Is Portland’s Best Pizza Hiding at a Wine Bar?

Let’s just say it: Portland doesn’t really do pizza.

We’ve got seafood nailed. Oysters, chowder, lobster rolls—you could build an identity off that alone. But pizza? We’ve been playing catch-up. A few standouts here and there, sure. But mostly it’s been crusts with no character, toppings doing too much, and slices that feel like a backup plan.

There are top contenders - Il Leone slings a damn good pie out on peaks island, and Monte’s has figured out how to make a pizza that tastes like someone actually cared. Both fantastic. But then there’s Friends & Family.

It’s not a pizzeria. It doesn’t pretend to be. From the outside, it looks like a wine bar—and that’s what it is. Dim lights, bottles lining the walls, people sipping something cloudy and French while talking about old buildings or niche ceramics.

But somewhere in all that calm, they started making pizza.

And it’s good. Like, really good.

Thin, crackly crust with depth. Long-fermented dough that actually tastes like something. Toppings that don’t try too hard. One week it’s mortadella and pistachio. The next, maybe roasted corn, hot honey, and ricotta. The menu shifts with the seasons, the mood, whatever the kitchen’s feeling.

Now, full disclosure: I’ve had more than one friend tell me not to write this. They want to keep Friday night open, keep it easy to slide in without a wait. I get it. I do. But since we’re all best friends here - neighbors, locals, pizza romantics - how could I not tell you about this?

There’s no delivery. No slices to-go. No giant sign pointing you in. Just a kitchen that knows what it’s doing and a dining room that doesn’t need to shout. You sit down, order the pie, drink a glass of wine, and suddenly every mediocre cheesy bread you’ve had in this town feels like a weird dream.

It’s not trying to be New York. It’s not mimicking Naples. It’s not chasing trends.

It’s just one of the best pizzas in Portland.

Go. Sit. Eat every bite. Then act like you didn’t hear it from me.

Just Look at the Menu and Thank Me Later

Jake, age 12 🙂

Who’s Behind This Thing, Anyway?

I never planned on writing a newsletter. And definitely not one with 25 issues under its belt and over 4000 locals reading this thing.

But here we are.

If you’ve been reading since the beginning, thank you. If this is your first time - Hi. I’m Jake. I live here in Portland. I write The Portland Logbook every week, usually with too many open tabs, lukewarm coffee somewhere nearby, and a note in my phone that just says “ask around about the guy who walks around congress dressed as a wizard.”

I started The Portland Logbook because most everything I read was either for tourists or written by someone who clearly didn’t live here.

I didn’t want more lists of “15 Places to Get a Lobster Roll for people who just got off the cruise ship.” I wanted to know why the antique store across from Hot Suppa is never open yet taunts me with its treasures every day. I wanted to know the people hosting underground art galleries and others who are throwing pop-up dinners out of their garage.

So I started digging. Asking questions. Wandering. Talking to strangers. Saving scraps. And the Logbook became a kind of living document. A weekly letter about the things that make Portland strange, beautiful, messy, delicious, and alive.

Every week since, the responses still blow me away. Notes from locals who’ve lived here forever. Newcomers who want to understand the place. People who just say, “I feel more connected to my city now.” It’s wild. It’s humbling. It’s what keeps me going.

I’ve lived in a bunch of places - Jupiter, Brooklyn, Burlington but Portland’s the one that stuck.

I’m not actually from Maine, which is a shocker, I know. But my loving partner of six years is from this beautiful state and after some convincing, decided to bring me here. I haven’t looked back.

I’ve worked as a photographer, a food stylist, years in marketing, and yes… even as a chocolatier for a brief, delicious stretch. These days, I work as a real estate agent here in Portland. So if you ever need help finding a home or tracking down the best breakfast sandwich within walking distance of said home, you know who to email. 😉

How the Sausage Gets Made (Sort Of)

A barista mentioning a new bakery. Someone DMing me about local lore of underground tunnels. A stranger at a First Friday telling me about a band they saw in a warehouse last weekend. That’s where it all comes from.

I’ve written this in cars, airports, coffee shops, and once on a boat trip around Cape Elizabeth. Some weeks it comes easy. Other weeks it drags me by the collar. But every time I hit send, it feels worth it.

Because if there’s one thing I know for sure: this city’s changing fast. And if we don’t slow down to notice what’s happening on the margins, we’ll blink and lose the stuff that makes it worth being here.

It’s easy to lose what makes a place great. A business closes. A neighbor moves out. A mural gets painted over. Suddenly the version of Portland you loved only exists in memory. The Logbook is my way of keeping it from disappearing quietly.

And yeah, this place drives me nuts sometimes. There are like two trashcans in the entire West End—how is that possible? But I wouldn’t trade it. Portland’s weird and stubborn and beautiful. It’s small enough that people still say hi on the street. Big enough that you’ll never fully run out of things to find.

Email me. Stop me on the street. Slide into the Logbook DMs. Tell me about the place your uncle swears by or the neighbor who paints seascapes in his garage.

I’ll keep writing. You keep reading.

We’ll figure it out from there.

—Jake

But enough about me - what about you?
If you’ve made it this far, come say hi. I’d love to know who’s reading this thing.

Just a quick survey (Link Here). Nothing fancy. Helps me write the kind of stuff you actually want to read. Let me know where you live, and I’ll keep the good stuff coming your way.

👇 Click the Survey Below to Help me Get to know you better

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