things turned bad. Remember the aforementioned imbibing at the Boiler Room? Yeah, “airborne” was not what Chicken Little’s stomach needed.
We made it to the Potato Champion and asked the cab driver to wait. Chicken Little stayed in the car while we piled out to order food from the cart. We got Poutine (which I giggled about everytime I said it that night), which as it turns out is a slop pile of fries, gravy and cheese curds. Brilliant!!! Though the onions were an unexpected surprise. We dealt with it though.
As we turned around we saw Chicken Little hanging out of the cab, not looking well. We got back into the cab and Chicken Little got out and started pacing in the parking lot. Then things started spewing forth. The cab driver was not pleased. Slutnik found Chicken Little a bag “just in case” and Gerd started to panic.
Chicken Little eventually made it back into the cab, sitting next to me of course. I was focused on the cab driver’s jams on the radio, rather than Upchuck MacGillicutty next to me holding a bag. Gerd is sitting on my left chanting “please don’t” over and over. And Puke Wellington is making dry heave noises on my right. Slutnik told the cab driver he might slow down. Classic.
Gerd started counting down the blocks (out loud) until we were back to the hotel. We made it back to the hotel just in the nick of time. Gerd handed the cabby a handful of cash for his troubles – seriously a handful. We wished Slutnik and Chucks Taylor a good evening and then ran upstairs. Hey, they seemed to have it under control!
Gerd oddly had lost her appetite, but I dug into the Poutine. It was awesome! Though occasionally it would remind me of our poor friend Chicken Little who would not be enjoying any Poutine, sadly.
I would recommend the heck out of the Potato Champion, drunk or sober. Just go here!
Top 5 things about the Potato Champion
1. Just saying Poutine makes me crack up like I’m 14
2. The Poutine was actually VERY good
3. Hot food on a cold evening is always good
4. Down-home clientele in line with us
5. The guy working the cart (I’m assuming the champion, himself) was super nice and helpful
Bottom 5 things
1. Stomach-jettison Boy next to me… ha ha ha
2. Surprise onions
3. Mario Andretti the cab driver
4. No mention of the Potato Runner-Up
5. Huge portion I couldn’t finish