Emma Levensohn lives in Portland.
If I hear the words “new restaurant that serves small plates” one more time, I’m gonna drive my car off of the Casco Bay Bridge.
Your small-plates restaurant that serves plates of fried sardines and Icelandic craft hot dogs serves about zero purpose in the community. It’s a concept, not a place. A menu designed to photograph well, not a menu to return to. A dining room that feels like it’s waiting for someone else’s life to happen in it.
There’s this weird exhaustion that comes from living somewhere that’s constantly being reimagined for visitors, like you’re a background extra in your own city.
You’re not filling a gap. You’re not creating a space where both tourists and locals will actually dine. You’re creating a space for wealthy out-of-towners to come spend their money.
Locals will try it once, maybe. Then they’ll go back to their usual spots, overpriced but at least familiar.
You know what would actually serve a purpose? A place you can walk into on a random Tuesday and get a really good meal without planning your entire night around it. A place where locals can actually afford to be regulars, and want to be.
Lighting that lets you actually see the person you’re sitting across from. Chairs you can stay in for more than 45 minutes without checking the time. Music that doesn’t make you feel like you have to compete with it just to have a conversation.
A place that doesn’t make you feel out of place if you’re not dressed for it. Where you can bring your parents, your picky friend, or someone who’s never been to Portland before and not have to explain the menu.
And if you’re coming here to open something, the goal shouldn’t be to carve out a piece of yourself and drop it into the city unchanged. It should be to pay attention. To figure out what’s actually missing, what people who live here are quietly wishing existed, and build that. Not every place needs to be personal expression. Sometimes it just needs to be useful. Sometimes it just needs to be good, consistent and there for the people who are here year-round.
My parents are coming into town for lunch to celebrate my birthday this weekend, and I’m at a loss for where to take them. Not because there aren’t options, but because none of them feel right. I’ve exhausted my three go-to spots to the point where they don’t feel special anymore, but I also don’t want mediocre food or a forgettable atmosphere.
A real community space is somewhere you return to without thinking about it. Somewhere that fits into your life instead of asking you to step into a version of yourself that matches the room. It’s comfortable. It’s consistent. It leaves room for actual connection, not just consumption.
Portland doesn’t need more concepts. It needs more places people can belong to.