“Last summer, we had to figure out what to do with 300 pounds of
bear,” says Steven Martin, morning chef at the Blanchet House of
Hospitality, his words echoing out at me from a freezer in the dark
basement at 5 am. “I had no idea what to do with it, so in the end, we
made a stew.”
In an hour and a half, Martin must provide a free breakfast to 300
people, most of them homeless or low income, relying solely on
ingredients donated by the community, most of which he only laid eyes
on yesterday afternoon. Welcome to the Forrest Gump-like existence of a
chef at Blanchet, where you never know what you’re gonna get.
Around us in the basement, pallets are piled with canned corn,
refried beans, and tomatoes. Half a dozen freezers contain beef,
chicken, even smoked salmon and ice cream. Upstairs, there’s a cupboard
full of donated pastries, and refrigerators stocked with food that
needs to be used up more quickly. It seems like a lot of food, but much
of it will be used by the end of the week. Feeding up to 1,000 people
every day is no picnic.
WHAT’S YOUR BEEF?
Donations to Blanchet come in from all over Portland, and a driver
heads out every week to pick things up. Zupan’s, Trader Joe’s, Safeway,
Starbucks, Strohecker’s, Pizza Schmizza, and Hotlips are all big
donors. Then there are the donations that simply show up at the front
door.
Last night, for example, the Oregon Convention Center dropped off
900 pounds of leftover cooked beef—looking through the three
fridges it’s currently stored in, it’s hard to believe so much protein
could even be cooked at one time, let alone left over. Now the
challenge for Martin and his crew is to rearrange their menus and use
the stuff before it goes bad.
Since anyone can show up and eat for free at Blanchet, today I plan
to sit down with the regulars and sample all of it—cholesterol be
damned.
This morning, guests will be eating biscuits and gravy, and Martin
has filled two 40-gallon rectangular pans with the left-over beef, some
chopped herbs, and about 80 cans of cream of mushroom soup—or
“gravy”—which are bubbling away on Blanchet’s 12-burner stove.
Lunch on Wednesdays is always spaghetti, following a 10-year tradition,
when the convention center beef will be incorporated into organic
tomato sauce and served over noodles; and tonight, Martin’s colleague
Frank Howard will cube the beef and make it into a sumptuous stew,
along with some chopped fresh bell peppers and mixed vegetables.
SERVICE WITH A SMILE
Considering Portland’s reputation for surly restaurant service,
Blanchet places an emphasis on greeting its “customers” warmly. Floor
manager Richard G. has been working in food service all his life, and
just before the first 40 diners come pouring in at 6:30 am, he reminds
his dozen fellow servers that “the only difference between us and the
people outside is that front door.”
Richard—whose nickname is “Planet,” because “I have a tendency
to think everything revolves around me”—mingles with everyone,
clearly enjoying the convivial atmosphere he and his staff have
created. When things settle down a bit, he has time to tell me how he
ended up here. After struggling with an alcohol and drug addiction, he
found himself living in a $600-a-month room in the Joyce Hotel.
“I got used to the cockroaches and even the guy two flights above me
who routinely pissed out of his window,” he says. “But what sucked for
me were the holidays. I had no family or friends, only my case of
Pabst, a few joints, and enough for a combo meal at Burnside McDonald’s
on Christmas Day.”
So 15 months ago he came into Blanchet, and has stayed on ever since
as a volunteer. His nicknames progressed from “Pots ‘n’ Pans,” through
“Dumbass” and “Fucko” (because of “stupid mistakes [he] made on the
floor”), and eventually, to Planet. Like most of the 29 men who live
upstairs, he volunteers his time in exchange for a roof over his head
and a commitment to stay sober. Those in the program are given random
urine analyses and breath-tested each time they leave the
house—anyone who drinks or gets high must pack their bags and go,
immediately.
Last week, Planet’s boss, Patrick Daley, who himself joined the
Blanchet program as a volunteer four years ago, had to ask a
78-year-old volunteer nicknamed “Pops” to leave the program because
he’d failed to report for a shift.
“It’s the hardest part of my job,” Daley admits.
VARIED CLIENTELE
Outside, people are lined up around the block. The building, which
was taken over by Blanchet in 1952, was reportedly a “house of ill
repute” and gambling den in the early part of the century, and it has a
Depression-era look and feel from the street. The line of people
stretching from the corner of NW 4th and Glisan clear up to Flanders is
reminiscent of the soup lines one sees in black-and-white photos from
the 1930s. However, plans are under way to build a new facility next
door with off-street queuing soon.
Nobody gets turned away from Blanchet, and while the building is
named after Oregon’s first Catholic archbishop, there’s no requirement
to sit through a sermon before eating. Also, those who want seconds
simply have to join the back of the line again, and can eat as much as
they need.
“Running out of food would be unacceptable,” says Martin. “So we
always have a backup plan, just in case we get swamped.”
Bob Powell arrives for breakfast in his wheelchair. Proudly attached
to the chair is an American flag, bought at the Dollar Tree last week.
He tells me the food is “always excellent,” and that he’s been eating
here for 15 years.
“Lefty,” whose nickname derives from the absence of his right arm,
is kind enough to offer me one of his Pall Mall cigarettes after he’s
finished eating. He lives nearby in a rented single room, where he
isn’t allowed to cook, and describes the Blanchet as essential to his
staying well nourished. He also loves the Mercury, he says,
although he tends to stick to the music section because “the rest is
really depressing.”
George, a Korean War veteran whose nickname is “the Watchman,” likes
to eat breakfast and then stand outside Blanchet until lunchtime.
“I love these boys,” he says. “Every single one of ’em. I enjoy
them, they enjoy me, although one of these days they’ll tell me to get
going, I’m sure of it.”
Later, a guy named Chico shows up for dinner, wearing a red carnival
hat encircled with a feather boa. I’m told he used to be an Olympic
boxer in Mexico, so I reserve judgment on his outfit.
REVIEWING THE FOOD
Knowing what a valuable social service Blanchet House provides for
both its clientele and volunteers, it’s easy to forget that it’s first
and foremost an eating establishment, and a surprisingly consistent
one, at that.
I had my first breakfast there in February, after spending the
“worst night of the year” on the streets [“Asleep on the Streets,”
Feature, Feb 21]. On that occasion, the greasy sausage I ate with
oatmeal brought me to the verge of melodramatic tears of joy, so I was
keen to see how today’s breakfast would compare, without sleep
deprivation and the shivers. The biscuits and gravy were hot and
hearty, emergency comfort food. I also had a banana, a bagel with
peanut butter, and some hot Starbucks coffee from Blanchet’s 80-gallon
pot. In short, it was a lot better than the food I normally serve
myself at home.
For lunch, the spaghetti sauce was as good as you’d expect from
ground steak mixed with organic tomatoes donated by Trader
Joe’s—in other words, pretty bloody good, thank you. There was
also a salad of lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, and carrots, and a fruit
salad of bananas, strawberries, grapes, pineapple, and apple. I was
surprised that the hot vegetables—a selection of broccoli and
carrots—were not overdone, given the vast amounts of them being
cooked; and a Starbucks chocolate muffin brought the meal to a pleasant
conclusion.
By dinner I was flagging somewhat, thanks to the huge quantity of
food I’d already consumed. Still, the beef stew was well seasoned, the
meat tender and not tough, served over bread. It was also accompanied
by more salad and fruit salad, and fortunately for me, a cinnamon
swirl. I was worried I’d not be able to finish dessert, but cinnamon
swirls are my favorite.
Most of Blanchet’s visitors come for one or two meals each day, and
in the future, I’d probably just drop in for lunch or breakfast, rather
than stuffing myself stupid. But even if you can’t finish what’s on
your plate, the slop buckets are taken off to Blanchet’s farm in rural
Oregon, where they go to feed pigs being raised by more men in
recovery. So your conscience can remain clear.
Now you know: When the next Great Depression hits, and you’re shit
out of luck, Blanchet is the place to come for a balanced meal and some
reassuring company, and who knows, maybe even your first slice of bear.
Just be sure to chew it thoroughly.
Blanchet House of Hospitality, 340 NW Glisan. Donations:
503-226-3911.