The Treehouse
484 Stevens Ave., Portland
874.0706
treehouseportland.com
The Treehouse is the newest incarnation of the restaurant space above Pat’s Meat Market. The café and lounge conjures thoughts of Tarot spreads, hookah smoke, love potions. Its woody, cocoon-like interior is divided into numerous rooms festooned with plants and candles. There’s the main dining room overlooking Stevens Avenue and a small bar toward the back flanked by two lounges: one with a cozy gas stove; the other, nicknamed the Hobbit Lounge, divided from the dining room by a circular wooden door. There’s a two-tiered deck out back, and chef/owner Greg Gilman, who reopened the restaurant earlier this year, reportedly plans to build an actual treehouse on the roof.
There’s magic afoot in this place. It casts a spell on you. That’s my excuse, anyway. As soon as my boyfriend and I ordered drinks and looked at the menu, the concept guiding these reviews — finding restaurants where a couple can have a great meal and a few drinks for under $50 (before tax and tip) — flew out the window.
Of course, the cocktails didn’t help. The blood-red solstice sangria ($8), garnished with a sprig of rosemary, contains cranberries that are syrupy like maraschinos, but tart inside. The Fire and Ice ($10) has a base of white peach juice, but isn’t overly sweet. The earthy flavor of reposado tequila predominates, backed by tart citrus notes and a touch of Thai chili heat.
There’s no overarching theme to the menu, but neither is there much hint of the self-conscious fastidiousness common in the city’s dining scene these days. Appetizers are inspired by the cuisine of several European countries and American states: a Grecian crab tiropita (buttered phyllo pastry) with caramelized onions, cream cheese, cinnamon and nutmeg ($9); a brie-and-fruit plate ($10); Maryland crab cakes ($12); pan-fried Brussels sprouts ($6). Our choice, the crispy baked chicken wings ($7), came coated in a sticky-sweet “Buffalo Thai chili sauce” and served with garlicky Romano dressing. Leavened with lemon juice, the dressing accomplished a miracle: it enhanced, rather than masked, the flavor of the wings (no bleu cheese has ever done that). Crisp hearts of bok choy took the place of celery sticks, and I’d vote in favor of that always, everywhere.
Compared to the wings, the wild mushroom flatbread ($9) was boring. It was tasty enough, with an unexpectedly buttery, pastry-like crust, but the pungent goat cheese and caramelized onions overshadowed any flavor the sautéed mushrooms might have imparted. I was much more impressed by the gargantuan grilled vegetable salad ($12). Huge chunks of charred red pepper, zucchini and onion had to be wrestled with fork and knife into manageable pieces before we could dip into the tamari dressing, pungent with fresh basil. The salad tasted of summer, a welcome anachronism in the midst of a cold gray March.
The menu’s motifs — lemon, fresh herbs, unexpected accents — worked beautifully in a deconstructed ocean carbonara ($25). Plump, sweet mussels and giant Gulf shrimp were delivered as promised, as were some surprises: a thick strip of grilled zucchini laid across the pile of fettuccine tossed with fresh thyme; soft, barely cooked tomatoes that tasted garden-fresh; the generous squeeze of lemon juice that brightened what would otherwise have been an overly rich cream sauce. The thick strips of cured ham, though traditional in a carbonara, seemed almost gratuitous.
Service was provided at a hazy, dreamlike pace, which was perfectly fine with us. The Treehouse evokes a leisurely feeling. We ended up spending nearly double our limit, but felt no guilt. The spell remained unbroken.
— Hannah Joyce McCain
The Treehouse serves dinner Tuesday through Saturday from 5 p.m. to 9 p.m., and Sunday brunch from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.
