Flying Fish Company

Rockfish in the fryer, oysters on ice

Wild Pacific rockfish goes into the Fish & Chips at Flying Fish Company, where Erik Englund works as Executive Chef in Portland. His station sits inside a place that is also a fish market and oyster bar, so the cooking begins before a plate is called: in the cut of a fillet, the condition of an oyster, the decision to keep a sandwich direct rather than dressed past recognition. Englund’s role is published here as Culinary Director and Executive Chef, with the kitchen shaped by a coastal-minded discipline and a steady insistence on sustainable seafood. His own words keep that geography close, “A lot of what we bring in here is coming from the Oregon coast.” That is less a slogan than a working instruction. At this counter, restraint is not absence; it is the refusal to get between the fish and its condition.

A market kitchen with a shifting catch

The program is built as a hybrid: retail fish counter, restaurant, and oyster bar sharing one seafood logic. The market side names species and waters, including wild Pacific Ocean black cod and tribal-caught Columbia River king salmon, while the restaurant turns that supply into plates that can move from clam chowder to poke bowls, grilled fish sandwiches, and whole fried gurnard with Thai chili paste, fish sauce, and lime. Englund’s albacore sando sits in the same register, familiar in form but dependent on cut, texture, and seasoning. The Fish & Chips carry their own set of decisions: wild Pacific rockfish fillet, gluten-free Jo-Jo’s, and dairy-free citrus-kale slaw. Oysters rotate quickly, with Baywater Indigo, Chelsea Sapphire, Disco Hama, Kokus, Olympia, and Pickering Passage among the names the restaurant has put forward. That rotation gives the bench a rhythm. The kitchen does not need to make the menu feel fixed when the water does not work that way.

The room keeps the fish close

The room has the pace of a neighborhood seafood counter that also happens to cook. Cold cases, oyster trays, counter orders, and patio tables keep the work visible without turning it into theatre. The pass belongs to a casual service style, but the materials ask for attention: a crudo loses its edge if it waits, a fried fillet tells on the oil, an oyster gives away careless handling at once. Beer, wine, cocktails, and the house’s oysters, bubbles, and beer language keep the beverage side compact and seafood-facing. Nothing here depends on ceremony. The place works because the market and the kitchen are close enough to correct each other, and because Englund’s cooking stays tied to the Oregon coast rather than to a decorative idea of it.

Where the next plate begins

The most useful future here is the continuing rotation already built into the counter: the oyster names, the fresh fish, the preparations that change because the catch changes. When Flying Fish Company is at its clearest, the next move is not a campaign; it is another tray of Olympia oysters, another wild Pacific rockfish fillet, another Oregon coast delivery finding its way to Englund’s pass.