“This is Sir Francis Bacon,” said Jamie Dunn, the owner of the Gilt Club, the restaurant in Portland’s Old Town neighborhood where the scene was filmed in September. “The pork head mortadella came right out of this skull.”

Mr. Dunn was holding the skull of a locally raised pig that had been slaughtered and dispersed into various dishes on that day’s menu, including pork and octopus stew. He said 80 percent of the restaurant’s food came from within 150 miles and 99 percent came from within 300 miles. Some of the hard liquor is distilled blocks away.

“We can ride our fixed-gear bikes to pick up a bottle,” he said.

Then he added, “We do have a sense of humor here.”

Portland will need one.

For years, many residents here have reacted with practiced apathy and amusement toward the national fascination with Portland. Outsiders and media critics have glowed over everything from its restaurants to its ambitious transit system of streetcars and light rail. Yet with “Portlandia,” the flattery has given way to mockery, however gently executed, of this liberal city’s deliberate differentness.