For a major metropolis with an educated, literate populace, Portland has a surprisingly craptacular daily paper. I was in the break room at work the other day talking with a woman who just moved here from the East Coast. She held up the Oregonian and asked, “Is this, like, the main paper here?”

“Yup,” I said with a grimace, knowing what was coming next.

“It’s terrible!”

“Yup.”

“I mean, it totally ignores the basic principles of journalism, it’s riddled with grammatical errors and the stories are lame!”

“Yup! It’s an embarrassment!” I said with a smile and a resigned shrug.*

But despite my grousing, every once in a while I have to thank ye olde O for telling me something new, interesting and useful. It’s rare, but it happens and when it does I feel like I should give the old rag its due. So, thank you, Oregonian, for telling me about Junior Ambassadors.

A couple Fridays ago, a little blurb caught my eye in the A&E section. It was a write up of a lunch cart in North Portland that serves an eclectic mix of items: hot soups, homemade ice cream and a creature called the panwich: a sandwich made with two pancakes instead of bread. This, I thought, could either be a goofball gimmick or really yummy and I could only find out for sure with a personal visit.

Now I should say here that I’m really not a sweet breakfast kind of gal. While waffles and pancakes and such always sound nice enough, I’ll always choose a savory option first. In fact, the last time I remember ordering pancakes at a restaurant was a really unfortunate “meal” at Denny’s in my long ago youth. It was about 4:00 AM and blueberry pancakes sounded like a good idea until they left me retching in the bathroom by dawn.

But I digress. The thing is that sweet breakfast always looks delightful (Denny’s versions excepted), but I know that after a few bites that I won’t be interested anymore and then where would I be? Grazing off of other people’s plates, that’s where. And it’s tough to convince my dining neighbors to order exactly the breakfast I want.

So the best solution is to have a sweet and savory mix: a little something for my very small sweet tooth and the rest salty, cheesy, yummy. Hence, my immediate attraction to the concept of the panwich and off I went in search of lunch.

The cart is in a fairly unlikely spot. It’s in a North Portland neighborhood that’s a bit sleepier than your usual lunch cart location. It’s on a big empty lot and is partially obscured by a long chainlink fence. The cart itself is painted bright orange (+1 from me) and they also have a covered picnic table on the lot (another +1 since so many months in Portland are ill-suited for outdoor dining).

I ordered a panwich with pumpkin, feta and rocket — seemed like a winning combination — and when I saw that the soup of the day was kale and garlic, I couldn’t pass it up, kale fiend that I am. The soup was simple, but nice. It was very like a soup I make at home, especially after I chili-fied it with one of the many shakers of spice laid out on a tray on the table.

a simple fall soup

But I was here for the fabled panwich and that came up fresh and hot not long after.

here it is with a bit of slaw

It’s a funny feeling, picking up a pancake sandwich in your hands, but I think it’s one I could get used to. Maybe I’d like pancakes for breakfast more if I were allowed to get my grubby paws on them and gulp ‘em down.

Or, more likely, maybe it was the cheese and other goodies inside that really sold me on this. The pumpkin was roasted soft and pliant, but still had some shape to it. It had been gently treated and wasn’t at all fibrous. The rocket added a nice bitter note and some welcome crunchy greenery. But the feta really pulled it all together, like a good cheese should.

cheesy panwich…

A few things surprised me about the pancakes: first they weren’t really sweet (so much for fulfilling my sweet and savory jones all at once, but it was just well since too much sweetness would have upset the balance) . Second, they were multigrain — this was a pleasant surprise as I’m always up for more tasty, nutty, whole-grain goodness. Third, and most surprisingly, they were hugely filling. I ate half of my sandwich and felt like I’d been thoroughly gut bombed. But, you know, in a good way. I wrapped up the other half to bring the love home (or back to work, as the case may be).

Because I can’t leave well enough alone, I also ordered a scoop of their homemade chocolate ice cream. I did get it to go, though. I tried a spoonful right then and there and, sadly, it was my only disappointment of the whole Junior Ambassadors experience. The texture was chalky and icy and the chocolate flavor, while good, was very subtle. That’s a nice way of saying bland.

But I can forgive Junior Ambassadors this fault because they are bringing the panwich to the people and there ain’t nothing I can say against that.

You can have a panwich of your very own at the Junior Ambassador’s cart which is located on N. Albina at Blandena (my second favorite Portland city street name, right after Couch). They are currently open Wednesdays through Saturdays noon to dark (which is, like, 3 hours later, these days).

* if you think I’m exaggerating about how bad the Oregonian is, take my new favorite example of their assault on the English language. In a restaurant review the other day the writer said, “The cafe’s values [are] worn nakedly on its sleeve.” See? They’ve invented a whole new genre! The mixed and conflicting metaphor.