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The Portland Logbook #14

The Portland Logbook #14

This Week in Portland Maine

Jake Newman
May 06, 2025

Fifty Visits In: Onggi Still Blows My Mind

I’ve been to Onggi close to fifty times. Not because I’m writing this. Because it’s that good.

Let’s just get that out of the way. This isn’t a casual drop-in or “I’ve heard good things” situation. This is obsession. This is a love letter to the only shop in Portland where you can pick up a locally fermented Miso, a ceramic kimchi crock, and the best cold brew tonic you’ve ever had, without a single ounce of pretense.

Not Just a Store. A Mission

Onggi calls itself a fermentation market and café. Technically accurate. But really, it’s a shop built by people who care. Erin, Marcus, and Amy are real-deal foodies who turned their obsession into something useful for all of us Portlander’s. The kind of place that doesn’t shove product at you, but asks what you’re into and helps you find something that fits. Even if it’s the cheapest jar on the shelf.

The shelves are packed with koji, vinegars, garums, krauts, local miso’s (including the one from Go-En Fermented Foods, shoutout to Mika, one of the kindest humans I’ve ever met), and a rotating cast of strange, wonderful things I didn’t know I needed until I walked in.

The Café That Changed the Game

The café is what pushed it over the edge for me. I’m not trying to start beef with every coffee shop in town, but if I had to pick one drink in Portland for the rest of my life, it’s Onggi’s cold brew tonic. My friends would argue it’s the brown sugar & tamari cold foam. Honestly, depends on the day. Get both. You won’t regret it.

And the miso scallion scone with chili crisp butter? Yeah. That thing’s dangerous.

I used to work in food. I’ve read the Noma Guide to Fermentation cover to cover. I’ve been to the Maine Fermentation Festival just to watch garum get stirred in a tent. I don’t say this lightly: Onggi is one of the most exciting places in Portland. It’s thoughtful. It’s fun. And it doesn’t talk down to anyone.

If You Don’t Cook, Don’t Worry

If fermentation feels intimidating to you, I get it. It’s messy, ancient, and smells a little weird. But it’s also the reason your food tastes good. Onggi gets that, and they make it feel human, not precious.

So yeah. Fifty visits in. Still learning. Still excited. Still grabbing things off the shelf like a kid in a candy store. You should too.

First Time? Start With These

🧊 Brown Sugar & Tamari Cold Foam – Umami, sweet, salty.
🥐 Miso Scallion Scone w/ Chili Crisp Butter – Enough said.
🥬 Soy Sauces and Shrubs – Ask staff what they’re excited about.
🫘 Go-En Miso – Maine-made and full of flavor
🌾 Koji Spores or a Crock – For when you’re ready to nerd out.

Plan Your Visit

📍 Location: 93 Washington Ave, Portland, ME
🌐 Website: onggi.com
📸 Instagram: @onggiferments

🏚️ What Used to Be Here?

The Goddard Mansion, Cape Elizabeth

Before it was a crumbling shell behind a chain-link fence, it was one of the grandest homes on the Maine coast.

Built in the 1850s for lumber baron and Civil War colonel John Goddard, the place had sweeping staircases, tall ceilings, and windows that looked straight out to sea. Italianate stone. Solid. Quietly impressive.

Then the Army moved in.

In the early 1900s, Fort Williams took over. They turned the basement into an enlisted men’s club. Let officers sleep where the Goddard’s once hosted dinner parties.

Years went by. The roof collapsed. And in the ’80s, after the whole structure had become too far gone to fix, the fire department burned out what was left inside in a controlled burn—clearing the debris, but leaving the stone walls behind.

What you see now is the shell, a ghost of a different era, sitting just beyond the lighthouse crowds and the lobster rolls.

Still fenced off. Still standing. Still watching over the bay.

🔍 Take a 3D look inside the ruins here.

Should We Keep Doing These?

Question from David: “What’s the moment you knew you weren’t leaving Portland anytime soon?”

Thanks for the Question David!

I was walking down Fore Street, no tourists, no plan, just the sound of wet tires and seagulls bitching in the distance. I’d driven in from Georgetown, still living out there at the time. We had already found a place in the heart of Portland, but the tenants hadn’t moved out yet. So we were stuck waiting.

In the meantime, I drove into the city every chance I got. I didn’t need a reason. I just wanted to be here.

I wandered into Viand Mercantile, a little shop that caught my eye, and ended up staying for nearly 45 minutes talking to Becky and Waverly, two strangers who somehow felt like old friends. We talked about food, design, good lighting, bad lighting, nothing urgent, just the kind of conversation that makes time feel slow in the best way.

After that, I ended up alone at the window seat of The Honey Paw with a bowl of Khao Soi so good it made everything else quiet. I watched people dodge raindrops in the Duckfat line like it was a sport. I didn’t scroll my phone. I wasn’t in a rush. I just… sat.

And right then, it hit me:
This is it. I’m home. I’m not leaving.