Sometimes, a man has to pull out his complicated shoes and tape on his faux man bun1 for the good of the mission. When in Portland, one need to pose with the best of them. Undercover as it is. And that is what Tortillaphilia is all about.
D is as Portland as a place can be. Its actual name is the Daily, but there is no way for you to know that. Everything is labeled as D, be it the logo or menu or whatever. D2. Had it been practically feasible to name it something with one less letter, they likely would have done so.
Not surprisingly, D does give the tortilla its well deserved respect. The corn tortillas are homemade—insert lame Portlandia reference here—and soak up the deliciousness of the chilaquiles quite satisfactory. A good zing of zestfulness is added by a tomatillo salsa, comfortably lulled to a state of calm by the queso fresco.
And because Portland is just so whimsically unpredictable, one of the eggs came over-easy as advertised, while the other didn’t… Or so it would have you think! The second half of the egg exploded in a sea of runny yolk after the first half felt decidedly firm. TouchÃ©, D. TouchÃ©.
D, you’re OK, even though in so many ways you are not. My shoes might not be quite complicated enough for the spot, but man, their food is quite excellent.
1 If one was of less urban leanings, and more in a get-off-my-lawn, grumpy old man category, one might say a man and bun should be words or styles one should never put together.
2 It is labeled as the Daily on their Instagram geo-location which speaks volumes: Only way to find their name is to label your photo with them on Instagram. I mean, really…