This article in this morning’s Oregonian not only made my day, but also made coffee come out of my nose. Particularly in light of recent threads about fist fighting. Synopsis: a local chef takes issue with imported pig being used in a cook-off.
My favorite bit:
This is the sort of thing that chefs shout at each other when brawling. Not “Motherfucker!”; not “Sumbitch!”. Rather “Food doesn’t come from SFO…!” or maybe “You call that a remoulade!? I call it swill!”
What a ham-fisted endorsement.
Well, that male’s chauvinist about his pig.
Wow, “heritage pork”? “Prestigious pig cook-off”, ending with a fight at a strip club?
These people are sooo out of my league!
Portland is just. . .odd. The online comments were good: I especially liked the one that said something about “Restaurant to bar to strip club. The only thing left out is how they traveled between venues: bus, bike or Prius.” 
Hooker drawn rickshaws, following a trail of crystal meth.
I spent a week in Portkand maybe 25 ears ago. It was strange then. The mayor had just become famous for posing in a poster while holding open his raincoat, and it was captioned “Expose Yourself to Art”.
So you started it.
You misspelled “Porkland”.
I decided hookers with rickshaws was was a market need that wasn’t being filled. I was able to add the crystal meth with some Federal stimulous money. I challenge anyone to give an example of anything else as stimulating as hookers and meth.
God I love this town. “Keep Portland weird” indeed.
Sounds like professional chefs to me.