In 2002, budding food philosopher John Taboada conceived a tiny eat spot with an “only what we love” mindset and a kind of lawlessness in the air, kicking off Portland’s east-side indie food revolution. It remains an unfussy marvel on NE 28th: the dim sum–like plates, the ugly-delicious farm vegetables, the abiding wine passion. The minimalist menus still arrive with a pencil, checklist, and clipboard. Sprawling menus roam the world and our backyard. Weekend brunch is like a farmhouse gone mad—eggs 10 ways, a mountain of crusty bread, and some 20 specials, perhaps steelhead trout toast or braised turnips, roots, stems, and all, served with outsize vintage spoons. If authentic Portland has a definition, Navarre is it.