No, the barbecue here doesn't taste the same as it did in Texas. No, you can't get the equivalent of an East Coast sandwich here without someone fucking up some portion of it. No, there isn't a "decent" Friday fish fry like the one you had back in Minnesota. And, no, there's no amount of Peacock Lane lights or Pig 'n' Pancake breakfast that will make a miserable, city-jumping Ohioan any less miserable. Hell, the Lloyd Center of a lifelong Portlander's childhood and the widely available smack and shooting galleries of the railyard we now call the Pearl are nothing but memories. Portland isn't the place any of us came from, but it's a place that tries to make all of it a bit better. It tries to give you Texas BBQ, decent pizza, and Midwest delicacies. It tries to keep enough "Old Portland" around to make you hate the new one less. It tries to marry the comforts of the past with the realities of the present, in hopes for a better future. It fails often, but I'm glad it tries.