My list of restaurants that I favor in the Portland area has until recently fit on one 8-by-11 sheet of paper that I have hanging on a bulletin board in my office. Whenever I need to expand it (so far no deletions) I go to a file in my computer where I can access it easily to make changes and print a new version.

Since the list is alphabetized, the first entry is still Back Bay Grill. Yet if I were to compose this list based on ratings, estimations of best to worst, would the aforementioned remain on top?

That’s not easy for me to answer because we have a nice little package of Portland restaurants that share top billing for different reasons. Outside the city, contenders like Primo in Rockland, Francine’s in Camden, Provence in Ogunquit fare quite well.

When I went to Back Bay Grill on a recent Friday night, the moment I walked in I sensed instinctively that the start of a great meal was moments away. An energy and positive force filled the room. The two dining rooms were full and upbeat. The open kitchen looked like a practiced, well versed crew working in precise steps to finish the food that the excellent servers would bring to table.

Larry Mathews, who has been the chef there for years, has given the day to day running of the kitchen over to his excellent sous chef in favor of manning the front of the house as diners arrive. He greets you in his sparkling white chef’s jacket. That night I was easily reminded of Andre Soltner of Lutece fame in New York, in his chef’s whites, to greet you when you walked in, eventually darting in and out of the kitchen at intervals to chat to one and all in the dining room.

I’m happy to report that the Portland Public Market won’t be without an in-house butcher for very long. The Libra Foundation has made sure of that and has sponsored the re-opening of the former Forbes Meat Market under the new name of Maverick’s.

This won’t be just any old meat venue but will be managed by Maurice Bonneau of Lisbon Falls Sausage Kitchen fame. He’s had a stand at the market next to the former Forbes site for some time, where his sausage products have been a great hit.

Under Bonneau’s management, Maverick’s will carry a full line of natural and organic beef, veal, pork, poultry and eggs as well as such items as his own corned beef. He’ll also have many organic vendors like Caldwell Farms, Wolf Neck and other local providers. In addition the market will carry farm raised Iowa lamb, Colorado pork and local free-range chickens. Of course, there will be a full line of sausages from the Sausage Kitchen.

Either he or another full-time butcher will be on the premises at all times.
One of the big complaints about Forbes was their lack of personnel who could
handle customer orders or prepare specialty cuts. Bonneau and his staff will be
there to cater to just about every need.

When I was in the market today it was jam-packed with pre-Easter shoppers lined up at Foley’s Bakery for cookies, cakes and pies. Big Sky Bread was very busy, too, and it was practically SRO at Scales. A fair sized lunch crowd was assembled at El Mirador; and K Horton’s and Portland Spice Company were thriving as well.

It’s very obvious that food is fundamental to the market’s success--whether it is prepared foods, take out, produce and other kitchen essentials. And if the market is to succeed as well as it can more vendors with items that shoppers must have are essential.

Who can say that my views on food, wine and local dining are any better than the next guy or that my point of view is anything more than personal edification? I put forward these thoughts even to myself when others may skirt the issue altogether.

Perhaps I’m really broaching a cautious topic of Portland restaurants that fail miserably. When that happens they go on my list of restaurants that I vow Never to Go to Again. Fortunately it’s a short list. Unfortunately I have a new candidate.

Espo’s, off outer Congress St, is the latest to earn this dubious honor. While it may personify cheap eats to the core, this in itself is not a bad thing. I find nothing wrong with family style dining that’s a mainstay of classic marinara-mozzarella concoctions posing as Italian-American comfort grub. Yet must moderately priced food always be a tasteless joy?

I honestly would prefer to sleep for one hundred years than to return to Espo’s. I may comprise a lonely minority where that’s concerned. When I was there last night the place was still pretty darn full at the shank of the dinner hour.

Its predecessor, Esposito’s--owned by the incumbents of Casa Novello fame, which I love for its honest, hearty approach as a solid stronghold of Americanized Italian fare—was extraordinary compared to this featureless reincarnation. At least it bore no supercilious pretensions. Esposito’s cooed as a quirky time-warp, with its red-checked tablecloths, ancient waitresses and red sauce so good it should have been sold in jars by the front door.

You won’t see sawdust underfoot anymore in the Portland Public Market. That is to say, the Forbes Meat Company has left. And they seemed to have literally hit the road. I was told that even their operations in Portsmouth are closed up too.

The Public Market is a tough place to do business apparently. Other than to have strippers in the aisles or gambling in the back, there’s not enough incentive to draw the crowds necessary to support all the vendors.

While the market seems to have gained greater popularity over the last few years, it’s still a struggle for many to succeed.

Places like Scales, Maverick’s, the Portland Spice Company, and other food vendors are doing well while the other merchants suffer.

I’ve said before that its location is a problem. Even though it’s relatively easy to park across the street in the garage, it’s in a grungy part of town; and after all is said and done, parking in a garage is a chore. It’s far simpler to go into a lot like Hannford’s or Wild Oats or anywhere else where access is easy and the scene a bit more palatable.

Maybe the market should be turned into a condo complex. Just think--wouldn't they be great artists lofts? I'd much prefer to go to the market along the Eastern Waterfront or the outer banks of Bayside and feel like I'm in an exciting up and coming frontier. Trying to make a sow's ear into a silk purse never works.

Other than skin disease or the loss of beauty, youth and wealth, dieting ranks high in the annals of life’s lesser triumphs.

No one likes to diet. Some of us must for serious health reasons while others merely muse over losing a few unpleasant pounds to mollify errant notions of fitness and form.

I hate dieting. But lately I've been losing the proverbial battle of the bulge. Ever since Thanksgiving right to this very moment, food has reared its lovely wand of temptation like the most incorrigible temptress.

I love food, I love to eat out and to be deprived of it is unacceptable. In the past I’ve been able to maintain my weight through sensible eating and consistent exercise. If I have a large lunch I’ll cool it at dinner time. If I know I’m going to have a big evening meal, I’ll try to get to the gym and stay an hour longer, trolling through cardio and other exercises. I’m a tennis player and that helps to keep things in check, too.

But lately there’s been more intake than take-out. And the recalcitrant rhythms of a middle age metabolism only add insult to easy injury.

It’s a hateful situation. What? Growing old or growing a paunch? I suppose by standards I’m not really overweight. Rather, I’m in that universal camp where 8 to 10 pounds of paring down would be welcome.

What finally got me to take action was none of my clothes would fit. I felt like Elvis getting into skin tight pants, except I’m not Elvis. Shirt collars were no less snug than the hangman’s noose. At one point I had gone to my tailor with a half dozen shirts to have the top buttons inched over just a bit. He knew. What a waste of time. Just pare down.

Don’t expect SeaGrass, a new restaurant in Yarmouth, to be any more than the charming neighborhood bistro that it is. There aren't too many restaurants in the area that I'm familiar with that are worth the trip, so I was curious about this one

Since I live in Portland I tend to go to restaurants that are nearby. When the weather gets more reliable I will occasionally board 295 for points north or south. For short trips north I’ll go to Finch’s in Falmouth. It’s pleasant and the food is decent.

I also like to go to the Falmouth Sea Grill when I’m in the mood for something simple and tasty, not that this is such an astounding dining establishment, but the view is great, the food is highly agreeable, in a homespun way and the service is very friendly and relaxed. I went there for lunch a while ago and was told that the menu has been overhauled. I’m not sure if I’m happy about that. I like going there to have the same old thing each time: old-fashioned shrimp cocktail to start and baked haddock. After all, their menu hasn’t changed in years, which us regulars like.

For me, the best restaurant in the area is the Royal River Grillhouse. As well it should be because half the kitchen staff was lifted from Fore Street some years ago, when Royal River emerged transformed. The cooking is not always consistent, but when it’s good, it’s first-rate grill fare.

That’s my short list for the Falmouth-Cumberland axis.

It was one of the best grilled pork chops I’ve had in a long time. Poor cooking methods can easily destroy a chop. Overcooked, it can be tough, stringy and lack flavor.

The one I had last night was wonderful: tender, juicy, succulent, beautifully grilled, served with garlic mashed potatoes and apple slaw, a mélange of lightly sautéed apples, onions and other aromatics. My dinner companion had the India Street Pasta Company ravioli, with a roasted garlic marinara sauce. It was well prepared.

Where is this place? What is it? Who knows about it?

At 7:45 last night both the bar and the dining room were empty except for us. You’ve probably passed by it many times unaware that it even exists.

It’s called The Great American Grill, located off the lobby of the Commercial Street Hilton Garden Inn. That’s right, that unfortunate structure that many Portlanders deride, occupying one of the most prominent and expensive pieces of real estate in the city.

When the hotel first opened they decided against having a restaurant because so many good ones are right nearby. Still, a major hotel without a dining venue is curious indeed. Even the Portland Harbor Hotel has one, serving three fairly good meals a day in an attractive setting.

The dinner chef at the Great American Grill is a fellow named Steve Quattrucci who had a stint at Back Bay Grill and the Ritz in Boston before joining the hotel.

I’ve decided that I really don’t like Wild Oats even though I shop there fairly frequently. It’s not from some haunting memory of being felled by an organic orange or slipping on a naturally fermented wet spot. No, it's a visceral reaction. Call it blasé contempt-- a scant skepticism that prevents me from doing my daily stretch down perfect aisles.

Strange those other places of similar ideologies don’t give me the heebie-jeebies. At least when I enter the straight-faced chambers of the Whole Grocer next door, they have things I want--like happy looking vegetables, all home grown and appetizing, not wrapped up in airtight plastic bags.

I guess I’m just not a Wild Oats kind of guy. I’m not impressed by picture perfect carrots. I prefer that earthy just-dug look.

Neither am I impressed by the sign that says “organic” above the potato bins. I want my spuds to have a local provenance more than a generic moniker saying they’ve been sowed by organic standards of nature somewhere in a place I’ve never been to.

My standards are probably toughest concerning chickens. Don’t try to palm off those natural birds as being something special. Who’s kidding whom?

Part Two
Dinner
In picking a place for dinner, I chose Via Matta after much deliberation. Boston Magazine had just run a piece on the city’s top 25 restaurants, which I read carefully. Via Matta was included.

I generally take these articles for what they are: gutless, gushing diatribes on a city’s hot spots. Many on the list were names I’d seen in print before. I also sought recommendations from various Boston friends.

What made my list to try was Union Bar and Grill, Azure, Café Umbra and two old standby’s Acquitane and Excelsior. One of my friends insisted that we try Via Matta, which wasn’t a bad choice since it was so near the theatre.

One review by a New York Times reviewer some years ago has always stayed with me. Basically he said that a passably good restaurant in New York would translate into the best one in another city.

In Boston Magazine's glowing blurb on Via Matta, it had the extraordinary gall to say this: "Via Matta has unquestionably found its niche with Boston's it crowd."

How true this turned out to be in the case of Via Matta. Because "it" could be the kindest word I could use to describe a room full of drab, dull chompers so un-it.

There has been so much praise in the press about the restaurant, with volumes of reviews, press releases and other babble, an innocent such as me had only to conclude that here was a reincarnation of Tuscany in downtown Boston.

I must be really out of it then. Because as soon as I walked in I could have sworn I had entered an airport lounge in Kansas. Never have I seen a room so dull and lifeless. What’s more, the room was so dark, I felt like I needed a movie matron with a flashlight to guide me to our table.

My friends were less taken aback. Being a doctor’s wife, my friend Carla is used to looking on things optimistically in the face of a grim prognosis. She convinced me to buck up.

After all, how bad could it be?

Part One
If my recent weekend in Boston prevailed as a dip into the bric-a-brac of big city life, it also accomplished a curious mission: to compare a tale of two dining cities, Portland and Boston.

Perhaps these two shouldn’t be compared. After all, Boston has bright lights, skyscrapers and traffic jams cast in a worldly countenance of pedestrians bent on urbane cleverness. Here our tallest structures are parking garages and a squat skyline twinkling over a city civil with charm and livability.

Yet if I compared Boston dining to the New York scene it would be like witnessing the clamor of a bawling wallflower striving to be an international glamour gal.

Portland, the dappled country cousin, continually amazes me, though, with one pleasant surprise after another. Just last week I had two dining experiences fit for cosmopolites out for the kill.

My impromptu dinner at Cinque Terre earlier in the week was thoroughly satisfying by any standard, especially on a cold, snowy, somber night when saner souls stayed behind closed doors.

Return of the Prodigal
The Portland Greengrocer has finally reopened.

I must admit I've missed being able to stop by when in the Old Port. It was, after all, a virtual downtown landmark, if not a handy place to have.

So I slipped in there this afternoon just to look around. At first I felt disoriented, looking for the other half of the old store, now locked behind a solid wall.

Ultimately it wasn't hard to acclimate to the new space as I gazed upon an entire wall of wines on one side and an inviting cheese counter on the other.

The middle of the store has racks of canned goods and specialty items, plus the requisite crackers, pasta, olive oils and vinegars. I'm sure the selection will grow over time.

Old Port denizens haven't lost the opportunity to buy Scott Anderson's great breads either. He supplied the market before, though now he's a co-owner of the Rosemont Market on the western shores of Brighton Avenue, where the reincarnated Portland Greengrocer aka Rosemont holds sway.

Still, the Portland Greengrocer has to do something about their name. The only green changing hands now is at the cash register. They might as well fess up to their new image.

Portland Wine and Cheese has a nice ring to it.

Sweet Things
Speaking of changes, Five Fifty-Five has a new pastry chef on board. He was the pastry chef at Arrows and has taken up residence in Portland and work at 555.

I'm going there tonight. I'll let you know what's in store.

When I got my latest issue of Saveur Magazine, one of my favorite food publications, I came across an article on bacon. It really didn’t say much more than what most of us already know. But what caught my attention were the two recipes that accompanied the feature.

The two recipes given were for a Stilton and Bacon Cheesecake and something called Billionaire’s Bacon. This one is actually a hors d’oeuvre, variations of which I’ve had before. The version printed in the magazine is to coat strips of bacon with brown sugar on both sides. Lay it on a baking sheet and bake in a 425 degree oven, turning once until brown and lacquered, about 15 minutes. Transfer to a lightly oiled sheet pan and let cool. Break slices into thirds. It’s a very easy dish and absolutely delicious. I haven’t made the magazine’s rendition yet but will try it later this week.

The one I did make was the Stilton and Bacon Cheesecakes that I served as a first course for dinner last night. It posed one problem, however. The recipe calls for six 2- by-2- inch ring molds, sometimes referred to as a charlotte mold, without a bottom. I assumed that Lereux Kitchenware on Commercial Street would carry it. They didn’t. Nor did Williams-Sonoma.