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Fearless Critic restaurant review
Portland
Food
Feel
Price
7.0
8.5
$20
American
Casual restaurant

Hours
Mon–Fri 7:00am–2:00pm
Sat–Sun 8:00am–2:00pm

Bar Beer, wine, liquor
Credit cards Visa, MC, AmEx
Reservations Not accepted

Belmont
1300 SE Morrison St.
Portland, OR
(503) 239-0196
Zell’s An American Café
Get your fill of eggs, eggs, and more eggs at this comfy spot

Sometimes a place has such a great neighborhood vibe, such an obvious, easy appeal—which is the point of a restaurant, when all is said and done—that it starts to matter less and less what’s on the plate, as long as it’s serviceable.

Zell’s is one of these establishments. Walk in, and you’re welcomed like family. Jazz and sunlight stream in. You and your party suddenly become your best selves. A cup of drip coffee becomes an elixir; a simply country biscuit, sweet and buttery, seems somehow life-affirming. And the egg, that symbol of rebirth and renewal, becomes the subject of a certain hero worship. This Sunday (or Saturday—or Tuesday, for that matter) brunch rebirths your day, renews your mood.

That hero worship extends to the menu, which is so egg-centric that they have to label a section of it “not eggs.” Traditional eggs Benedict is extremely popular and, as the French might say, it’s correct, with well-executed hollandaise and eggs that aren’t over-poached. We like the Benedict less with baked salmon, which fights with the hollandaise instead of touching it up with a slightly salty, slightly chewy counterpoint, as Canadian bacon does.

The specials board is often where it’s happening—or, at least, where it’s most interesting, because much of the breakfast-lunch menu is extremely predictable in that upscale-diner sort of way. A “Reuben scramble”—a special at one visit (and one of several riffs on the legendary Reuben we’ve seen in Portland this year)—was just fine, no better. Its vinegary sauerkraut gave a surprising pop to the soft eggs, but the bread could have been toasted a bit more, its gruyère more carefully melted. A slather of mayo seemed unnecessary, and the sandwich was too thick and unwieldy to eat. The eggs inside the sandwich were soft enough, and the cute little diced potatoes nicely home-fried, but it wasn’t clear that we wouldn’t rather be eating a plain old Reuben.

Or, for that matter, just a plate of those eggs and home fries, side of sausage, buttered toast. It’s what Zell’s does best—aside from warming the heart.