The Bowdoin Orient

As this school year, this esteemed volume of the Orient and consequently this intrepid column draw to a close, I can’t help but feel a little bit sentimental. In times like these, when stress, nostalgia and anticipation converge, there are only a few possible places to seek asylum. Other than the obvious refuge of a joyous and transporting meal, the troubled mind can escape in unexpected moments of inspiration. 

Though most of my biweekly cravings happened to conveniently coincide with my Orient column’s schedule, this final opportunity to overanalyze food came with no accompanying craving to serve as my guide. It was only after I had given up entirely, surrendering to the mindless vortex of social media, that a bit of excerpted verse jolted my culinary spirit back to life. 

It was a post by Bowdoin Missed Encounters that read as follows: 

“Julian Andrews: You’re the only reason I go to the Korean display station. I am Edgar Allen Poe and you’re my raven. ‘Deep into that darkness peering, long before I stood there wondering, fearing; doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was one whispered word, ‘Julian?’’”

Of course! How could I have been so blind, so tasteless? Not only has the Korean food display at Moulton long been my favorite dining hall offering, but the sought-after chef himself—the Orient’s very own (OVO) Julian Andrews ’17—is also the very same Features Editor who has tolerated my deadline-defying feats all year. This opportunity had been sitting right under my nose all year, taking on many fragrant forms including bibimbap, Korean tacos and, most recently, scallion pancakes. To miss an encounter with any of these dishes would warrant its own melancholy poetic Facebook post, so I make sure to clear my schedule every Tuesday for some quality time at Moulton.

In all cases, the long line for the display station was a worthy price to pay for Brunswick’s best (and only) Korean delicacies. My first love, the classic bibimbap, delivered flavors that were largely absent from this culinary landscape. With an absorbent sticky rice foundation, juicy thin-sliced beef, crisp lettuce, funky kimchi and an expertly fried egg to top it off, it was a powerhouse dish unlike anything I had experienced from Bowdoin Dining before—or since. Though it admittedly took me a few weeks to reign in my overzealous dousing of soy and spicy sauces, the culinary synergy between Julian and Max Miao ’17 made for an unparalleled eating experience every time.

The display station’s foray into fusion was a high-risk, high-reward strategy. It was clear that the masterminds behind the counter meant business when I approached the table to see them personally assembling and doling out what is arguably the single trendiest street food item in these United States: the Korean taco. Fortunately, I had dealt with my initial trepidations surrounding this Mexican-Korean amalgam on a fateful day when the famed Korilla BBQ truck arrived on my Manhattan block some summers ago. Call them gimmicky, call them hipster chow, call them whatever you want; the simple fact is that Korean tacos are a delicious idea if done right. The hands-on labor of love behind the counter at Moulton pays off, because these tacos are on par with anything that you could buy (or not) from a sleeve-tattooed street vendor in one of America’s “foodie” cities.

Finally, there’s the newcomer: a scallion pancake known as Pajeon. This again demonstrated Bowdoin Dining’s admirable desire to break new ground in Brunswick. Sure, there are probably a few decent scallion pancake options at our local Chinese-American institutions, but this Pajeon delivered a distinctly Korean take on texture and composition. Complemented by the requisite kimchi, sprouts, cucumbers and a fluffy bed of spicy-soy-soaked rice, the chewy pancake brought savory bits of spring onion flavor with every bite. I only lament that I may not have enough time to perfect my fixins-to-pancake ratio before the semester comes to a close.

The column known as Ben Apétit has been all over the place. I have traveled reasonably far and relatively wide in search of gustatory goodness, all the while attempting to maintain a reasonable expectation of where people are willing to eat and what they are willing to pay. 

In some moments, minor existential crises have plagued me, begging the question of legitimacy and inaccessibility in the realm of food writing. When I can remember how incredibly lucky we are to have such amazing eating options just one meal swipe away, it reminds me why writing a nitpicky column with a downright silly name is so rewarding. So thank you, reader, for accompanying me on this absurd journey through the culinary wilds of Midcoast Maine. Perhaps we will meet again someday, or maybe another quixotic eater will take up the mantle. No matter what happens, I will be around, I will be hungry, and I would love to get a meal some time.

As we have all seen in the past week or so, a little sunshine goes a long way here in Brunswick. Even with the big thaw finally getting underway, people on this campus (myself included) get slightly overzealous with their reactions to the strange phenomenon of a 60 degree day. 

By donning shorts, exhuming various floral prints from Narnia-adjacent regions of their wardrobes, and attempting to photosynthesize on the Quad, Bowdoin students have collectively decided to adopt the carefree mentality of an elusive season known as spring. 

As always, I have been thinking a lot about how this experience could be improved with food, and an extensive analysis of my cryptic midnight cravings has yielded one all-important criterion: Whatever it is, it has to taste fresh. 

Don’t get me wrong, fresh ingredients are a year-round need that Dining  Services consistently satisfies, but I was craving something more akin to the unattainable embodiment of spring on a plate. My quest for fresh brought me to the indoor farmers’ market at Fort Andross last Saturday, but I then found a true oasis of spring flavor at Lola’s Taqueria.

Tucked in the back corner of the big room where local vendors offer everything from blueberry jerky to raw milk, Lola’s sells homemade burritos that are the stuff of legend. In fact, I had overheard some lore surrounding Lola’s over a year ago during one of my biweekly procrastination parties at Bohemian Coffee House, but assumed that the fabled taco truck was a distant memory that predated my Brunswick residency. I was pleasantly surprised to encounter not a truck, but a simple counter with tinfoil-wrapped deliciousness piled high alongside vibrant varieties of Lola’s “Awesome Sauce” salsa.

To appease my craving for all things fresh, I opted for the A.B.C., which simply stands for avocado, beans and cheese. What I tasted, however, was more than the sum of its delicious parts. The burrito was bright, chewy and hearty, with a particularly artful interplay between creamy avocado and the spicy, acidic “Awesome Sauce.” In my mind, this is the ideal vegetarian (though sadly not vegan) meal available at this time of year. 

And yes, I know that the avocado probably boarded a 787 Dreamliner to reach my mouth here in Brunswick, but the salsa sorcerer behind the counter insisted that every other ingredient was locally sourced, which made the $7 price tag seem all the more reasonable. This burrito—in all its meatless, responsibly farmed glory—is definitely enough to make devout Chipotle-lovers think twice about their allegiances.

At the end of the day, I am sadly a carnivore at heart. Though I admired my momentary vegetarianism, the temptation to try Lola’s take on pulled pork was too strong to resist, so I grabbed a second ’rito for the road. Though I didn’t expect it, the tender local pork and rice also satisfied my freshness obsession when I devoured the cold burrito later that night. 

Given the circumstances, I’m sure that my margin of error was higher than usual, but my calculations seemed correct in assuming that this pulled pork was everything I had dreamed it would be. It was chewy but not tough, and it avoided the cardinal sin of BBQ pulled pork by substituting sweetness with subtle peppery spice.

When I return for more Lola’s—which I inevitably will—I need to check out the baja chicken burrito for the ultimate sunshine-in-a-bite effect. It should be noted, however, that the elusive Lola’s no longer stations a truck on Brunswick’s Town Mall when the weather gets warmer. Instead, you can find burrito enlightenment at Crystal Spring Farm on Saturday mornings this summer.

What a menu. Rarely before visiting Pai Men Miyake had a laminated sheet of white paper attracted my gaze so magnetically, but there I sat, devouring the list items with my eyes. While the boldfaced names and reasonable prices of Pai Men Miyake’s offerings had initially drawn me in, the breakdown of imaginative ingredients under each heading enticed me even further. The spirit of experimentation is alive and well in chef Masa Miyake’s kitchen, but the menu steers clear of anything that could be called fusion. Instead, the restaurant’s wide variety of offerings communicates a strong sense of place: the culinary landscape of modern Japan.

When it comes to comfort food, the conversation too often seems to focus on familiarity: a taste of home, a fast food flashback, or almost any dish that would transport Guy Fieri to “flavortown.” Ramen, however, rarely gets the comfort-food respect it deserves. Though many Americans may understand an abstract concept of authentic Japanese ramen that doesn’t include MSG packets and microwave instructions, the cheap version unfortunately dominates the collective consciousness on campus.

Over the past decade, real ramen has arrived stateside and developed a huge following in many American cities, and nearby Portland is no exception. Less than two weeks after my return to Maine from New York City—the American ramen oasis I call home—a Friday night craving drove me to the front door of Pai Men Miyake with four hungry friends (Oriana Farnham ’15, Margaret Lindeman ’15, Emily Tucker ’15 and Callie Ferguson ’15) in tow. Callie came to Pai Men Miyake with a hidden agenda (an insatiable thirst and an upcoming Orient column, page eight ).

After the waitress arrived at our long-awaited four-top table to take in Callie’s short sermon on hopped beverages, ever-astute Margaret invoked the magic words: “Ben, you should just to order for all of us.” After a moment of feigned uncertainty, I readily rattled off some appetizers and my curated ramen choices, which I tailored to suit the respective Myers-Briggs profiles and dietary restrictions of my dining companions.“Oriana will have the kimchi beef ramen, Callie should get the miso, and how about the veggie-based broths for Margaret and Emily,” I proclaimed as their beers arrived. 

The waitress seemed unsettled—either by my personalized ordering style or my domineering representation of the patriarchy—but I just smiled and took a rejuvenating sip of my yuzu lemonade.Though all the appetizers arrived together after a very short wait, I suspected that one would disappear long before the others. The crispy brussels sprouts are Pai Men’s most popular starter for a reason; with a punchy fish sauce vinaigrette base and aromatic cameos from cilantro and mint, every crunchy leaf is a beautiful battle between flavor and texture. Even beer-fixated Callie stopped sipping and piped in, describing the sprouts as “downright silly…like in a good way.” This dish is a successful experiment to say the least, and seems like the groundbreaking solution to convert sprouts naysayers for good.

Among the other appetizers were two hearty savories to whet even the most ravenous omnivore’s palate. The hamayaki, which centers on a sizeable mix of broiled scallop and crab, stuffs an overwhelming amount of flavor into a scallop shell by combining the sweetness of eel sauce and Japanese kewpie mayo with truffle oil and sticky rice. The result is a rich, if heavy, way to start a meal.

The relatively straightforward pork buns, however, are not to be missed. The perfectly simple mix of tender pork belly, pepper relish, and a dab of subtly spicy gojuchang (chili) mayo on two pillowy steamed buns made for some truly transcendent bites. Everyone at the table wanted a taste, but after returning from my porky plane of existence, I noticed Oriana’s quiet dismay at the disappearance of bun number two. Let this be a lesson to you all; more pork buns make everyone happy.

The noodle soup feast that followed was, of course, the main event and euphoric fulfillment of my craving quest. Though I opted to venture into advanced ramen territory with my choice of a low-broth mazemen—complete with delicate sliced scallop, powerful miso dashi, creamy corn puree, XO sauce, and salty orbs of roe—the brothy options I had selected for my fellow diners were all the more solid as comfort food with a creative spin.

Reaching across the table, while no doubt an affront to every rule Karen Mills had taught my sophisticated senior companions, was a necessary evil for my purposes. The spicy, beefy broth chosen for Oriana was best when it came to solid ingredients, most notably the crunchy kimchi and tender beef that could be pulled apart with chopsticks. Callie’s miso ramen was, as I had expected, a more classic powerhouse of flavor that combined every broth style under the rising sun, topping it all off with the requisite soy sauce egg, scallions and nori.

Before passing judgment on the tsukimi udon soup, I asked Emily (the self-proclaimed “veg-human” on call) her thoughts. 

“I love that they’re playing Contra, it’s my favorite Vampire Weekend album,” she replied.Anyway, the tsukimi udon spoke for itself with deep shiitake mushroom flavor and bright pickled accents, though the udon noodles were a bit unwieldy with slippery chopsticks. Margaret nodded in agreement, further securing her role as the most cooperative dining companion in the game.

The experience at Pai Men Miyake delivers on so many levels, but most importantly the establishment stays true to its unique identity as a Japanese pub in Portland, Maine. No matter what you enjoy, Pai Men Miyake always has an authentic flavor, a delicious experiment, or an unexpected pairing that will surely leave a lasting impression. 

When you spend this much time overanalyzing food, sometimes it’s important to get back to the basics. Though I’m sure much of the Orient’s readership is well acquainted with Libby’s Market, it seems only right to remind everyone that Brunswick’s best offering is available year-round, even in the dark midterm days leading up to Spring Break. Located only a few blocks away from Maine Street on Jordan Avenue, Libby’s serves a no-nonsense lobster roll that could easily be considered the best Maine has to offer. 

The modest setting—a small clapboard structure with the appearance of a gas station sans gas pumps—enhances the culinary surprise that waits behind the counter. Food-obsessed Orient writers before me have questioned Libby’s supremacy with mentions of Red’s Eats, Brunswick Diner, and other crustacean-peddling competitors. I would just like to throw my hat in the ring with an emphatic endorsement of Libby’s as the ideal lobster roll experience just so happens to be the most convenient option as well.

Though the convenience store interior may seem like the typical place to stop for soda and chips during a long car ride, a few more dollars can buy you a generous helping of fresh-caught lobster in a toasted hot dog bun. Though it may lack the maritime décor of Maine’s quintessential seaside restaurants, the real spirit of the state is alive and well at Libby’s. The Libby family’s approach to food—all quality, no kitsch—makes for great food, great conversation, and limited seating. Don’t worry though; devouring the whole roll while standing at the counter is by no means discouraged. 

Aside from some butter on the toasted bun (which is potato bread, of course), Libby’s roll is all juicy lobster meat with just a touch of mayonnaise for cohesion, rather than the dousing of mayo and celery too often used to compensate for a lack of shellfish. Many laud the inclusion of a claw in the roll at Red’s Eats, but we should all be honest and admit that the rubbery pincer meat is more of an aesthetic gimmick than a gustatory treat.

Libby’s doesn’t advertise at all, nor does it feature the press clippings and banners characteristic of its competitors, but the impressive quality of their product has made it an accidental attraction. Locals, enlightened Bowdoinites, and Yelp-savvy tourists come to the counter year round, but a small, yet noticeable price-hike accompanies the arrival of warm(er) weather every year. In the off-season, Libby’s rarely ever sees lines out the door, so winter is an ideal time to get your lobster fix in a hurry.

The birthday of my dear roommate Jake Reiben ’17 occasioned my most recent visit to Libby’s. Arriving just before the 7 p.m. closing time, our group was rewarded with free chips and challenged to a homemade dice game—a chance to win the contents of that day’s tip jar—while waiting for our rolls. Dan Libby shamed me into buying a female friend’s lobster roll, citing chivalry as a major part of his successful marriage, and the meal that followed was undoubtedly worth the doubled price. When the texture of the golden-brown potato bun contrasted perfectly with the smooth lobster chunks, the stars aligned, and I had a spiritual encounter with a three-ingredient sandwich. Simplicity, in both quality food and friendly atmosphere, is what truly makes Libby’s the best around; and fortunately, it doesn’t look like that will be changing any time soon. 

February is an interesting month for many reasons. With campus in a nearly perpetual post-blizzard state, daily priorities have adapted to the landscape. Focusing on the essentials—like navigating to class, getting meals, and staying warm—requires considerable energy when Brunswick resembles the ice planet Hoth. 

This is the month that Bowdoin admissions often forgets to mention when advertising our fine institution to hopeful prospies, instead opting to remind everyone of our high quality of life rankings and unparalleled Dining Services. While we can agree those accolades make total sense, the primal day-to-day in the wintry tundra is an exceptional case that calls for an exceptional remedy, one that goes far beyond the realm of necessity to a place of solid comfort. If there’s anything less necessary and more comfortable than brunch, I haven’t found it yet.

For many, the very concept of brunch is hard to fully grasp. Is it just late breakfast? Is it glorified hangover food? Is it an American bourgeois dream/nightmare? While the answer to all these questions may very well be yes, Bowdoin offers us the luxury of bi-weekly brunches on the meal plan and most students get pretty excited to discuss their weekend exploits over eggs and French toast. Even at Moulton and Thorne, brunch comes loaded with a set of associations that make it different from all other meals. In Harpswell, however, SchoolHouse Café single-handedly justifies the existence of this enigmatic meal with a menu that combines creativity and familiarity at an affordable price.     

In a Goldilocks scenario where dining hall brunches are almost too predictable and big city brunches collapse under the weight of their own hype, brunch at Schoolhouse Café feels just right. After a short drive down Harpswell Neck Road, I stepped into a space that at once felt modern and classic, with lots of natural lighting, bookshelves filled with old-school board games, and a tastefully vibrant color scheme. At first glance, I could already tell that this place wasn’t selling a gimmicky brunch experience, but instead presenting solid food in an unpretentious setting.

The ever-changing menu—with its local brunch offerings and enticing baked goods—presents a number of hard decisions, but not a single wrong one. If you need advice on your decision (or even if you don’t) take some time to talk to your server, who will break down any dish into every detail and likely share intimate knowledge of the food’s origin. Our server had an anecdote about a “heavyset gentleman from Tennessee” who suggested the addition of chili pepper bits to the cornbread, and verified the seasonality of the delicious roasted tomatoes with an enthusiastic description of the café’s own year-round greenhouse.

I was pleasantly surprised, especially at this line of latitude, to find some great huevos rancheros, which delivered subtly spicy warm salsa with chewy corn tortillas and bright yellow over-easy eggs. Also in the egg department, SchoolHouse perfectly executes a three egg soft scramble that could rival any omelet preparation in consistency and variety of ingredient choices. Resist the urge to get toast as a side, especially if the alternative is anything like the fluffy cream cheese-chive biscuit I encountered on my visit.

Like any brunch worth its salt, a meal at SchoolHouse Café has enough sweet offerings to balance out the savories. Though cookies and cakes are available up at the counter, the cinnamon twist French toast and muffin bread pudding on the menu fall just shy of dessert-level sweetness. If you want to embrace the true spirit of brunch and accompany your eggs, hash browns, and bacon with some syrupy goodness, these pancake-type options are all available as half orders.

My objective here, clearly, is to make you crave the wonderful local fare that SchoolHouse Café has to offer. If you’re not already jealous of those in-the-know eaters among us, then I probably shouldn’t tell you the reason behind SchoolHouse’s name. Not only does the café serve the public Wednesday-Sunday every week, but they also prepare every single school lunch for the nearby Harpswell Coastal Academy. Those lucky kids get to eat locally sourced, creative, gourmet meals for free every day. So if you’re like me and have something to prove about the supremacy of Bowdoin’s food, here’s your challenge: go to SchoolHouse Café and then decide who holds the cafeteria championship title.

It’s that time of year again. I know what you’re thinking, but rest assured that I’m not prematurely suggesting any yuletide, Maccabean  or Kwanzaa-related feasts. Rather, I am referring to the gustatory gap between Thanksgiving and peak holiday season where many Bowdoin students sustain their morale only with fond flashbacks of gravy-drenched turkey and daydreams of the coming late-December feasts. 

I think this lull in culinary excitement is poorly timed. With the combined onslaught of upcoming exams and treacherous weather, it only makes sense that Polar Bears should find indulgence somewhere amidst the hardship. A quick trip to Beale Street Barbecue in nearby Bath can help us all traverse the pre-finals fjord with some comfort food.My own inspiration for finding decent Southern fare near Bowdoin came from a conversation with the illustrious Evan Montilla ’17, who was born and raised in Mississippi.

Though you may know him as one third of Treefarm, one twelfth of Ursus Verses or one whole of his solo act, the down home dreamboat also has a classically-trained palate for all things barbecue. Singing and making strange percussive noises gets me very hungry (that’s normal, right?), so it was only natural when I asked Evan to share his wisdom during a late-night a cappella rehearsal.

“To be honest, I haven’t even tried to find good barbecue up here,” he told me as a single tear welled up and dropped from his eye.

Alas, I hadn’t bothered to seek out any slow-smoked delicacies either. In my mind, Maine had its regional specialties, some solid international offerings and not much else. But talking to Evan made me wonder: if Maine is the “South of the North,” then shouldn’t some Southern-style dining be a perfect fit?

Though I am no bona fide Southerner, my hometown boasts several joints that challenge the regional limits of good barbecue. If New York City can pull it off, maybe BBQ also has a home in Maine. With that hunch, I was determined to find some Southern comfort food to satisfy our craving, authenticity be damned. What we found at Beale Street Barbecue exceeded our expectations.

The short drive into Bath’s historic downtown felt like a road trip, nay, a veritable quest for smoky meaty goodness in the frozen north we call home. Walking in, I noticed the wood pile and barrel smoker set up in the parking lot. This was a good sign. I second-guessed the omen when I saw that the brick-walled interior had plenty of open booths and empty bar stools, but held out further judgment until my take-out order was ready. 

Back at Bowdoin, I unveiled the heaping plate of ribs, brisket, corn bread, coleslaw and mashed sweet potatoes. Wordlessly, Evan and I investigated the supposedly Tennessee-inspired meal before us. 

After a few moments of reassuring silence, we looked up from our feast and began to over-analyze what we tasted.“Okay, so the ribs are actually really good,” Evan said. “You can tell that someone in the kitchen is from the South.”“There’s something crazy about the barbecue sauce, ” I ventured. 

Pairing equally well with the spice-rubbed bark on the ribs and the charred seasoning on the sliced brisket, the tangy sauce was—if you’ll excuse the Fieri-ism—boss. 

Both the pork and beef were also perfectly smoky and so the prophecy of the barrel-wood smoker proved legitimate. The ribs were textbook-executed in the St. Louis style, with a peppery dry rub that complemented the chewy crimson bark deliciously. Though somewhat lean, the thin-sliced—nearly shredded—brisket was juicy inside and chewy around the edges.

“You can also tell it’s legit because they actually give you solid pickles and onions to go with the brisket,” Evan added. Admittedly, the coleslaw and mashed sweet potatoes that accompanied our $21 meal for two left something to be desired, but the quality of the meat overwhelmed their mediocrity. 

The cornbread, on the other hand, proved polarizing. With subtle hints of jalapeño and a sliced-bread appearance, Evan was less receptive of the starchy sacrament, noting how it was “somewhere between moist and dry.” I enjoyed the dense cornbread, but agreed that recipes usually end up moist and chewy or dry and crumbly.

If Thanksgiving Break can teach us anything positive, it should be an appreciation for slow cooking and voracious eating. Though preparing for finals doesn’t leave much time for the lethargic digestion period that many of us enjoyed after devouring our turkey, I would still recommend Beale Street Barbecue as a great take-out or eat-in option to break up an arduous study schedule. 

Though it’s only 15 minutes away, a BBQ jaunt to Bath has the soul-rejuvenating (and artery-clogging) effects of a road trip down South.

When it comes to food and entertainment, Brunswick has a surprising number of good options for its size. On any given night, a stir-crazy Bowdoinite need only walk down Maine Street for a great meal, a movie at Eveningstar (sometimes Frontier), or even a wholesome round of candlepin bowling. After a few outings in town, however, one unfortunate truth becomes increasingly apparent: late-night dining is nearly impossible. 

As someone who plans his days entirely around food, I will not surrender to the reality that my all-important fourth meal can only come from the Campus Food Truck, Domino’s or my own toil in the kitchen. 

While Brunswick has limited late-night dining, many Portland eateries stay open far after the final showtime at Nickelodeon Cinemas. 

Bao Bao, located at 113 Spring Street in Portland, is the ultimate late-night dining experience for the underage, budget-conscious college student. The new brainchild of Cara Stadler, chef-owner of Brunswick’s award-winning Tao Yuan, Bao Bao is the dumpling house Maine doesn’t know it has been missing.

Though Portland residents have kept the restaurant busy every night since it opened in October, Brunswick should follow Stadler’s lead and get down to Portland once in a while. 

Last week, I followed up the mind-blowing spectacle that is “Birdman” with a plate of deep fried pork buns, a spicy bowl of wontons and a cool Asian slaw. If I were telling you all of this in person, I would probably just stop there and say something stupid like “’nuff said.” 

Luckily, you’ve already read this far, so you’re basically my captive audience. Allow me to wax poetic about the aforementioned foodstuffs. 

Imagine a slaw—cool like Andre 3000, but not quite “ice cold”— with a vinegary dressing that awakens the taste buds with fresh, crunchy cabbage and carrots that accompany chewy peanuts and frizzled shallots in each bite. Pair that with a doughy deep-fried bomb of savory-sweet minced pork, topped with scallions and Japanese spiced (togarashi) aioli, and you’ve got a transcendent late-night combo for only $7. 

For a dumpling fix, try some wontons filled with hearty pork and light chives. Served with bean sprouts and scallions in a delicious broth with subtle hints of numbing spice (probably szechuan pepper), these wontons pack a perfect kick of heat for your midnight craving. It should be noted that Bao Bao’s late-night menu has a limited selection compared to the eight dumpling varieties available during the day, but these wontons seem worthy representatives of the establishment’s daytime specialty.

It is abundantly clear at Bao Bao that Stadler knows what she is trying to accomplish. From deliberate decorative choices—giant metal dragon on one wall, stunning photographs of modern China on the other—to an impressive Maine-meets-Asia drinks menu and special late-night options, Stadler’s experiment succeeds in providing diners with a unique gourmet comfort food experience. 

The focus on dumplings—a food so perfect that every culture has its own version—gives Bao Bao a simplicity, affordability and approachability that Tao Yuan can sometimes lack.

Bao Bao is a great way to experience Stadler’s ingenuity first-hand, the ultimate post-movie bite, and the perfect end to any night out in Portland. Tao Yuan will continue to draw Bowdoin crowds on family weekend, as it should, but Bao Bao can be your cheat code to unlocking Stadler’s award-winning cuisine on a budget.

Whether you need to catch a plane, see a concert, or spring for that extra-special dining experience, all signs point to Portland. However, while we are lucky to have Maine’s largest city nearby, the urban experience for many Bowdoin students is limited to Portland’s outskirts and commercial downtown area. Fortunately, newcomer Ten Ten Pié is a worthy destination off Portland’s tourist-beaten path. 

Just a short walk from the city’s well-known waterfront, East Bayside is a residential neighborhood where multi-generational Mainers, recent immigrants and established refugee populations live side by side. 

Co-owners Markos Miller and Atsuko Fujimoto embrace the melding of cultures in their East Bayside shop, offering everything from creative lunch specials to cuisine-combining baked goods, and even a solid selection of imported grocery items.

My visit to Ten Ten Pié started as a mission to find a certain pastry recommended to me by coffee shop connoisseur Raisa Tolchinsky ’17. As I entered the shop, the alluring smell of baked goods led me straight past a wall of international groceries and a case of lunch delicacies, directly up to the bakery counter. 

Inside, I found the pastry I was looking for—an almond croissant baked with matcha (green tea powder)—alongside imaginative baked goods like miso macarons, a Chinese sausage croissant, and German flammekuchen (flatbread). 

These cross-cultural combinations might seem outlandish, but they are at home in a bakery whose owners met by chance, numerous times, in different places all over the world.

After devouring the croissant, which combined sweet almond filling with savory matcha depth, I took a moment to look around. The sparse seating, wide selection of goods and reasonable prices add to the unique appeal of Ten Ten Pié. The owners prioritize quality food over trendiness. In an era when hip décor, twee gimmicks and overwrought menu typography seem to be the norm, Ten Ten provides a refreshing departure.

Perhaps its East Bayside location contributes to Ten Ten’s no-frills approach. Unlike nearby Munjoy Hill, Bayside has yet to experience the full-fledged gentrification that has characterized Portland in the past decade. 

As one of Portland’s lowest-income neighborhoods, Bayside is one of the last frontiers for expensive residential development, but construction has just begun on luxury condos nearby. For the time being, however, Ten Ten Pié succeeds in connecting with its neighbors by offering undeniable value.

It is clear that Miller and Fujimoto have created their own ideal neighborhood market and hope to share their passions with East Bayside. Their expertly curated grocery selection, from Japanese Kewpie mayonnaise to masa flour corn tortillas, figure artfully in their lunch items and baked goods.

“We are inspired by great flavors from around the world and ethnic markets,” Miller said. “We just find the best stuff and mix it up.”

Telling people you go to college in Maine is almost universally met with a stock set of responses. There is, of course, the crustacean-crazed relative who can only assume that Bowdoin Dining doles out lobster for not one, but every single meal. There is probably that friend from home who imagines your life as a rustic adventure among cottage classrooms and log-cabin dorms. 

These friends and loved ones are unfortunately misinformed, and I do not doubt that many of you, like me, realized the faults of your inaccurate expectations after first arriving on campus. I would like to assure you, however, that those dreams are alive and well, hiding in plain sight. Where can one find this Maine of myth? So glad you asked! 

All the excitement of Vacationland lies just off the highways and byways surrounding our beloved campus; you just have to venture out of the bubble. With the spirit of adventure and an empty stomach fueling my journeys, I will be a devoted guinea pig for any and all culinary quests that the area has to offer.

Whether you’re reading a menu, perusing the grocery store, or shopping for outerwear, everyone knows that Maine is synonymous with quality. Though lobster, blueberries and L.L. Bean are usually the Maine exports that spring to mind, the state we all call home has another trick up its flannelled sleeve: oysters. 

The Damariscotta River, just east of Brunswick, is home to a particularly sought-after variety of oyster, known for its distinctive briny flavor and full body. Now, if this description is already unappealing, then you’re clearly not an oyster person. 

Unlike most foods, which I would argue one can develop a taste for, there is a chance you may simply never feel mollusk mania, and that’s okay. For those who either haven’t tried oysters or already love the blessed bivalves, this oyster farm is the place to get the freshest oysters you’ll ever taste. Their littleneck clams aren’t too shabby either.

Located in the town of Edgecomb, the Glidden Point Oyster Farm is just that; a legitimate oyster harvesting operation that ships to numerous fancy raw bars across the country every day. 

The property itself consists of three modest sheds near the Damariscotta River where oysters, clams and lobsters are stored and sold at wholesale prices. 

In addition to a selection of shellfish, Glidden Point also sells the necessary tools for shucking your own mollusks—knives and protective gloves (strongly recommended)—as well as some branded merchandise to instantly enhance your Mainer credibility. If they’re not too busy packaging orders for shipping, the oyster farmers themselves will even take the time to teach you the art of shucking, which is really not as difficult as people tend to believe. 

After a short tutorial, you can shuck to your heart’s content and throw back oysters and clams at an outdoor picnic table. From eating on the coastline to the owners’ thick Maine accents, the atmosphere at Glidden Point is a lot like the no-frills, all-quality lobster roll experience that we Polar Bears know and love at Libby’s Market. 

If Maine living is “the way life should be,” then Glidden Point is the way oysters should be eaten. After you try it, you’ll understand that raw bars are just overpriced imitations of the ultimate oyster experience available in Midcoast Maine. 

If you’re lucky enough to have a car, oyster heaven-on-earth is just a 40-minute drive away (east on Route 1). For vehicle-deprived students like myself, recruiting a ride shouldn’t be too difficult when the driver’s compensation comes fresh on the half-shell. 

On Sunday, September 28 the town of Damariscotta is hosting the Pemaquid Oyster Festival from noon to dusk, featuring live music, river cruises and every preparation of oysters imaginable. Should you choose to attend this Sunday, keep an eye out for me. I’ll be the guy sitting by a mound of empty shells with a goofy grin on his face.