Kachka

A friend who knows Portland better than I do put Kachka at the top of a list of three. He was right, as he often is.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: cozy Eastside, infused vodkas on every table. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with grilled provoleta with chimichurri, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered Rioja gran reserva, decanted at the table, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: beef tongue and short rib, the dish that puts Kachka on every short list. Cut through it and you found that deep, beefy, almost iron-tasting interior that only comes from time and dry air. The signature touch — Russian-Georgian beef preparations, all in one room — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for thick-cut onion rings, stacked and buttered haricots verts. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was vanilla ice cream with a shot of espresso poured over, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

A perfect Sunday lunch, which is what I came for.