The What and The Why

The What and The Why

The What

Hey everyone. At the end of September we are going to reformat Cyril's. We will cease to be a full service restaurant and become a wine bar with wine/beer/great snacks. 

Saturday, October 1st will be our final dinner service.This means just a few more glorious nights of salad plates and succotash before we make the switch. Feel free to give us a call to make reservations (503-206-7862), or just come over.

We will take two days to rest and reorient before reopening on Tuesday, October 4th at 5pm.

Our new schedule will be Tuesdays- Saturdays, 5-10pm.

The menu will include Olives, Nuts, Gougeres, Pickles, Mac n Cheese, something sweet, and of course our selection of cheeses and cured meats.

For any other questions feel free to peruse the FAQs below and/or reach out to me directly (sasha@cyrilspdx.com).

The Why

I am going to honor what I'm guessing is the main question most of you want an answer to: Why?

Fair enough. One of my least favorite things, at the end of anything, is when people communicate about gratitude and good times, accomplishments and milestones and they don't tell you what happened. I feel this way when I read about businesses closing and even about people's lives ending. I can barely take in any of the information because all I want to know is: what the hell happened?

In our case, the what happened is very straightforward. For the past four years we have been working to achieve stability at Cyril's- a steady and adequately sized stream of customers to cover our bills, pay our vendors, and compensate our staff. We can't seem to get there and stay there. 

So we are changing our model in a way that will significantly reduce our cost of operations while still allowing us to share our enthusiasm for wine, and cheese, and other delicious food with the greater community here.

That sounds so obvious and easy, right? It hasn't been. I mean I am on board with the cohesive logic of it but deciding to set something down that you've been holding at the center of your world for a few years is not a casual thing. We also understand that this change impacts not only us but also all the people- our staff and all of you- who have made the experience what it has been so far.  

I will offer this as a true silver lining; accepting that Cyril's is broken (for us) has meant that we've been able to take a rest from the endless effort of attempting to figure it out and tweak/fix/change it. Accepting the brokenness of the restaurant as it has been made some space for us to love it for all that it is and to genuinely take pride in what we created.

We are also hopeful that this change will free us up to play and explore more often and to share some of that recharged energy with you through Cyril's and Clay Pigeon Winery.

FAQs

Will you still have cheese club? 

Yes.

Will you still host private parties and events?

YES! Please be in touch. Holiday parties, luncheons, weddings, corporate events and meetings are all part of what we have done and will continue to do. 

Will there be any new ways to have the foods we've come to love from Cyril's?

Yes. We will be hosting a monthly prix fixe dinner the first Sunday of every month (Sunday Supper) beginning in November. This will be our chance to explore foods and culinary traditions we're interested in, experience the seasons, and keep cooking!

Any other significant changes to the Cyril's experience?

Just one. We will no longer be able to allow minors at Cyril's. Know that we are working with the OLCC to understand if there is any flexibility- for example could we have minors on the premises during Sunday Suppers because we would be serving more substantial food. We will keep you posted on how this progresses.

When are you open between now and your final dinner service?

Thursday 9/22 4-9pm.

Friday 9/23 4-10pm.

Saturday 9/24 4-10pm.

Sunday 9/25 4-9pm.

Wednesday 9/28 4-9pm.

Thursday 9/29 4-9pm.

Friday 9/30 SPECIAL CHEESEMAKER DINNER PRIX FIXE TAKEOVER (ticketed event).

Saturday 10/1 4pm till we're done!

How are we doing?

Honestly. We're good. Our team is incredible. We have so much love for one another and we're all looking forward to enjoying a few more days and nights working together. Sad? Sure. Regretful? No way.

We are excited to see what comes next, for all of us.

Talk like a river

Talk like a river

Over the past couple weeks I've been thinking a lot about Staff for the upcoming issue (No 6) of Communal Table- the online publication I'm collaborating on with my friend Adrian and a band of talented designers, artists and writers she has recruited over the years. The issue will have stories about staff as in staff of life, staff as in a team of people who support a project or business, and possibly staff as a physical support. For me- the word always makes me think of the people who have floated in and out of employment at Cyril's- likely because I've spent more time with them in the past four years than anyone else in my life.

One of the most enriching aspects of working in a kitchen has nothing to do with food. Nothing to do with service. Nothing to do with the seasons, the lore, or the tattoos. It’s a specific kind of conversation that happens between the people in kitchen; one that has the potential to access every nook and cranny of the human experience without intending to anything but pass the time. I have come to think of these conversations as incidental in that they are “accompanying but not a major part of” the work that happens in our kitchen. They remind me of the epic, meandering talks I used to have with friends when we spent a lot of time just hanging out with no goal or desired resolution on the horizon.

The lack of urgency or need to cover any specific ground in a conversation makes room for spontaneity and deep exploration of places and topics that stick with you for days. Curiosity takes over and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but curiosity is generally not in a huge rush to get anywhere—curiosity is fulfilled simply by bearing witness to the unfurling.

Most of us don’t have much unstructured time as adults. We’re running a logistics race with people to see, places to get to, and lists of things to complete—my god, the lists right? Maybe that’s why I feel so sweet about these incidental kitchen conversations I have with our staff; they’re rangy and roomy, allowing indirect glimpses at who a person is, how they actually show up in their life and what matters to them. These conversations feel good to me partly because they are in perfect contrast to the curated quips we interact in via text, instagram, twitter, etc.

I am an incredibly curious person. I am also an introvert. Around other people, especially ones that I find interesting, I can get shy. I’m always more comfortable when I have a job to do. Having a task calms my mind, and this frees it up to wander more interesting neighborhoods than the familiar haunts of worry and judgment. Kitchens are not the only place where this type of incidental interaction is possible; it can happen anywhere that there is a loosely shared goal and a couple people willing to meander. I'm grateful that I managed to recruit a team that's up for the journey.

Requited!

photo credit: www.westernliving.com

photo credit: www.westernliving.com

One of the best feelings in life is when you find that someone you love loves you back. This is precisely the case with our friend and colleague Kristen Murray- owner of Portland's loveliest luncheonette Maurice!

She gave us such a sweet shout out last week on Eater. We're blushing. And the feeling is totally mutual.

CHEESE CLUB Memory Lane

Someday I will have a prettier version of this to share with all of you but for now- at least this gets the job done of showing everyone the fantastic array of cheeses that have been explored by our Cheese Club over the past three and a half years. If it makes you wonder 'why am I not a cheese club member?' you can find out how to become one right here.

There is no BOOM

There is no BOOM

A couple years ago I got an email from a friend announcing the launch of her book. This is a person I'd been in regular communication with and yet this was the first I had heard about a book. A book! That's a big deal kind of thing. So I sent her a one word response: BOOM!

She wrote back immediately: There is no boom.

And then she went on to explain the littany of tasks, trials, and tribulations that she had been through to get the book into existence- she had written parts of it herself and had collected works from others, serving as editor, creator, project manager, chief wrangler, etc.

There is no BOOM has become a mantra for me. It's a truth I feel moved to not only remind myself of but also to share with others on a fairly regular basis. The idea of lightening bolt style inspiration and change has tremendous appeal but even changes that appear to materialize spontaneously have likely had a steady runway of subtle preparations-- often so subtle that they fail to draw our attention.

Everything we do at Cyril's- recipes, workshops, winemaking (as Michael wrote about here)- evolves and unfolds more slowly than I would like. Everything. This reality combined with the acceptance of 'there is no BOOM' has led me to learn to identify and select projects/activities/relationships that please me persistently, even at tortoise speed and in faded, non-dazzly colors.

Cheese Club, Summer Sundae Music, Flight Club, our menu, and of course our wines are all examples of the fruits of of our long-standing labors that continue to stoke our internal fires. Next week we'll be sharing news of some exciting collaborations with a handful of our favorites in the world of food and conversation. 

Becoming Ocean

Becoming Ocean

Becoming Ocean

I am not a big consumer of news. I have a tough time taking in the troubles and complexities of the world and then plowing ahead with the day to day stuff of my life; if I had to sum it up, when I allow myself to absorb not just the facts of the news but what those facts translate to in terms of impact on actual people I feel powerless.

Last week I read and listened to reports about how disappointed and afraid people are about the presumed presidential nominees, the swell of outrage surrounding the Stanford rape case, and the outpouring of grief for the victims of the mass shooting in Orlando. There is so much to be concerned about and this generates a lot of feelings in us-- some that we’re comfortable with like connectedness, love, pride, and others that are decidedly less welcome like anger and despair. One of the most beautiful and awful things about our cultural response to these intense events is our will to push through them in order to arrive swiftly at some other, elusive, resolved side of things. Rightfully so, we are in hot pursuit of more stable ground.

Yesterday, seeking comfort, I reread a beautiful passage by the poet David Whyte in his incredible book, Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words, where he unpacks and examines the word anger with breathtaking precision:

“Stripped of physical imprisonment and violent reaction, anger is the purest form of care, the internal living flame of anger will always illuminate what we belong to, what we wish to protect and what we are willing to hazard ourselves for.”

This passage reminded me of the small but mighty power inherent in an individual life lived with integrity, accountability, and yes- anger. Maybe the most impactful and useful thing we can do is to grow our own capacity for empathy and compassion (which, for the record, are different things) for the murkiness of the human experience. To learn to listen for what someone belongs to when they are angry, stuck, or defensive.

Last summer I listened to a remarkable story (go here if you want to hear it yourself) about a woman who went through a unique grieving process that at the outset sounds almost masochistic but in truth was her imaginative path to solace and ultimately empowerment during a time in her life that made her feel totally powerless- the time following the death of her infant son. She summarized her experience in this way that resonated with me so much that I shared it with anyone who would listen to me for a few months after hearing it.

She said that for a long time after her son's death she felt like she was a boat on an ocean getting slapped about by rough and choppy waves and that at some point during the process she went through, she realized that she was not the boat; she was actually the ocean, and that the decisions she makes in her life have an impact in other people’s lives.

The wrinkled flag above was made by my friend and artist Marina Zurkow. She remembered my affection for the ocean analogy and gave this to me at the end of a residency she did this spring that brought experts from various disciplines together in hopes of coming up with new ideas to respond to the rising waters of climate change-- a topic rife with fear and despair.

Perhaps experiencing ourselves as the ocean is what makes us and the smallest of gestures have effect, that a million small actions strung together are what make a meaningful life. With that in mind, we have a couple events coming up that will not change the world per se; seemingly insignificant, they are part of the ocean all the same.  

Bottle Shock

Bottle Shock

Waiting is part of winemaking from the very beginning. Most people start in winemaking as an intern; entering a winery for harvest when they need the most help. It’s an exciting and energetic time filled with movement, potential, physical exertion and long hours. Punctuating all of this excitement is a lot of waiting. Waiting for grapes, waiting for the press to finish, waiting for dinner.

Becoming a winemaker is very different. It is no longer about waiting. You move beyond that into what is an exercise in patience. You learn to relish the bursts of activity in between the months, sometimes years, of attending to the wine-- making space for it to decide what it wants to become. You cultivate a willingness to endure your wine’s process- think of this as exponential patience.

Early on, a veteran winemaker said to me, “Don’t try your wine very often, it will drive you crazy. One month you have made the greatest wine ever. The next you are contemplating leaving the industry and pouring everything down the drain.” The madness he described is absolutely real but with practice, you develop restraint and at times you find comfort in knowing that the wine moves at its own pace.

Eventually, after months or maybe years, when you decide that your wine has fully expressed itself, and is ready to go into bottle—the finish line comes into focus. Alas, there is one more hurdle between your wine and the world: bottle shock.

Bottle shock is not only a pretty-decent-if-you-like-Alan-Rickman movie about the 1976 Competition in Paris; it is an actual “condition” in the life of every wine. The act of bottling wine stresses it. Some say this is caused by filtering, some say it is additional oxygen intake from the bottling line or the pumping, others insist that it’s the addition of sulfur at bottling. I love that we don’t really know what causes it, and bluntly I don’t want to know. Regardless of my feelings about it, the wine I taste the morning of bottling changes once it is in bottle and tastes, well, terrible… for a while.

The first wine I made on my own was a Pinot Noir from Mistletoe Vineyards in 2009. Two weeks after bottling, I opened one. It tasted like a pine tree. Not the scent of pine, it tasted like the actual bark and sap of pine-- like licking a Christmas tree. It was not nice and nostalgic, it was awful. I began to respect and understand the words of that veteran winemaker.

Most of the time a wine going through bottle shock just gets dumb: the flavor you loved the most before bottling goes quiet. It resembles a sullen teenager: moody, dismissive and easily wounded. Adding insult to injury, you never know how long bottle shock will last. Only the wine knows. There are rules of thumb-- 6-8 weeks, 3 months, 6 months-- but these are just guesses.

Bottle shock is where your exponential patience skills are put to the test.

Despite the inconvenience, bottle shock is one of my favorite phases of winemaking. I know, from experience, that the wine will return (wines in bottle shock eventually return to what they tasted like before going in bottle) but the ride is crazy. I love to share with people because it demonstrates what fascinates me about wine; the fact that a bunch of grapes, with a sprinkling of yeast and some time, can create such a vast range of flavors and textures. During those early weeks after bottling, the wine goes through many personalities and while none are very good, they reveal all that is packed in there and that is pure magic. It’s what patience rewards.

There are ways to cut down on winemaking wait times, the first is to make white wine. Whites are normally bottled within a few months, not years, and bottle shock is often shorter in duration. You can also make lighter, brighter reds as they too typically take less time to get bottled and into the market.

As luck would have it, the wines I want to make take time. I’m looking for that intersection of fruit and secondary notes where cherry flavors recede, cedar and mushroom notes climb. What I’m beginning to understand is that the kind of wine I like to drink, the kind of wine I want to make, is all about coming to terms with waiting. Patience is something that I have worked on, and frankly struggled with, most of my life so perhaps this is how it was always meant to be.

Right now I have over 4,000 bottles of Clay Pigeon wine that are in some stage of shock. So I wait...and continue to taste for that moment that each one decides it’s ready to come out and play.

Just in case you’re curious, the wines in waiting are:

2015 Rose
2015 Pinot Gris
2013 Willamette Valley Pinot Noir
2013 Rogue Syrah
2012 Reserve Syrah
2014 Willamette Valley Pinot Noir

Believe me- we will let you know as soon as they’re ready for drinking!

Firmly In Between

Liminal: (adjective)

  1. of or relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
  2. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

You have all experienced liminal time, the kind where you're somewhere between a Here and a There. This can be very much a matter of logistics like being on an airplance, or slightly less well defined like the time between making a decision (to move, take a job, have a baby, take a trip, quit a job, commit to/end a relationship) and the first moment where it feels like that decision is manifesting in the world.

Liminal times can be tense (picture yourself straddling a fence) and uncertain- filled with anxiety about what's coming- they can also be times of great release and letting go, or leaning into a spot of blank space.

The liminal nature of MAY- the month- is something I feel every year here in Portland, and I can see it play out in our kitchen; I sense that the rules of Here (spring) and There (summer) feel malleable. This feels somewhat liberating.

Part of this could be because I grew up in California where May felt much more like the beginning of summer than the midst of spring. When I moved here eight years ago (in April) and didn't see the sun on a regular basis until July 5th, my idea of spring got entirely rearranged. The early warmth and sunshine this year has shattered my ideas about May yet again.

Personally I find this time of year to be one of the more challenging of the seasonal transitions. While I do find the green shoots and kaleidescope of blossoms utterly delightful, there is a quickening up that I find myself resisting. In subtle ways I cling to the last bits of slowness left over from our winter habits.

There is an overarching theme of freedom we feel about summer, the season we're barreling towards, and yet in the kitchen- and in my life- sometimes I feel there is a certain pressure about it as well...an unspoken demand that one engages in that time of year with a particular vigor. This is precisely the kind of thing that makes me anxious- you know, because what if I'm tired and I feel like staying inside?

At Cyril's we are doing our best to embrace the liminal nature of now both in terms of what is available at the market and what our guests are interested in eating. The menu feels like a bit of a moving target but somehow this pop of early warmth in the weather has meant a larger overlap of the seasons in terms of ingredients. We only just said farewell to sweet potatoes and risotto and created our first salad with lettuce in a starring role.

If you haven't been in for a bit- please come- there are fun new things to try. 

Menus available online here.

Yeah...but you didn't

I saw this a few years ago and it changed me. You could replace the words Modern Art with so many other things, right? If you're strapped for ideas I'll give you some:

teach elementary school

write a novel

make a killing in real estate

design a website

make that dish at home

fix the economy

One of the easiest, time-honored ways to poke holes in anything is to explain how easily you could do it yourself/better/cheaper/different. The only other unifying thread running through these statements is: yes, maybe you couldbut you didn't.

And there are great reasons why you didn't. A dear friend of mine stated the most obvious reason perfectly the other day,

"You can do anything, but you cannot do everything."

Amen. 

If you feel like I'm just criticizing you now- hang in there- because really what I'm going for is dismantling this disconnect that doesn't actually serve us well in the long run. Here goes: We don't actually want to do all of those things. And we defintely don't want to do most of them well enough to be experts at them.

Being honest about this allows us to relish in dabbling in things in a lovely, low-stakes way. It makes room for us to play around with a couple of lazy hobbies just for fun. Acknowledging how you truly want to spend your time also frees you up to seek help in the areas where you need and want it- without shame or disappointment.

As eternally curious people- we're interested in learning about a lot of different things. Because life is short and we like to have a good time, we believe firmly in surrounding ourselves with enthusiastson the subjects we'd like or need help with- people who almost vibrate with the love they have for their subject.

We like winding them up and watching them welcome and entice others into a world they have joyfully explored in depth. We like doing this because it's fun, and delightful to watch someone do what they love. Maybe even more importantly though we believe that learning in this setting leaves people feeling empowered to start where they are rather than defeated by the distance between themselves and an expert.

This core belief is the spirit behind all of our educational endeavors- Cheese ClubFlight Club, and our latest How To Series (Play Nice with Your Digestive System, Shop Your Food Values, Care for Houseplants). We know some incredible enthusiasts, we enjoy learning from them and being around other curious people. Whether you seek pure pleasure, useful day-to-day information, or recipe ideas we've got something for you in the coming months.

Practice Resurrection

Practice Resurrection

I woke up a couple Saturdays ago with the words "Practice Resurrection" already there- in my mind as if waiting for me to wake to consider them. This kind of thing has never happened to me before so it got my attention. 

While I love the idea of resurrections with all of their inspiring potential and implied perseverance, considering practicing resurrection lead me to an obvious yet surprising conclusion: in order for one to practice resurrection (bringing something back to life or back into one's awareness), things have to have gone a little sideways...like there is usually a death of something. 

I'm using the word death in broadest sense, to include all types of endings including the death of ideas or dreams, the end of a project/relationship/life/era, and any kind of failure or brokenness that leads us to experience a feeling of loss.

Starting a business- especially a restaurant- has proved fertile ground for practicing resurrection. We have discovered and navigated what are at times sizable gaps between what we thought this would be like and what it actually is. Those discoveries have been delightful at times and, on occasion, devastating.

When things don’t go how we thought they would we can feel like we’re living a life not of our own choosing (aka feeling trapped or stuck). We can get a little testy when this happens. Some of us blame other people or things for our situation. Others, myself included, do something a bit more private: we beat the crap out of ourselves, aggressively and thoroughly.

I’ve come to believe that both behaviors are actually us scrambling to find an easy way out, to get to a familiar place that feels like higher ground, like we have some control in the matter. The downside is that blaming also keeps us from experiencing feelings of loss, fear or disappointment. This space of blame and doubt is sort of "safe" but it also means we have to operate on top of all that fear and disappointment. Yes, this is as tiring as it sounds.

As uncomfortable as endings can be, when we're willing to surrender and let go rather than struggle against them, we can discover some newfound space- room for something else to happen. Sometimes, reckoning with defeat even creates space for you to see that you’re losing at a game you didn’t want to play in the first place- grinding away at something you don’t even want.

Personally, we've discovered enough new space recently that Michael and I are writing from France where we are exploring a couple places that have long called to us (the Pyrenees and the Jura), meeting with a few winemakers we've long admired, and remembering who we are outside of our business.

As a business we've been letting go of the things that don't feel like they suit us anymore (our old website, the grill!), refining the bits we'd like to keep around, and determining what we will put in our newfound space...

Sasha's four basic steps for practicing resurrection:

  1.  Experience a death or loss
  2. Feel your feelings about the deatl or loss
  3. Identify what you are actually grieving and name what you miss/want/want back*
  4. Begin

*Know that you can’t actually go “back” to the way anything used to be. It’s over. If reading this knocks you out, maybe repeat Step 2.

In order to learn how to do something, you first have to admit/concede that you don't know it.

In order to learn how to do something, you first have to admit/concede that you don't know it.

The best part about admitting you don't know something is that you then have a less complicated path ahead of you towards learning it. Sure, in order to get to said promised land of opportunity you may have to pass through some valleys that are the kind of places we tend to avoide at all costs: shame and disappointment (which is kind of just shame dressed up in a more presentable outfit). If you're not prepared for the valleys they can become the final destination.

Let's be clear- there are valleys amidst rolling hills, and then there are VALLEYS that seem to drop to the center of the earth, and the level of discomfort is radically different in those two places but its root is the same, pernicious beast. It's the voice that tells you that you're supposed to know, whether it's more, better, different, or how-to do something.

I was reminded of this on my last trip to the dentist. My dental hygienist started talking about theactual purpose of flossing ones teeth- which I was surprised to learn is not to dislodge food from between them- and she said she was not sure why so many people are taught how to floss incorrectly. My response to this: "Who gets taught how to floss?"

I'm not dissing my parents, or the small army of dental professionals who worked so hard to straighten my teeth throughout my childhood- I think that flossing just seems so straightforward that no one bothers to explain either how to do it or think about why we should do it. There are bigger fish to fry, right- like good manners, learning to safely cross a street, or to avoid poisonous substances, etc.? And yet, flossing is a perfect example of the low-hanging fruit of small life-skills-learning that has the potential to immediately improves our lives on a daily* basis. 

In the spirit of spring and new beginnings we have put together a series of Cyril's How To workshops designed to provide us all with useful information that we may never have gotten or just missed at some point along the way. Whichever camp you're in, I assure you that you're not alone. 

* You do want to floss every day. (We will not be offering a flossing clinic but I'm happy to share my newfound expertise with anyone who asks.)

The power of transportation

A few weeks ago I went to the Sundance Film Festival. While I like movies, I mostly was looking at the trip as a much needed mini vacation where I would hang out with friends near a roaring fire in between walks in snowy, picturesque Park City Utah.

I got exacty what I wanted in the lounging-by-the-fireplace department. More importantly, I got this sweet reminder of the potential that stories have to move us. Yes, I’m playing with words here- talking about transportation in the emotional rather than physical sense- if that annoys you because it seems like a cheap pun, give me a moment to defend my choice of words.

Have you ever had that experience where the lights come up at the end of a movie and you realize that you completely forgot about everything that was weighing on you so heavily when you sat down ninety minutes before? Have you ever read the last ten pages of an amazing novel one day at a time so that it wouldn’t be over quite so soon? If you have, then you know what I mean when I say that stories can actually take us to other places- places that are unknown or familiar, frightening or comforting.

These small trips that we take without leaving our seats have the power to reignite our sense of wonder, to provide new context for things we’ve been struggling to understand, or even to show us things about ourselves that we didn’t know.

Do all stories affect us this way? No. This is part of the thrill- whether you bet on a dark horse or your trusty steed, the whole idea is to go along for the ride.

And so, with our renewed enthusiasm for storytelling on the silver screen, we areopening our doors to show the Oscars this year. We acknowledge that the Academy is far from perfect as an institution, that Hollywood is a den of iniquity, and yet we still see the positive potential of shared stories, open dialogue, and more wonder through movies.

A Walk in the Woods

A Walk in the Woods

I moved to Oregon in April 2008. By June I had become impatient with the unchanging color (or seeming non-color) of the sky...gray. At some point,  I let a small complaint about this condition slip to a friend and decade-long Pacific Northwest resident and he said something I'll never forget, 

"Sasha, do you know what the best thing is to do on the darkest, rainiest days? Go for a long walk in the woods." I replied that it seemed counterintuitive to go outside when it was raining really hard, to which he said, "But not in the forest- under the trees you wont get wet, and more importantly you will be reminded of the rewards we get for all of these wet, dark days."

Sure, you could write him off as an optimist but I like his thinking. Sometimes there are rich rewards for venturing out into the gloom- whether for a walk in the woods, or a drink and nosh with friends- and reminding ourselves that there are all different kinds of light and warmth in our lives.

For or Against Valentine's Prix Fixe Takeover

For or Against Valentine's Prix Fixe Takeover

We may not be big fans of Valentine’s Day but we sure do love any occassion to play with our menu. This year is no exception- we love the menu we’ve developed so much that we’re going to offer it TWICE.

Join us on Friday, February 12th or Saturday, February 13t for a special prix fixe dinner designed to spark conversation, and sate your appetite.

Mark your calendars and give us a call if you’re interested- we booked up quick last year.

Date: Friday February 12th and Saturday February 13th

Time: First seating from 5 to 6pm. Second seating from 7:45 to 9pm.

Price: $38 for three courses. $17 for wine pairings

Who’s Invited: Friends, Roommates, Lovers, Enemies, Family, (Exes, Currents, and Futures are all welcome)

Menu:

To Begin

Salad of root vegetables, rose petal harissa, cumin, lemon, cilantro
                                                   or
Macerated kale, grapefruit, millet sunflower granola, yogurt tahini dressing

The Main Event

Pot au Feu: broth served with marrow toast, stewed Carman Ranch beef with winter vegetables, pickles, mustard, and horseradish
                                                 or
Love Letters: hand folded pasta filled with braised greens, winter squash, and cheese

A Strong Finish

Chocolate
      or
Citrus Trifle

—-

Contact Usinfo@cyrilspdx.com or 503-206-7862

photo credit: www.iwasahighschoolfeminist.com

Morgan Street Theater pop-ups at Cyril's

Morgan Street Theater pop-ups at Cyril's

If the photo here makes you want to stop everything you’re doing and go find something that resembles this picture and a spoon and eat a lot of it, then you and I would be fast friends.

This is why I’m so excited to announce that we are hosting Morgan Street Theater’s winter and spring programs here at Cyril’s. These events are multi-course dessert experiences accompanied by some kind of performance whether it’s musical, the exploration of a theme, possibly even an appearance by puppets.

Jared Goodman, creator of Morgan Street Theater, is a wizard of all things sweet and frozen. These experiences are super fun and very affordable- plus, you can enjoy a glass of wine, maybe even dinner, with us at Cyril’s before moving through to the winery for dessert and entertainment.

Check out the themes for upcoming performances and purchase tickets here.