If you’re ever in doubt about Portland’s knack for generating surprises, keep an eye on the food carts during a demonstration. Protest here, after all, is practically a local art form—though selling out a cart twice in one day is a plot twist even the well-seasoned cynics in town might not have predicted.
Feeding the Masses, One Smashed Burger at a Time
The city’s recent mass protests—specifically the “National Day of Action” in April and June’s “No Kings” march—did more than flood downtown with signs and slogans. They sent a tidal wave of hungry protestors straight into the open arms (and windows) of local food carts and restaurants, as documented by KPTV.
Both events, each drawing crowds of over 10,000 to the waterfront, had a curious aftereffect: long after speeches wrapped and signs were stashed, many attendees lingered nearby, bellies apparently more fired up than tempers. Midtown Beer Garden, perched just blocks from the heart of the action, was swept up in the commotion. Lannie Kali, who manages the bustling food court, recalled how vendors faced an unprecedented pattern—selling out, dashing for groceries to restock, and selling out again all within a single protest day. According to the report, this level of rapid turnover was new territory, exclusive, it seems, to the protest-driven rush.
Neighboring businesses saw their own booms. Kristen Martin of “Bring Treats for Dogs” recounted hitting a personal milestone: her first-ever $1,000 revenue day. Even the city’s canine companions, it turns out, can benefit from civic engagement if their humans have a sweet tooth for dog biscuits.
Over at Café United, owners faced a different pleasant dilemma. With their lobby and patio packed to the gills, co-owner Justin Kuunifaa described having to unlock Café United’s “speakeasy” party room just to accommodate the overflow. This tiny hidden lounge piqued the curiosity of customers, who quickly began inquiring about hosting private events there, the outlet notes. Kuunifaa reported that after experiencing April’s surge, he anticipated the repeat business June’s march would bring—and acted accordingly, stepping up staffing to keep up with demand.
Old Town, New Vibes
Not every business adapted the same way. The Portland Saturday Market found itself at the epicenter during April’s march, which, as detailed in KPTV’s reporting, funneled right through vendor stalls and forced some operators to temporarily shut down thanks to shoulder-to-shoulder foot traffic. Irie Mock, coordinating the market’s promotions, highlighted the challenge and the Market’s tactical response: by June, crews had deployed fencing, rerouting crowds around the market instead of through it. It’s a distinctly Portland solution, combining a healthy regard for crowd control with the gentle optimism that everyone’s there for a good time.
Reflecting on these experiences, business owners told KPTV that—once they’d adjusted—most effects of these demonstrations wound up being positive, with several expressing hope that new visitors discovered a side of Old Town worth revisiting. Both Mock and Kuunifaa underscored their excitement at seeing so many newcomers, suggesting the neighborhood’s reputation stands to benefit from the unplanned open house. As the report summarizes, Kali found it “lovely and heartwarming to see a city come back”—a sentiment that feels distinctly Portland in its understated appreciation.
Food for (Chewable) Thought
In a city often scrutinized for the disruptions and costs associated with large demonstrations, it’s a little bit refreshing to find such a direct, even cheeky, benefit: economic boosts measured in tacos and bao buns, sausages and vegan treats. KPTV’s coverage captures a kind of culinary ripple effect—not only comfort for protest-weary locals, but a much-needed boost for downtown businesses eager to see post-pandemic energy restored block by block.
But it’s hard not to wonder—does the convergence of activism and appetite say something deeper about how public life unfolds here? Or is it just a happy accident, two classic Portland preoccupations conveniently timed? The lines outside the food carts might be ephemeral, but the possibility for neighborhoods to reposition themselves through an inflatable bullhorn and a really good empanada is, at minimum, a peculiarly Portland recipe for revitalization.
If nothing else, the next time the city erupts in collective demonstration, you’ll know where to find the real action: wherever the protestors congregate, expect the city’s savory underbelly to appear—not in headlines, but on a compostable plate, steaming in the afterglow of the march. Will the protests last? Unknown. Will the appetite? History says yes.
