Discovering Fressen Artisan Bakery at the nearest Farmers Market extended my knowledge of German. Fressen means "eat" and "brot" is bread. In truth there are more subleties for fressen (and its companion "essen") but I leave that to Marianna at Hattie's Web to explicate.
Some Saturday's at the market we get a roll or rye bread there and combine with pate from Chop, vending nearby. This one is "Farmhouse" pate with pistachios.
For the past year I've talked with the young woman who works at the bakery's stand about our shared interest in taking a class with Edgar, Fressen's owner and baker. Now I've met the baker himself because he's opened a cafe next door to the ovens. Which makes him even busier than before though he assured me that after the beginning of the year, he plans to schedule a workshop.
Sandwiches we split--cheese/avocado and a hot dog (rare indulgence)-- are on their popular salt pretzel rolls; these also come as actual soft pretzels and rolls. Such delicious pastries--plum, pear, other sesonal fruits. We could get addicted to Fressen's mochas.
A cafe, however, is about more than the food. Next time I'll take more and better pictures that reveal its modest ambiance along with the engaging people who work there. Non-intrusive music! Because it's a few blocks off northeast Sandy Boulvard, the main street, you'd have to know about it to arrive there.
After our first visit, we had an encounter unusual for our life in Portland. Standing outside, looking at the bakery production space, another customer and Ron began to talk about how much we liked the bread. He'd come to the U.S. some years earlier from Germany to work as a tool and dye maker in Connecticut, "day and night...for a Jewish guy."
Made enough money to buy his own plumbing company in Idaho. While his personal journey was interesting, most enjoyable was that he and Ron talked in languages familiar to each--German and Yiddish. I stood around, was impressed, periodically asked questions in English, my only language, about his ideas on retirement.