by Sean Coker for pdxguide.com
May 2007

Panaderia y Taqueria y Tienda Santa Cruz 8630 N Lombard St. Portland, OR 503-286-7302

I only heard the squawk of a siren before turning around to see a motorcycle officer riding his BMW motorcycle right behind me. I was issued a $240 dollar citation for failure to stop at a stop sign. Officer Hoesly printed out my ticket from his rear saddlebag. Unruffled, my eyes smiled behind Audrey Hepburn style glasses. I put that gigantic receipt in my backpack and peddled north as I warned approaching bicyclists of the stop sign bandit.

The sun is high and the air dense with heat. Continuing on the eastside waterfront, I cut up to the Rose Garden at the Steel Bridge and maintain my trajectory, passing a kid driving an old VW Golf with no hands as he played the harmonica. I following Interstate until reaching Killingsworth, where I head westbound. The chatter of a stretched bicycle chain nosily reminds me that squeaky wheels do get grease. I turn north when I run out of road. I arrive at an overlook where a brisk breeze cools the salty parts of my body with its soft touch.

At the overlook, I stare at the reflective blacktop roofs of the industrial buildings below. The chime of a dog’s collar, the slicing of a circular saw and the “chump” of overweight feet pounding pavement all fill the bustling air as I continue north. Reaching Portland Blvd. aka Rosa Parks Way, I turn northwest. The expansive overlook shows an industrious side of Portland, where cranes strain to pickup railroad boxcars, and pollution factories plume smoke high into the heavens. Portland Blvd. turns into Willamette as I ride pass the affluent students of University of Portland and their illuminated sign, where rogue students used to steal the “r” from Portland. I imagine a janitor with a closet full of R’s who, driving to work, sees the missing letter and says to himself, “Again!”

I reach the lively intersection of North Lombard and the St. Johns Bridge. Along the 8600 block of Lombard, there is a panaderia, or Mexican bakery. A red brick building, with many blacked out windows, as if this bakery was once a strip club. The transparent windows house advertisements for the new movie “Cholo,” and some signs referring to money orders. The place looks fishy from the outside and feels like it belongs in a worse part of town. Metal bars behind the windows do not exude safety, and a blond woman walks by with a sun burnt neck, but those arms are whiter than sourdough. The words “Tienda y Panaderia” are written on the stripper windows in a red, Dracula font. A breeze blows southeast and the cacophony of cars, from the knocking of diesels to the hum of hybrids, can be heard in all directions. I open the glass door.

Passing inside, I walk beneath a cloud of piñatas dangling from the ceiling. If sugar is a scent, then the inside of Panaderia y Tienda Santa Cruz smells sugary. Chicano music enthusiastically plays as I look around at the pork rinds, the complete line of Si Senor products, and the many flavors of Jarritos. I walk towards the back, where four formerly refrigerated display cases hold baked goods - everything from croissants to loaves of bread. I oddly pull warm bread from what was once an icebox. The sweet treats are mainly a variation of the same thing, and at .50 cents each, anyone can afford to splurge. The croissants are especially delicious and have a fluffy sweetness to them, although they lack the flaky exterior common to French- style croissants. I grab a croissant, short cake, an arrow-looking bread with custard inside, a turnover and two other indescribable bakery concoctions. Six items and one Jarritos costs four dollars. Bring cash; this is not the kind of place that takes a debit card.

I head west, towards the oxidized green St Johns Bridge and Cathedral Park located beneath it. The scent of gunpowder, the clatter of trains and rumble of passing cars overhead occupy the warm air. I pass a car, with no rear rims and two flat front tires, that is supported by a single, strategically placed bottle jack. Homeless people drink in the shade of some trees; hiding their addiction from the rest of the park, and maybe themselves. Someone is lighting fireworks nearby and dandelions bow but do not bend in the light breeze.

Sitting in the grass, I bite off a big piece of warm croissant, and look at the ticket. A tugboat chugs upstream on the Willamette River and a smile washes over my face. On a day like this, $244 does not seem like too much to spend on lunch.

Hours: 9 a.m.-9:30 p.m. Monday-Saturday.

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