What am I doing here, you might ask. Not even a bar. It’s a patisserie. You know ’cause it’s in the name.
Yet here I am. A desert place. Coffee, tiny chocolates with rust stripes or berry swirls covering them, waffle patterned crusts holding jellied lemon and cream. Even the sign on the front tells you what kind of spot you’re in for. They have six different names for coffee and only one beer on tap-a Rogue of some sort, but I’m too far away to make out which once.
Not cozy enough for a date place, not roomy enough to be a family spot, yet somehow accommodating both (albeit barely) Pix offers something that most everybody wants; dessert. Hard to argue, right?
Except…it’s not a beer place, right? To that, all I can say is; it IS a tiny shop in Portland.
So I have come to see what the dessert place offers in the way of beer and I have ordered a Barbar Blonde au Miel. Brewed with coriander and orange peel with honey and spices….it’s a hefe without wanting to be cloudy. Of course, I was trying to avoid this kind of beer because I’ve got a bunch at home to drink but I can’t deny that the Barbar’s light mouthfeel, sweeter flavors and steady carbonation make for a beer that would go well with a range of desserts.
There’s a pretty solid selection too, mostly Belgian, chosen to go along with the food served. Lambics and stouts-with lambic and stout floats being offered-round out the offerings and I’m glad. I’ve spent a little too long in pubs that offer me beers that offer no challenge to me and frequently no other sense of charisma. They are pubs and sometimes it can be difficult to distinguish one from another.
Pix isn’t a pub-but they haven’t overlooked the beer drinkers in this city and fearlessly offer beer to go with the variety of pastries and truffles offered. I doubt it’s unique to Portland but it is unique to the neighborhood and I am pretty sure that I needed something to shake it up, just a bit, before I wrap this project up.
The great thing about dessert places is that they are by their very existence, more joyful than other kinds of restaurants. People do not have discussions about how they’ve been diagnosed with cancer over vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce. They don’t tell each other that the magic is gone and perhaps it’s not you, it’s me while licking custard from their spoons. They may be contemplative but it’s the smiling kind, maybe even sneaky as they dip their utensil into a luscious cupcake that someone else is munching on.
Maybe if the aliens come, they’ll stop by Pix before they do anything else, and decide that going to our leaders is really a waste of time.