I've always liked Katahdin because the décor remains a dusty stronghold of funk and retro that reminds this aging baby boomer of a nostalgic youth spent in downtown New York in the 1970s.

If only everything on the menu, except the fabulous apple pie, wasn’t smothered in a fruit- based reduction, emulsion or glaze, Katahdin would be the ideal neighborhood dining spot.

I’m not sure I understand the chef’s love affair with these sauces. Is it some sort of reverence for Caribbean fare? Or is it derived from the fruit craze of California cuisine from the seventies?

Nevertheless it’s a defining style indeed, the chef’s frolicking romp through lighthearted fare that’s very personal and very unique, found in no other restaurant in Portland.

I remember eating here several years ago for the first time, grazing over a menu that presented simpler choices, including a nightly Blue Plate Special. We dipped into the bread basket to devour buttermilk biscuits and cornbread instead of the now-ubiquitous focacia and EVO (extra virgin olive oil) presented last night.

For a moment I thought I was California dreaming when our waitress announced herself, in a thankless monologue: “Hello, my name is Agnes, and I’ll be your server tonight.” Oh, give me a break. How do you do, we’re not in Kansas anymore?

Still, I have a sweet tooth, which allows me to enjoy a meal here well enough.

I started off with the Lolla Rosa Salad, which is based on a red-leaf California lettuce, the foundation on which this salad is built. The portion is so big it should arrive on a rolling cart. It’s prepared with an anchovy dressing, awash with crumbled blue cheese, croutons and lemon juice. An acquired taste? Unctious perhaps? I’m still uncertain whether the pungent combination works. My dinner companion also ordered the salad and thought it was novel and delicious.

I had a difficult time choosing an entrée. Just about everything on the menu seemed to have the sweet heebie-jeebies. I narrowed it down to a choice of either the vanilla-brined pork loin (which in retrospect sounds really scary) or the scallops in an apricot-lobster glaze.

I chose the scallops. The dish was beautifully presented—a circle of six scallops nestled in a potato puree, suffused in a glistening apricot pool, with only kindred traces of lobster thrashing quietly. Miraculously the main ingredient survived unscathed. Then again, the flavors were appropriate to, if not reminiscent of, another 1970s phenomenon now charmingly known as nouvelle cuisine.

I have to admit that I wasn’t in the mood for this sort of food. We had been to a cocktail party earlier in the evening hosted by Landmarks and had planned to go to the Cumberland Club for dinner. At the last moment, we changed our minds, opting for the more casual ambience of Katahdin next door. If ever there was a divergence of choice, this was contrast personified.

My companion had the grilled salmon in a miso glaze, served over a bed of Japanese steamed rice. It was pronounced first rate and perfectly done.

The chef’s sweet tooth works, however, in the desserts.

Ah, the apple pie. This was one of the best apple pies I’ve had in a restaurant. The lattice top had a crumbly sugary veneer, and I’m fairly certain the dough was classic butter short crust. The apples were well spiced and served a la mode with a lavish house-made vanilla ice cream.

My friend ordered an orange flan -- a preparation of such resounding gossamer lightness it practically quivered on the plate.

Including several cocktails each, our tab was an even hundred dollars for two. Going back to our car on Park Street, we bumped into a friend walking her dogs, a pair of glamorous standard poodles named after two famous movie stars. The three of us had a wonderful chat while the poodles remained graciously in repose, a fitting end to a spirited evening out.

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