Toro Bravo (y Pantalones Bravos)
Pea Daddy gave me a gift card, among other things, for my birthday.
With it, I bought a pair of really tight, electric pink pants.
Funny how no one ever pins or posts pictures of five year-old saggy, faded jeans that you have to trim every few months when the strings along the hemline are fraying down into your $5 flip flops. And that is why this will never be a fashion blog.
While for a usual date night, I’d trim my jeans, don my flip flops and we’d head out for Chipotle, something stirred me to be a little braver this year.
So last night I poured myself into my pants, put on two belts (one to keep them up and one for fashion’s sake) and we headed to Portland.
Toro Bravo is a highly renowned tapas restaurant in Northeast Portland that I’ve been eyeing for awhile. It’s been visited by Mark Bittman of the New York Times and is well known for its flavorful, inventive dishes made with fresh, local and sustainable ingredients And its sangria.
Pea Daddy offered to drop me off to line up while he found a parking spot. I think he just didn’t want to be seen with my pants and hoped to dart into the restaurant after I’d already been seated. In a dark corner.
Though we were seated immediately, this meal would have been worth the wait.
a) complimentary pumpkin seeds and peanuts (better than a bread basket);
b) sangria (x 2);
c) pickled vegetables and olives (we thought of Lulu amidst all the delicious, briny pickles);
d) artisan bread & olive oil (okay, so we ordered the bread basket) + groundwork’s greens with hazelnuts & asparagus (fresh and delicious);
e) potatoes bravas (which to my delight tasted like a gourmet version of supermarket deli fried potatoes with ranch);
f) churros with dipping chocolate (Pea Daddy wisely insisted on this).
I didn’t truly know it before last night, but I love tapas.
Little tastes of everything give you lots of freedom on your plate. They give you room to explore. To let go of inhibitions. To release fears of committing to something you may or may not be able (or even want) to finish.
To discover you might just be a little braver than you thought.
As we strolled around Portland after dinner under a huge full moon, we saw people in lopsided sombreros that were getting more lopsided as the night went on. In prom dresses with slits up to belly buttons. In flannel shirts and tribal tattoos. (Everything you see on Portlandia is 100% true.)
Suddenly my really tight, electric pink pants felt really conservative. Maybe it was the adventurous meal or the sangria talking, but I made Pea Daddy avert his eyes as I ducked into a store.
And bought another pair of really tight pants in electric blue.
And a belt for keeping them up.