Recently I returned to Portland after visiting my home town. I like going home but not for the same reasons that are so often stated in romantic movies or folk songs. Often called 'comfort food' the flavors of our homes provide the elements about which we reminisce. A familiar spice, the warmth of bread fresh from an oven all spell home to many people. [Rockwell dinner scene]


I cook these days but no one "at home" remains to do the same. All young professionals, stressed out with jobs and families, cookery there equals heating pre-packaged goods in the microwave or adding mixes to meats to make marvelous meals. Therefore little in my relatives' kitchens entices me to return.


Further, unlike Philly with its cheesesteaks or Chicago and its dogs there is no special treat that can only be found the streets of my hometown. (I take that back - it is the only place on Earth I know of where custard is frozen and served even on days when the temperature does not rise above -10 degrees Fahrenheit. Weird as it may seem I like having that option.)


Where I'm from is not the point.(I sensed that you were silently asking me to get to that point. Admit that you were and keep reading...)


My point is that upon returning to my adopted home I asked the pals that picked me up at the airport if we could "Please go to Nicholas Restaurant on the way home?"


I did not want to wait until the next day or a week, I wanted to go now. The flavors at Nicholas' tables would be the perfect welcome home for me after weeks with the 'fam.'


My desire, no make that 'need,' for such a welcome started in the taxi on the way to the airport. As we negotiated the city streets I saw one sign offering "falaphel" and another hand lettered proclaiming simply "tabulli." I was immediately reminded of years past when a sign sat outside Nicholas' that read "Fresh homos." (While I never did find that particular item on the menu - I was certainly intrigued by the thought.) At that point stopping the cab would get me fed but not nourished. I would need to get to 318 SE Grand after the flight.


You see, it's not how the folks at Nicholas spell the name of the dishes they offer. It's how they prepare them. There is nothing lost in the translation from hometown downtown Beirut to Eastside hometown Portland. The food at this restaurant is the kind that people go home to find. It is memorable. It is consistent in flavor and quality from day to day and from from year to year. It is the kind of food that keeps a number of people here in the Northwest from becoming too homesick. They can come in and get a meal that smells and tastes as good as their Grandma in Syria, or Lebanon or anywhere else in the Middle East used to make. Add the bustle that is almost always present in the tiny one room restaurant and you are as good as home.


The small space is always reinventing itself. Little touches here and there reveal a lot about the people who make the place run day-to-day. The menu sports a story about the founder, Nicholas. It tells a little about his family and their influence on Middle Eastern dining here in Portland. The knick knacks almost all originated in or near Lebanon. The benches and other decorations are all products of family input - either by suggestion or by labor to get them built and installed. Much of the effort can never be expressed in a newspaper review of the place. If you are interested though, you should ask. Someone will offer you a bit more insight than you'll find on the menu or the website.


I asked. That's how I came to know a bit more about Hilda the current owner of Nicholas Restaurant. Years later I now find myself asked to write a note, a review of sorts, for my friend's establishment. That's right. I made a friend outta the deal.


If you've read the other editions of this newsletter then you know that HIlda and her family were often caught in the crossfire of the war and the warlike behaviors that have plagued Lebanon for many years. My perception of the situation was colored by the loss of friends in the barracks bombing of 1983. I was closed off to knowing or learning anything about the area. It was just another far away place where my friends went to die.


Then I started talking to Hilda. In a few short years I have learned about Lebanon, Syria, America, the World in ways that classes or news reports do not reveal. We've pondered current events together. We've talked about history; ours and the history of our homes. We've given a lot of thought to what perceptions are and how they help us and how they harm us. And we've learned a lot about family and consistency and comfort.


I invite you to share in the feeling of comfort that Nicholas' offers. Show up, sign up and wait for a coveted table large enough to accommodate the generous portions. Get a take out order, go to your friend's house and talk to one another. Bring Mom and Dad in so that they can more fully understand why you love living here. Come by on your way to the airport to get one last taste of Portland before you depart. Stop in for lunch or on the way home. You'll be welcomed when you arrive and well fed when you depart. (Make that nourished and toting a container of your hummus or baba for a snack later!)


This story was written by Angie Booth, an adopted member of the Nicholas Family.


Hilda and Nicholas Restaurant will be welcoming your comments on the website very soon. Please check back for your opportunity to let us know how Nicholas' has comforted you and your family.

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