Basics: $3 wells; $3 draft beers; rotating menu of $3 sushi rolls. Daily specials run 3:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m.
At first glance, Liberty might appear to have lost some of its initial luster: the tables are a little battered and worn, the unfinished hardwood floors are beaten and covered in scuffs, and the two wall-mounted planters near the front cradle dangling remnants of dehydrated ferns.
Fittingly, of course, both containers are black.
Careful, though. After a few well drinks and a couple of here-and-there chats with the easy-going waitstaff, Liberty's pummeled interior can have a brainwashing effect, morphing its surroundings from those of neglect to those of comfort. Think of your favorite pair of wrecked-up, broken-in jeans you've owned for years. Sure, they've seen better days, but you slip them on time and again because they feel so goddamn good. That two yards of denim is pretty much Liberty, which I dare say is the most Seattle-esque bar I've ever seen: at once being a high end/dive hybrid that avoids the ironic or pretentious quagmires that similar bars fall victim to.
True, while Liberty's bartenders pour a cheap rail drink here, it's truly a cocktailer's bar. Set beneath minimal track lighting in a room painted in darkened, bourbon-soaked ketchup and mustard tones, the skeletal bar is nothing much to drink in visually. Boy, though, is it deep: at places it goes back four or five bottles. With nothing fancy to detract the eye, the booze is forced to take center stage, ready to be drank in, literally.
Of the few specialty cocktails we sampled (there were numerous pages to choose from), the Bramble ($8) emerged the clear favorite: gin, blackberry and lemon that cloaks the booze enough that it goes down smooth with just a murmur of juniper aftertaste. Well drinks were hearty, but not particularly overpowering.
It's Liberty's food offerings that, by some accounts, are the bar's biggest failing. Much to the APIC's disgust and horror (he may have screamed like a 6-year-old girl, come to think of it), nothing served here is deep-fried: it's just sushi.
Don't misunderstand: the food is delicious. The menu traipses through rolls, nigiri, sashimi and vegetarian fare, crossing a wide range of made-to-order bites that, at $4-12 each, satisfy both palettes and wallets. Taylor's choice, the Sonic Boom scallops ($6/4 pieces) was remarkable, balancing out the juiced-up shellfish with smooth mayo and crunchy sprouts. Also, there's a selection of $3 happy hour rolls that rotate on a daily basis: this day's was the Sonic Boom tuna, which wasn't near as exciting as its scallop counterpart.
In general, though, sushi makes a less-than-ideal bar snack. As far as sponging up booze, a few pieces of fish and clumps of rice, however delicious they may be (and they are at Liberty), just aren't up to the task.
That'd be about the only complaint I have. Well, that and the depressing background music: it's supposed to be a "happy" hour, not a "wrist-slashing" one.
Liberty. 517 15th Ave E (15th between Republican and Mercer), Seattle's Capitol Hill. Daily 3:00-7:00 p.m.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Atlantic Crossing
Basics: $1 off draft and bottled beer; $1 off well drinks; $2-6 food specials. Daily food and drink specials run 3:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m.; daily food specials also run 11:00 p.m. to close.
The Atlantic Crossing is the type of bar that almost – almost – makes you wish indoor smoking was still legal in Washington. The dimly-lit bar – overly shady even at 3:00 on a sunny August afternoon – practically begs its customers to imbibe booze and inhale nicotine simultaneously, as if its namesake is the spot on the map where the twin addictions cross paths.
The Crossing also intersects several genres of bar: the neighborhood, the sports, and the dive. There’s the catch-all trophies, jerseys and hi-def flatscreens broadcasting ESPN and FSN batting for the sports element; the balding 40- and 50-somethings sipping alone together, literally bellying up to the dive bar; and the slim, chatty lady bartenders in their 20’s that make each drinker feel like he lives in the surrounding Roosevelt neighborhood.
Labeled a “British and Irish pub,” in actuality The Atlantic Crossing is little more than a hole-in-the-wall dive that blends in with most businesses on Roosevelt Way. Anyone not living in the area and who wasn’t stopped at a red light on NE 65th would doubtfully know the joint exists.
And to regulars here: they like it that way. It’s the type of crowd that prefer a drinking place where they know the bartender, she knows them, and together they can revel in their neighborhood rather than the city. Case in point: this particular afternoon the soundtrack jolted from Skynyrd’s “Free Bird” to Gaga’s “Bad Romance.” The change in atmosphere was immediately palpable, uncomfortable to the point that the barkeep changed the song after a scant few “Rah, rah, ra ah ah-ah”’s. The five men seated with a three-stool buffer between each both breathed and sipped a little easier.
Food options at The Crossing don’t wander far from the deep fryer, but they do satisfy (beer-battered avocado tastes much better than it sounds), and the well drinks come out with a medium pour. And, after all, since eye candy is pretty much off-menu, cheap drinks and deep-fried foods are about all you could ask from a neighborhood dive.
The Atlantic Crossing. 6508 Roosevelt Way NE (NE 65th St and Roosevelt Way NE), Seattle’s Roosevelt. Daily 3:00-6:00 p.m., food specials nightly 11:00 p.m.-close.
The Atlantic Crossing is the type of bar that almost – almost – makes you wish indoor smoking was still legal in Washington. The dimly-lit bar – overly shady even at 3:00 on a sunny August afternoon – practically begs its customers to imbibe booze and inhale nicotine simultaneously, as if its namesake is the spot on the map where the twin addictions cross paths.
The Crossing also intersects several genres of bar: the neighborhood, the sports, and the dive. There’s the catch-all trophies, jerseys and hi-def flatscreens broadcasting ESPN and FSN batting for the sports element; the balding 40- and 50-somethings sipping alone together, literally bellying up to the dive bar; and the slim, chatty lady bartenders in their 20’s that make each drinker feel like he lives in the surrounding Roosevelt neighborhood.
Labeled a “British and Irish pub,” in actuality The Atlantic Crossing is little more than a hole-in-the-wall dive that blends in with most businesses on Roosevelt Way. Anyone not living in the area and who wasn’t stopped at a red light on NE 65th would doubtfully know the joint exists.
And to regulars here: they like it that way. It’s the type of crowd that prefer a drinking place where they know the bartender, she knows them, and together they can revel in their neighborhood rather than the city. Case in point: this particular afternoon the soundtrack jolted from Skynyrd’s “Free Bird” to Gaga’s “Bad Romance.” The change in atmosphere was immediately palpable, uncomfortable to the point that the barkeep changed the song after a scant few “Rah, rah, ra ah ah-ah”’s. The five men seated with a three-stool buffer between each both breathed and sipped a little easier.
Food options at The Crossing don’t wander far from the deep fryer, but they do satisfy (beer-battered avocado tastes much better than it sounds), and the well drinks come out with a medium pour. And, after all, since eye candy is pretty much off-menu, cheap drinks and deep-fried foods are about all you could ask from a neighborhood dive.
The Atlantic Crossing. 6508 Roosevelt Way NE (NE 65th St and Roosevelt Way NE), Seattle’s Roosevelt. Daily 3:00-6:00 p.m., food specials nightly 11:00 p.m.-close.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Cellars Restaurant and Lounge
Basics: $5 well drinks; $4-5 wine and champagne; $2.95 draft beer; $4-7 food. Daily specials run 4:00 p.m. to close Sunday and Monday, 4:00 to 7:00 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday.
One of the things I love most about Belltown is the front-row-center season ticket I hold to the endless revivals of Homeless Guy Theatre.
That’s not meant to sound callous: I’ve lived Downtown going on five years now, so I’m quite accustomed to hobos, pan handlers and crack addicts. Disassociation has become a necessary evil with the constant interactions. (Though, to be fair, there could be any number of drugs tweaking said addicts’ systems – not specifically crack – so it’s incorrect and short-sighted of me to assume rock candy is their drug du jour.)
But: back to alcohol.
On warmer days, Cellars opens its garage-style windows, creating a mixer of bar and patio areas. Staffers pull gauzy curtains aside to reveal an undoubtedly urban view: articulated busses, commuters desperately trying to navigate First Avenue, and the sun setting over Elliot Bay behind Belltown Billiards, a weekend hot spot/pool hall/hetero meat market.
On this particular of warmer days, however, there was a bit more than the sunset to drink in. Outside the patio fence swayed a matted-haired homeless guy alternately yelling at passing traffic and taking swigs off a three-quarters empty screw-top bottle of Hogue Cellar’s pinot grigio. After he sealed the bottle and nestled it safely near his dusty, tore-up backpack, he vacillated between dancing a wine-fueled jig, puffing off of what seemed to be a never-ending supply of smokes, and staring down drivers as they stop at Blanchard’s red light.
Three waitresses attempted to ask him to leave, but it was the fourth one who actually succeeded: a Latina waitress, the first trio being white. It was at this point I began to suspect the bum in question was not only somewhat of a wino, but also a teensy bit racist. He did eventually pack up the almost-empty bottle and teeter down the street, much to the relief of two businessmen who had been seated on the patio and witnessed the majority of his antics.
Not five minutes after the the wine chugger had left, a well-dressed lady joined the suits outside, placing the following order: “I’ll have a glass of champagne. Oh and go ahead and put some vodka in it.”
Now why would I spend so much time focusing on what happened at a happy hour rather than reviewing the bar itself? Because Cellars is pretty much unexceptional all the way around. The drink specials look promising enough, but both my martini and Manhattan ($5 each) came loaded with melted-down ice cubes, either a rookie mistake or a lazy, inexcusable error. Even the décor is pretty standard: “It has that industrial look with exposed brick and overhead ventilation ducts,” the APIC* said. “Then you throw in a few chandeliers and you’ve got yourself a post-modern, formulaic happy hour bar.”
Quel formulaic, indeed.
Cellars Restaurant and Lounge. 2132 First Ave (First and Blanchard), Seattle’s Belltown. Daily 4:00-7:00 p.m., 4:00 p.m. to close Sundays and Mondays.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Barrio
Basics: $6-7 margaritas; $5 sangria and select wines; $3 Mexican beers; $3-5 small plates; $1 smoked salt caramels. Daily specials run 3:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m.; evening specials run Sundays through Thursdays 10:00 p.m. to midnight, Fridays and Saturdays from 11:00 p.m. to 1 a.m.
Walking into Barrio, particularly on a rainy Seattle afternoon, you could see why the metal letters spelling out the restaurant’s name next to the entrance are rusted. Understandable: it’s Seattle. It rains here. We get wet. Now where can I hang my umbrella?
Once inside, though, the bar's fascinatingly cobbled-together décor vanquishes most thoughts of overcast skies. Barrio makes excellent use of its space, combining wood, metal and concrete with remarkable ease. Square angles and curved arcs playfully banter throughout the main dining area. Molé-colored walls contrast against a dozen or so splintery espresso-colored 4x6 beams suspended from the ceiling over a swooping fireplace.
And of course: the candles. So many goddamn candles. A thick, latticed grid separates the two dining areas, supporting hundreds of luminous pillar candles. The rear dining area features several more dozen spiraling down from the ceiling, their flames flickering and shimmying off the maize-colored walls. (Side note: Cameron, Barrio's general manager, assures me each candle is lit by hand every night. On closer inspection the candles, at least in the latticework wall, look to be faux pillars rigged with oil lamps. Either way, the effect is striking and impossible to overlook.)
On the whole, Barrio sports a rugged, masculine décor, anchored in strong, bold statements and supported by other subtler elements of design. Coincidentally or not, the beverages are the same: bold flavors with subtle undertones to enhance, elevate and improve.
The APIC* and I are, admittedly, accustomed to simple, formulaic drinks when going out: he the vodka and ginger as of late, I the vodka soda as of always. When we sidled up to the Barrios snaking bar, covered in a mosaic of jagged, uneven porcelain chips, we felt inspired to order something more sophisticated and adult.
(And by “inspired” I mean that Barrio doesn’t list well drinks for happy hour, so we were pretty much screwed as far as two-note sippables.)
The margaritas ($6), frankly, can be dangerous and go down entirely too easily. On the specialty drink menu, the rum-based PFC Punch #1 ($10) was by far the favorite of the four we ordered: a sweet, peachy cocktail packing the tiniest trace of alcoholic assault that subtly stings all the way down.
The tacos ($3) were stuffed to the point where a knife and fork made more practical sense than attempting to eat by hand. The pork loin al pastor is particularly worth mention: the spicy, red sauce blended together well with onions, cilantro and pineapple extras.
The bar packs up after happy hour, and I mean really packs up. On a Wednesday there was a steady stream of people waiting up to 15 minutes for seating. It was around this point when the place grew too loud for the APIC*, which I will concede is one of Barrio's few detractors: with all the exposed concrete and metal, there's not a lot going on as far as sound absorption.
Walking out more bleary-eyed than before (thank you, expert bartenders!), and struggling to push open the heavy Mexican mission-style doors, we again came face-to-face with the restaurant’s rusted letters. After spending some time in the interior, it’s as if these patinaed letters play off the masculine decor, foreshadowing what first-timers can expect inside.
Whether that's by design or by the booze, I'll let you decide.
Barrio. 1420 12th Ave (12th between Pike and Union), Seattle’s Capitol Hill (Also 10650 NE 4th St, Bellevue). Daily 3:00-6:00 p.m.; late night Sundays through Thursdays 10:00 to midnight, Fridays and Saturday 11:00 p.m. to 1 a.m.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Kristos
Basics: $4 well drinks, $3 Bud Lights, $3.75 draft beers, $5 wines, $2-7 small plates. Daily specials run 3:00 p.m. to 6:30 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. to close. Well vodka: McCormick’s.
Upon entering Kristos, patrons are almost asphyxiated by the color blue: the walls are painted a deep, lustrous cobalt that looms its way up to the second story loft. Teensy, delicate ultramarine-colored occasional lamps dangle in clusters over the tables. Even the booth's seat backs are upholstered in a roughly thatched fabric of steel blue.
Built in behind the bar is an irregular patchwork of darkened champagne-colored stone, like something out of The Brady Bunch den (but in a very appealing way). Lithe purple tulips swoon out of bud vases, while pristine white orchids float completely submerged in water contained in wide-mouthed hurricane vases.
It’s a nice a scene to drink in as the generous gin and gingers poured here. A downright beautiful scene, in fact, until you look out the windows, reality kicks in, and you remember you’re getting a buzz on under the freeway.
Kristos is gorgeous but would be better suited in trendier Belltown than right under Interstate 5’s Ship Canal Bridge. The sleek, glamorous bar with a soft-spoken electronica soundtrack has little in common with the overly claustrophobic Serafina or the beer-sloshed Zoo Tavern, two of Eastlake's mainstays. But it seems to be working. Eastlake has already undergone a metamorphosis in the past few years, acquiring a half-dozen or so swank and trendy condo complexes and a few specialty boutiques. Maybe Kristos is sign of things to continue to come in this neighborhood.
But none of that matters during happy hour. This Greek-inspired lounge is consistently busy as customers continually fill the blue-underlit bar. The drinks, tonight poured by Kristo himself (or Chris, as he’s better known), were heavy handed, which is exactly what a rail drink should be. The chicken Caeser ($7) was fairly unremarkable, though the Greek salad ($5) came as a hearty, heaping mound of chopped cucumbers, bell peppers, tomatoes, Kalamata olives, red onions and feta. Not the most outstanding salad ever, but it more than did the job of filling our drunk stomachs.
Kristos. 3218 Eastlake Ave E (Eastlake and Harvard), Seattle’s Eastlake. Daily 3:00-6:30 p.m., late night 10:00 p.m. to close.
Upon entering Kristos, patrons are almost asphyxiated by the color blue: the walls are painted a deep, lustrous cobalt that looms its way up to the second story loft. Teensy, delicate ultramarine-colored occasional lamps dangle in clusters over the tables. Even the booth's seat backs are upholstered in a roughly thatched fabric of steel blue.
Built in behind the bar is an irregular patchwork of darkened champagne-colored stone, like something out of The Brady Bunch den (but in a very appealing way). Lithe purple tulips swoon out of bud vases, while pristine white orchids float completely submerged in water contained in wide-mouthed hurricane vases.
It’s a nice a scene to drink in as the generous gin and gingers poured here. A downright beautiful scene, in fact, until you look out the windows, reality kicks in, and you remember you’re getting a buzz on under the freeway.
Kristos is gorgeous but would be better suited in trendier Belltown than right under Interstate 5’s Ship Canal Bridge. The sleek, glamorous bar with a soft-spoken electronica soundtrack has little in common with the overly claustrophobic Serafina or the beer-sloshed Zoo Tavern, two of Eastlake's mainstays. But it seems to be working. Eastlake has already undergone a metamorphosis in the past few years, acquiring a half-dozen or so swank and trendy condo complexes and a few specialty boutiques. Maybe Kristos is sign of things to continue to come in this neighborhood.
But none of that matters during happy hour. This Greek-inspired lounge is consistently busy as customers continually fill the blue-underlit bar. The drinks, tonight poured by Kristo himself (or Chris, as he’s better known), were heavy handed, which is exactly what a rail drink should be. The chicken Caeser ($7) was fairly unremarkable, though the Greek salad ($5) came as a hearty, heaping mound of chopped cucumbers, bell peppers, tomatoes, Kalamata olives, red onions and feta. Not the most outstanding salad ever, but it more than did the job of filling our drunk stomachs.
Kristos. 3218 Eastlake Ave E (Eastlake and Harvard), Seattle’s Eastlake. Daily 3:00-6:30 p.m., late night 10:00 p.m. to close.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Vermillion
Basics: $3 well drinks, $3 Washington wines, $1 off other drinks. Daily specials run 4:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. Closed Mondays.
Art galleries and alcohol can make the perfect joint venture: booze, more often than not, can fuel the crazy Bohemian spirit within. Many Seattle bars – The Hideout or Grey, for example – mix the paintbrush with a Pisco Sour to mellifluous results. Vermillion, on the other hand, is more akin to a fine Champagne flute brimming with flat Andre Cold Duck.
I chalk most of it up to the architecture: Vermillion is essentially an art gallery – that happens to include a bar. Little, if anything, is done to join the two. They meet only to pass one patron off to the other, neither customer fully realizing what it is they’ve come for.
All is not lost at Vermillion: the drinks were strong enough to warrant a toast at $3 each. The septuplet of uneven rattan lanterns mixed with skylights made for a welcoming and well-stocked bar. A simple, compelling, geometric wine rack cradled an impressive array of whites and reds.
As nice enough a place it was, we never felt Vermillion truly understood what it wanted to be: a gallery, bar, or gallery/bar hybrid. The juxtaposition between the overly bright art space crammed next to – rather than ingratiated in to – the dark bar area was too jarring for us to feel completely at ease while there.
Which probably explains why we only spent 20 minutes before we moved on for more drinks.
Vermillion. 1508 11th Ave (11th and Pike), Seattle’s Capitol Hill. Daily 4:00 p.m.-7:00 p.m.; closed Mondays.
UPDATE: Grey, mentioned above, is now closed. Sad day.
Art galleries and alcohol can make the perfect joint venture: booze, more often than not, can fuel the crazy Bohemian spirit within. Many Seattle bars – The Hideout or Grey, for example – mix the paintbrush with a Pisco Sour to mellifluous results. Vermillion, on the other hand, is more akin to a fine Champagne flute brimming with flat Andre Cold Duck.
I chalk most of it up to the architecture: Vermillion is essentially an art gallery – that happens to include a bar. Little, if anything, is done to join the two. They meet only to pass one patron off to the other, neither customer fully realizing what it is they’ve come for.
All is not lost at Vermillion: the drinks were strong enough to warrant a toast at $3 each. The septuplet of uneven rattan lanterns mixed with skylights made for a welcoming and well-stocked bar. A simple, compelling, geometric wine rack cradled an impressive array of whites and reds.
As nice enough a place it was, we never felt Vermillion truly understood what it wanted to be: a gallery, bar, or gallery/bar hybrid. The juxtaposition between the overly bright art space crammed next to – rather than ingratiated in to – the dark bar area was too jarring for us to feel completely at ease while there.
Which probably explains why we only spent 20 minutes before we moved on for more drinks.
Vermillion. 1508 11th Ave (11th and Pike), Seattle’s Capitol Hill. Daily 4:00 p.m.-7:00 p.m.; closed Mondays.
UPDATE: Grey, mentioned above, is now closed. Sad day.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Fado
Basics: Monthly rotating drink specials; $3-5 small plates; Weekday specials run 4:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m.
Four words for you: Best. French. Fries. Ever.
The APIC’s* uncommon obsession with deep-fried foods rivals his need for oxygen. Sadly, this has led to many late-night hot dog stands and several trips to Dick’s to nosh on the grease-bathed hypocrisy that betrays our health-conscious, gym-going nature.
(Side note: whoever decided to put cream cheese on a hot dog should either be martyred or canonized … I honestly can’t tell which is more appropriate.)
Normally I avoid anything drowned in scalding oil, but these fries! Sweet. Juicy. Plump. Subtly seasoned. If anyone knows their way around a potato, it’s the Irish.
For those unaware, Fado is a small national chain with restaurants in 11 states that specializes in Irish pub fare. Bangers and mash? Yes. Corned beef and cabbage? Fado has it, as well as “the best-poured Guinness I’ve ever had in Seattle,” says my Irish-born college roommate Pat, who lists Fado among his top reasons to move to the Puget Sound after graduating.
Fado mixes the traditional Irish pub with new-fangled technology: it’s one of the few places in the city that broadcasts international soccer games live via satellite regardless of local time, and not just during the World Cup. Die-hard Manchester fans can find themselves cheering at 5:30 a.m. Seattle time if they really need their football fix. Plus, how many bars would pour a brew at that hour?
And while the pub can draw out the inner hooligan, Fado hosts the bookish type too, at one of the city’s most popular trivia nights. (Wednesdays. 6:30. It gets ridiculously crowded.)
Would I go back on a regular basis? Probably not: the drinks weren’t all that strong and the seating became increasingly uncomfortable the longer we stayed. But the next time my dad is in town and asks me what’s a good place to grab a beer? I know exactly where to take him.
Fado. 801 First Ave (First and Columbia), Seattle’s Pioneer Square. Weekdays 4:00-7:00 p.m.
Four words for you: Best. French. Fries. Ever.
The APIC’s* uncommon obsession with deep-fried foods rivals his need for oxygen. Sadly, this has led to many late-night hot dog stands and several trips to Dick’s to nosh on the grease-bathed hypocrisy that betrays our health-conscious, gym-going nature.
(Side note: whoever decided to put cream cheese on a hot dog should either be martyred or canonized … I honestly can’t tell which is more appropriate.)
Normally I avoid anything drowned in scalding oil, but these fries! Sweet. Juicy. Plump. Subtly seasoned. If anyone knows their way around a potato, it’s the Irish.
For those unaware, Fado is a small national chain with restaurants in 11 states that specializes in Irish pub fare. Bangers and mash? Yes. Corned beef and cabbage? Fado has it, as well as “the best-poured Guinness I’ve ever had in Seattle,” says my Irish-born college roommate Pat, who lists Fado among his top reasons to move to the Puget Sound after graduating.
Fado mixes the traditional Irish pub with new-fangled technology: it’s one of the few places in the city that broadcasts international soccer games live via satellite regardless of local time, and not just during the World Cup. Die-hard Manchester fans can find themselves cheering at 5:30 a.m. Seattle time if they really need their football fix. Plus, how many bars would pour a brew at that hour?
And while the pub can draw out the inner hooligan, Fado hosts the bookish type too, at one of the city’s most popular trivia nights. (Wednesdays. 6:30. It gets ridiculously crowded.)
Would I go back on a regular basis? Probably not: the drinks weren’t all that strong and the seating became increasingly uncomfortable the longer we stayed. But the next time my dad is in town and asks me what’s a good place to grab a beer? I know exactly where to take him.
Fado. 801 First Ave (First and Columbia), Seattle’s Pioneer Square. Weekdays 4:00-7:00 p.m.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
C.C.Attle's
Basics: $5 heavy pour double wells. All business hours.
Let’s you and I level a bit: CC’s is one of the gayest of the gay bars Seattle has to offer. If you’re not comfortable around burly homosexual men, you’d probably do better sliding down a razor blade into a pool of salted lemon juice rather than entering the Verandah Room.
(Hell, I remember how uncomfortable I felt my first time walking in. Here I am, this Seattle neophyte, entering behind this beefy man with what looked to be Brillo pads on his shoulders and biceps. He turns and grunts out, “Mm. Fresh meat.” To this day, I’m still haunted by his gut, which pushed the tensile strength of his ribbed cotton tank to its limits. These are not memories one easily forgets.)
But if you are comfortable around the lavender-types – and you happen to enjoy over-the-top drinks – CC’s is worth repeat visits. Happy hour never ends with $5 heavy-pour double wells spilling all afternoon and evening.
Let’s break that down: Happy hour never ends. Five dollar. Heavy-pour. Double wells. All. Day. Long.
That’s the equivalent of a pint glass full of gin with just a dash of tonic and lime, or a shit ton of vodka with a scant amount of Red Bull or orange juice.
While CC’s is a regular hot spot on the gay pub crawl circuit, the bar takes on a vastly different character and tone during daylight hours. People seemed more relaxed. Chill. Conversational. (Though, that may very well be because of a wicked buzz going: "God it's still strong," the APIC* slurred in the middle of his second. "Even after all the ice has melted.") CC's definitely ranks up there as one of Seattle’s friendliest gay bars.
That's not to say a visit here is an uplifting experience: happy hour here is anything but. Gay dive bars have a history of depressing atmospheres. For decades they've acted as gathering spots and watering holes to outcast and downtrodden homosexuals. And while we're living in a much more progressive era, that mentality is in the genetics of queer dive bars. So, no, CC's patrons aren't moping around attempting to slash their wrists - but they certainly aren't acting the height of hilarity, either.
As far as drowning sorrows in a Jack and Coke, one could do a lot worse. These drinks require an iron liver. They're strong enough, in fact, to knock the APIC* and I out after a few. And knock us so far out, actually, that one of us left his debit card after closing out.
(And, no, it wasn’t me.)
C.C. Attle’s. 1501 E Madison St (15th and Madison), Seattle’s Central District. Weekdays noon to 2:00 a.m., weekends 11:00 a.m. to 2:00 a.m.
UPDATE: C.C.'s officially closed it's doors September 30, 2010 due to construction of the forthcoming Cascadia Center, a six-story commercial building. Since then, C.C.'s manager Chris Daw has (semi-officially) announced the bar will take over the space currently occupied by Cafe Metropolitain at 1701 E Olive Way (E Olive Way and Boylston Ave E).
Let’s you and I level a bit: CC’s is one of the gayest of the gay bars Seattle has to offer. If you’re not comfortable around burly homosexual men, you’d probably do better sliding down a razor blade into a pool of salted lemon juice rather than entering the Verandah Room.
(Hell, I remember how uncomfortable I felt my first time walking in. Here I am, this Seattle neophyte, entering behind this beefy man with what looked to be Brillo pads on his shoulders and biceps. He turns and grunts out, “Mm. Fresh meat.” To this day, I’m still haunted by his gut, which pushed the tensile strength of his ribbed cotton tank to its limits. These are not memories one easily forgets.)
But if you are comfortable around the lavender-types – and you happen to enjoy over-the-top drinks – CC’s is worth repeat visits. Happy hour never ends with $5 heavy-pour double wells spilling all afternoon and evening.
Let’s break that down: Happy hour never ends. Five dollar. Heavy-pour. Double wells. All. Day. Long.
That’s the equivalent of a pint glass full of gin with just a dash of tonic and lime, or a shit ton of vodka with a scant amount of Red Bull or orange juice.
While CC’s is a regular hot spot on the gay pub crawl circuit, the bar takes on a vastly different character and tone during daylight hours. People seemed more relaxed. Chill. Conversational. (Though, that may very well be because of a wicked buzz going: "God it's still strong," the APIC* slurred in the middle of his second. "Even after all the ice has melted.") CC's definitely ranks up there as one of Seattle’s friendliest gay bars.
That's not to say a visit here is an uplifting experience: happy hour here is anything but. Gay dive bars have a history of depressing atmospheres. For decades they've acted as gathering spots and watering holes to outcast and downtrodden homosexuals. And while we're living in a much more progressive era, that mentality is in the genetics of queer dive bars. So, no, CC's patrons aren't moping around attempting to slash their wrists - but they certainly aren't acting the height of hilarity, either.
As far as drowning sorrows in a Jack and Coke, one could do a lot worse. These drinks require an iron liver. They're strong enough, in fact, to knock the APIC* and I out after a few. And knock us so far out, actually, that one of us left his debit card after closing out.
(And, no, it wasn’t me.)
UPDATE: C.C.'s officially closed it's doors September 30, 2010 due to construction of the forthcoming Cascadia Center, a six-story commercial building. Since then, C.C.'s manager Chris Daw has (semi-officially) announced the bar will take over the space currently occupied by Cafe Metropolitain at 1701 E Olive Way (E Olive Way and Boylston Ave E).
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Bai Pai
Basics: $3 well drinks and select beer; $3.75 select wine; $4.25 small plates. Specials run Sundays, Wednesdays, Thursdays 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m.; Mondays and Tuesdays 4:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m.
Though I live smack in the middle of Seattle’s Downtown retail core, I work just North of the University District in the Roosevelt neighborhood (named after Teddy, not Franklin Delano). Roosevelt is an interesting little corner of the city, home to hippies, Whole Foods, and countless yoga studios. It's also home to Roosevelt High School, one of Seattle's largest. And not entirely off-topic, it's home to the dry cleaner to whom I took my blazer two years ago after some RHS juniors egged me as I walked home after work.
Grr. As much as that night still ticks me off -- and it does -- it's not germane to happy hour. So I’ll digress.
Lately I've embraced the idea of getting out and exploring some Seattle's other neighborhoods. It's rare my circle of friends leave our Downtown/Capitol Hill boundaries, and I relished the opportunity to spend some time in Roosevelt's neighboring Ravenna to see what it has to offer. What it ended up offering, though, was a sobering reminder of why we should think twice before leaving our urban nest.
First impressions were (and to some extent still are) great: Bai Pai has a large, manicured dining area that maintains a strong intimate feeling and sports a brightly colored decor that doesn't overdo. The waitstaff was extremely friendly (not to mention drool-worthy attractive ... but again, I digress), and the small plates we had certainly did not disappoint.
But (and this is a big one). But the drinks were on-par with vacation Bible school Kool-Aid. The vodka soda I ordered had no trace of alcoholic oomph whatsoever. My three bucks would have been better spent on (shudder) Boone’s Strawberry Hill. Or better yet on a Budweiser Hurricane -- or, as we called it in college, “The Slurricane.”
As a restaurant, Bai Pai has gotten many an accolade for their food, and I should add another: the garlic string beans we had are actually pretty amazing. As a bar, however, I cannot stress this point enough: Skip. This. Happy hour.
You’ll find a better buzz at the Chevron a block away. Just, you know, try to keep it classy.
Bai Pai. 2316 NE 65th St (24th Ave NE and NE 65th St), Seattle’s Ravenna. Sundays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, 4:00-7:00 p.m. Mondays & Tuesdays, 4:00-10:00 p.m.
Though I live smack in the middle of Seattle’s Downtown retail core, I work just North of the University District in the Roosevelt neighborhood (named after Teddy, not Franklin Delano). Roosevelt is an interesting little corner of the city, home to hippies, Whole Foods, and countless yoga studios. It's also home to Roosevelt High School, one of Seattle's largest. And not entirely off-topic, it's home to the dry cleaner to whom I took my blazer two years ago after some RHS juniors egged me as I walked home after work.
Grr. As much as that night still ticks me off -- and it does -- it's not germane to happy hour. So I’ll digress.
Lately I've embraced the idea of getting out and exploring some Seattle's other neighborhoods. It's rare my circle of friends leave our Downtown/Capitol Hill boundaries, and I relished the opportunity to spend some time in Roosevelt's neighboring Ravenna to see what it has to offer. What it ended up offering, though, was a sobering reminder of why we should think twice before leaving our urban nest.
First impressions were (and to some extent still are) great: Bai Pai has a large, manicured dining area that maintains a strong intimate feeling and sports a brightly colored decor that doesn't overdo. The waitstaff was extremely friendly (not to mention drool-worthy attractive ... but again, I digress), and the small plates we had certainly did not disappoint.
But (and this is a big one). But the drinks were on-par with vacation Bible school Kool-Aid. The vodka soda I ordered had no trace of alcoholic oomph whatsoever. My three bucks would have been better spent on (shudder) Boone’s Strawberry Hill. Or better yet on a Budweiser Hurricane -- or, as we called it in college, “The Slurricane.”
As a restaurant, Bai Pai has gotten many an accolade for their food, and I should add another: the garlic string beans we had are actually pretty amazing. As a bar, however, I cannot stress this point enough: Skip. This. Happy hour.
You’ll find a better buzz at the Chevron a block away. Just, you know, try to keep it classy.
Bai Pai. 2316 NE 65th St (24th Ave NE and NE 65th St), Seattle’s Ravenna. Sundays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, 4:00-7:00 p.m. Mondays & Tuesdays, 4:00-10:00 p.m.
Friday, April 9, 2010
The Diller Room
Basics: $5 Grey Goose, Bacardi, or Bombay drinks; $5 select wine and beer; $5 small plates; $8 specialty drinks. Daily specials run 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. (As with any new bar, specials subject to change.)
If, say, Clark Gable and George Clooney were to open a bar together, The Diller Room might very well be the outcome. There’s a dual air of rustic, old-world charm with heavy doses of no-nonsense, modern-day sensibility that mingle together very nicely: much like the decent-pour gin and tonics I ordered.
The decor takes a cue from this everything-old-is-new-again theme: beveled mirrors and plush wingchairs adorn a sunken bar with exposed brick and piping. Traditional round barstools are placed near Victorian chairs upholstered with unraveling tapestry. Sleek, low mahogany leather sofas dimly reflect light from a chandelier and sconces covered in crystal beads. The contradictory furniture pairings work very much in The Diller Room’s favor, gilded letters and all.
Though the interior comes off especially pleasing, I’m giving the newly opened bar the benefit of the doubt when it comes to drinks. Staff members are still finding their footing, so I can’t completely write them off during these formative weeks. Beverages were so-so as far as toxicity levels, though a clink of the glass to the owners for offering middle-to-top-shelf booze at bottom-shelf prices. The food was hit more than miss -- the BLT sliders garnered raves from Brett and pans from Troy. The Salumi platter had little complaint, nor should it: five bucks for some of the finest locally cured meats Seattle has to offer is an outstanding price.
Anyone choosing to venture into the specialty drink menu should sample the Sapphire Fizz: gin, Chambord, limes, egg white and powdered sugar, shaken and served up. The layered, complex taste of the savory gin with sweet raspberry overtones made for a frothy, delicious drink steeped in booze that kicks hard to the gullet.
(Side note: Worst. Men’s room. I’ve ever seen. And this coming from a guy who frequents many a gay bar, which says something. A deep-sink worthy of high school janitors paired with a non-functioning hot water faucet? Really? Health codes aside, it’s as if Clark and George allowed Pauly Shore to couch surf for a week. And, honestly, who would pay to see that movie?)
The Diller Room. 1224 First Ave (First and Union), Seattle’s Downtown. Daily, 5:00-7:00 p.m. Specials subject to change.
If, say, Clark Gable and George Clooney were to open a bar together, The Diller Room might very well be the outcome. There’s a dual air of rustic, old-world charm with heavy doses of no-nonsense, modern-day sensibility that mingle together very nicely: much like the decent-pour gin and tonics I ordered.
The decor takes a cue from this everything-old-is-new-again theme: beveled mirrors and plush wingchairs adorn a sunken bar with exposed brick and piping. Traditional round barstools are placed near Victorian chairs upholstered with unraveling tapestry. Sleek, low mahogany leather sofas dimly reflect light from a chandelier and sconces covered in crystal beads. The contradictory furniture pairings work very much in The Diller Room’s favor, gilded letters and all.
Though the interior comes off especially pleasing, I’m giving the newly opened bar the benefit of the doubt when it comes to drinks. Staff members are still finding their footing, so I can’t completely write them off during these formative weeks. Beverages were so-so as far as toxicity levels, though a clink of the glass to the owners for offering middle-to-top-shelf booze at bottom-shelf prices. The food was hit more than miss -- the BLT sliders garnered raves from Brett and pans from Troy. The Salumi platter had little complaint, nor should it: five bucks for some of the finest locally cured meats Seattle has to offer is an outstanding price.
Anyone choosing to venture into the specialty drink menu should sample the Sapphire Fizz: gin, Chambord, limes, egg white and powdered sugar, shaken and served up. The layered, complex taste of the savory gin with sweet raspberry overtones made for a frothy, delicious drink steeped in booze that kicks hard to the gullet.
(Side note: Worst. Men’s room. I’ve ever seen. And this coming from a guy who frequents many a gay bar, which says something. A deep-sink worthy of high school janitors paired with a non-functioning hot water faucet? Really? Health codes aside, it’s as if Clark and George allowed Pauly Shore to couch surf for a week. And, honestly, who would pay to see that movie?)
The Diller Room. 1224 First Ave (First and Union), Seattle’s Downtown. Daily, 5:00-7:00 p.m. Specials subject to change.
Jasmine
Basics: $5 well drinks, $4 sake and wine, $5-7 sushi rolls, $1.50-6 small plates. Weekday specials run 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m.
Asian. Alcohol. Adequate.
(Brevity is so underused nowadays. As are alliterations.)
Jasmine. 1100 Fourth Ave (Fourth and Spring), Seattle’s Downtown. Weekdays 4:00-6:00 p.m.
Asian. Alcohol. Adequate.
(Brevity is so underused nowadays. As are alliterations.)
Jasmine. 1100 Fourth Ave (Fourth and Spring), Seattle’s Downtown. Weekdays 4:00-6:00 p.m.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Maharaja Cuisine of India
Basics: $2 well drinks, select $1 appetizers with drink purchase. Daily specials run 4:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. (Don't be confused: there are several different businesses in the greater Seattle area with the same name. This is the one on Capitol Hill.)
A bunch of us had a discussion at brunch a few weeks back about how many drinks it takes for one to feel buzzed. While most agreed that two was the magic number, Arlen and I felt that five was more appropriate.
That said: you could not pay me enough to down five drinks poured at Maharaja.
Tucked away behind faded batik swaths lies one of Seattle’s most potent bars, daily pouring toxic drinks that deliciously burn going down in the most masochistic of fashions. I ordered two positively antiseptic gin and tonics and by some miracle of life was still able to form coherent sentences by the time the check came around.
Don’t misunderstand: these are not good drinks. Connoisseurs would do well walking up the Pike/Pine Corridor in favor of swankier bars with an actual palette for cocktails. But for those people who’ve had it up to here with their boss for the sixth time this week? Slap down $2 and blissfully sip away your frustrations.
Don’t come for the décor, unless you enjoy spending time at Cornish's freshmen dorm. Ignore the music, except if you’re familiar with Bollywood’s greatest hits. But these drinks? Unless you have an 8.0-on-the-Richter-scale hangover (like the APIC did … sorry about last night!), come enjoy the cheap-as-hell fuck-you-up booze that we all dreamt of in college.
On the other hand, you could listen to the advice of co-worker Sara: Maharaja generally sounds like a great idea. It rarely is.
Maharaja Cuisine of India. 720 E Pike St (Pike and Harvard), Seattle's Capitol Hill. Daily 4:00-9:00 p.m.
UPDATE: Maharaja has closed its doors as of the January 2011. As a collective, Seattleites' livers are undoubtedly happy, but their wallets are weeping.
A bunch of us had a discussion at brunch a few weeks back about how many drinks it takes for one to feel buzzed. While most agreed that two was the magic number, Arlen and I felt that five was more appropriate.
That said: you could not pay me enough to down five drinks poured at Maharaja.
Tucked away behind faded batik swaths lies one of Seattle’s most potent bars, daily pouring toxic drinks that deliciously burn going down in the most masochistic of fashions. I ordered two positively antiseptic gin and tonics and by some miracle of life was still able to form coherent sentences by the time the check came around.
Don’t misunderstand: these are not good drinks. Connoisseurs would do well walking up the Pike/Pine Corridor in favor of swankier bars with an actual palette for cocktails. But for those people who’ve had it up to here with their boss for the sixth time this week? Slap down $2 and blissfully sip away your frustrations.
Don’t come for the décor, unless you enjoy spending time at Cornish's freshmen dorm. Ignore the music, except if you’re familiar with Bollywood’s greatest hits. But these drinks? Unless you have an 8.0-on-the-Richter-scale hangover (like the APIC did … sorry about last night!), come enjoy the cheap-as-hell fuck-you-up booze that we all dreamt of in college.
On the other hand, you could listen to the advice of co-worker Sara: Maharaja generally sounds like a great idea. It rarely is.
UPDATE: Maharaja has closed its doors as of the January 2011. As a collective, Seattleites' livers are undoubtedly happy, but their wallets are weeping.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Boka Kitchen and Lounge
Basics: $5 well drinks, $4 draft beers, $6 select wine, $3-12.50 food. Daily specials run 2:30 p.m.(!) to 6:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. to close.
When is a well drink not a well drink?
Ah, a Carroll-esque riddle for the ages (or at least for the recessed economy). As it turns out Hotel 1000's bar Boka -- and several other places we've been to lately -- considers a well drink to be booze and anything coming out of the spigot. Gin and tonic? Sweet, so Brett's in the clear. Vodka soda? Great, I'm good to go. Rum and diet? If we had a rum drinker in our crowd ... well, then that one fifth of the God-awful stuff wouldn't have languished at a year and a half's worth of parties and pre-funks before we finally drank it.
God that was a bad night.
But anyway. Screwdriver, greyhound, or vodka cran drinkers can find themselves paying an added buck per drink. And while that isn't a big deal in the long run, it just struck us as kind of shady without any mention on the menu.
That and the weak drinks -- probably a measured pour -- were about the only complaints we could find of Boka. Short, squat chairs upholstered in cream-colored faux-crocodile draw you into the sleek, modern ambience, full of plush leather rails and opaque milkglass bamboo. The well-stocked bar, wine rack, and rear dining area's walls glow brightly, cycling through numerous shades of frost-biten colored flourescence.
Food-wise we fared much better. Truffle fries were much tastier than their usual burger accompaniment counterparts ("That's probably the fanciest presentation of french fries I've ever seen!" the APIC gushed). The crab cakes I ordered were amazing: airy and fluffy on the inside, while satisfyingly crunchy on the out. The rest of the food menu, though, underwhelmed: everything looked good, but none of it sounded extremely appetizing.
But maybe we have lowbrow tastes: on the way home, we totally hit up Subway for a couple $5 footlongs.
Boka Kitchen and Bar. 1010 First Ave (First & Madison), Seattle's Downtown. Daily 2:30-6:00 p.m., late night 10:00 p.m. to close.
When is a well drink not a well drink?
Ah, a Carroll-esque riddle for the ages (or at least for the recessed economy). As it turns out Hotel 1000's bar Boka -- and several other places we've been to lately -- considers a well drink to be booze and anything coming out of the spigot. Gin and tonic? Sweet, so Brett's in the clear. Vodka soda? Great, I'm good to go. Rum and diet? If we had a rum drinker in our crowd ... well, then that one fifth of the God-awful stuff wouldn't have languished at a year and a half's worth of parties and pre-funks before we finally drank it.
God that was a bad night.
But anyway. Screwdriver, greyhound, or vodka cran drinkers can find themselves paying an added buck per drink. And while that isn't a big deal in the long run, it just struck us as kind of shady without any mention on the menu.
That and the weak drinks -- probably a measured pour -- were about the only complaints we could find of Boka. Short, squat chairs upholstered in cream-colored faux-crocodile draw you into the sleek, modern ambience, full of plush leather rails and opaque milkglass bamboo. The well-stocked bar, wine rack, and rear dining area's walls glow brightly, cycling through numerous shades of frost-biten colored flourescence.
Food-wise we fared much better. Truffle fries were much tastier than their usual burger accompaniment counterparts ("That's probably the fanciest presentation of french fries I've ever seen!" the APIC gushed). The crab cakes I ordered were amazing: airy and fluffy on the inside, while satisfyingly crunchy on the out. The rest of the food menu, though, underwhelmed: everything looked good, but none of it sounded extremely appetizing.
But maybe we have lowbrow tastes: on the way home, we totally hit up Subway for a couple $5 footlongs.
Boka Kitchen and Bar. 1010 First Ave (First & Madison), Seattle's Downtown. Daily 2:30-6:00 p.m., late night 10:00 p.m. to close.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Triple Door
Basics: $3 draft beers, $4 well drinks and select specialty drinks, $5-7 glasses of wine, $3-5 food. Daily specials run 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m.; late-night specials run 9:00 p.m. to midnight Sundays through Thursdays.
Let’s say you just started to date a new guy. He’s cute. He’s funny. You two have a lot in common. He knows the right point when you want your hand held and knows exactly when to break a kiss. All and all it looks great. On paper. Because deep down you know it’s not going to work: he's just not right for you. But you date him anyway because it’s not like you have a lot of prospects right now and, well, it feels good to curl up on the couch with someone every now and then.
That’s how I’ll quantify The Triple Door: you know you’re not going the distance, but damn if they don’t pour adequate drinks at a decent price in a convenient location.
Well, no, I take that back a bit. The APIC* complained a few hours later that he didn’t feel anything after his three Triple Door beverages. Personally the only thing that had a bit of kick was their Golden Triangle: a tasty concoction of tequila, pineapple juice and muddled Thai basil, the combination of herbs and liquor balancing the other out exceptionally well.
Generally, though, our party found the drinks too damn sweet. With Asian-esque flavors down stage and center, the potency of the liquor easily gets lost in a syrupy mixture which handily gives a boost to the blood-sugar instead of blood-alcohol levels.
There’s a pan-Asian flair that runs through the menu, which makes sense as sister restaurant Wild Ginger is located just upstairs (and I’m told the happy hour that exists only in the new Bellevue Wild Ginger is worth checking out). The food – ranging from chicken or beef satays with peanut sauce to veggie spring rolls with pineapple sauce – was priced right and was pleasant to the tongue.
The bar really started to fill up after the 9-to-5'ers clocked out for the day. The Triple Door’s proximity to both Downtown’s retail core and financial district must make it a regular spot for shoppers and corporate-types alike, so get there early if you can.
And while the ambiance, food, and promise of live shows (The Triple Door also doubles as a concert venue) all try well, the outcome didn’t live up to the hype for most my party. We all walked away feeling a little hungry, a little sober, and poking at the little manta rays in the sizable aquarium by the front entrance.
OK, the aquarium is kind of worth seeing.
* Really? Do I need to assemble a glossary?
The Triple Door. 216 Union St (between Second and Third Aves), Seattle’s Downtown. Daily 4:00-6:00 p.m., late night 9:00 p.m. to midnight Sundays through Thursdays.
Let’s say you just started to date a new guy. He’s cute. He’s funny. You two have a lot in common. He knows the right point when you want your hand held and knows exactly when to break a kiss. All and all it looks great. On paper. Because deep down you know it’s not going to work: he's just not right for you. But you date him anyway because it’s not like you have a lot of prospects right now and, well, it feels good to curl up on the couch with someone every now and then.
That’s how I’ll quantify The Triple Door: you know you’re not going the distance, but damn if they don’t pour adequate drinks at a decent price in a convenient location.
Well, no, I take that back a bit. The APIC* complained a few hours later that he didn’t feel anything after his three Triple Door beverages. Personally the only thing that had a bit of kick was their Golden Triangle: a tasty concoction of tequila, pineapple juice and muddled Thai basil, the combination of herbs and liquor balancing the other out exceptionally well.
Generally, though, our party found the drinks too damn sweet. With Asian-esque flavors down stage and center, the potency of the liquor easily gets lost in a syrupy mixture which handily gives a boost to the blood-sugar instead of blood-alcohol levels.
There’s a pan-Asian flair that runs through the menu, which makes sense as sister restaurant Wild Ginger is located just upstairs (and I’m told the happy hour that exists only in the new Bellevue Wild Ginger is worth checking out). The food – ranging from chicken or beef satays with peanut sauce to veggie spring rolls with pineapple sauce – was priced right and was pleasant to the tongue.
The bar really started to fill up after the 9-to-5'ers clocked out for the day. The Triple Door’s proximity to both Downtown’s retail core and financial district must make it a regular spot for shoppers and corporate-types alike, so get there early if you can.
And while the ambiance, food, and promise of live shows (The Triple Door also doubles as a concert venue) all try well, the outcome didn’t live up to the hype for most my party. We all walked away feeling a little hungry, a little sober, and poking at the little manta rays in the sizable aquarium by the front entrance.
OK, the aquarium is kind of worth seeing.
* Really? Do I need to assemble a glossary?
The Triple Door. 216 Union St (between Second and Third Aves), Seattle’s Downtown. Daily 4:00-6:00 p.m., late night 9:00 p.m. to midnight Sundays through Thursdays.
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Hideout
Basics: well drinks are $4 (though Tanqueray and tonics were going for a decently-priced $6); extremely limited food options; citrus juices are fresh-squeezed. Weekday specials run from 4:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m.
The Hideout can be difficult to classify. I, for one, would call it an elegant dive bar. My APIC* Arlen called it “tacky, but it seems like they did that on purpose.” Yeah, bars should be dark. But The Hideout takes that concept to a new extreme, painting the walls black and placing thick burgundy velvet curtains over the front windows to block out all outside light.
Lighting fixtures and filaments are, for the most part, eschewed. The Hideout relies mostly on strategically placed candlelight for illumination, with an assist from three mismatched rustic (rusted?) chandeliers. The Hideout wisely moves red light bulbs from the darkroom to their refrigeration units, which go easy on the dilated eyes.
Odd, though, that such a dark bar has such an outstanding collection of Northwest art. Over 70 paintings cover the walls in an artistic orgy of a mosaic, rotating on a weekly basis. This week’s selection ran the gamut of ferryboats, breasts, dice, octopi, a scuba diver emerging from a shower and a lion-headed woman taking a gigantic cock up her ass. No. Really.
Well drinks transcend the dive bar-ish feel, thanks to the pain-in-the-ass-to-make-but-oh-so-tasty fresh-squeezed juice: Gordon’s vodka has never tasted so amazing or gone down as smooth. I easily went through four heavy-pour wells without any complaints. Stay away from the gimlet, though: Brett’s drink had zero alcoholic kick to it. Lovers of screwdrivers and greyhounds should seriously consider making this a regular haunt.
The specialty drink menu, though, was cumbersome and somewhat pretentious. I will award The Hideout some points for creativity: The Hemingway, for example, is a shot of hornitos tequila, a Dos Equis and a Nat Sherman cigarette. The Rhubarb Manhattan I ordered (Makers, Aperol, Cynar and rhubarb bitters), however, definitely disappointed. For a bar that has some of the best well drinks in the city, I expected a bit more from the specialty menu. At a $7 to $14 price point, you’ll be better off sticking to the screwdriver.
*Alcoholic Partner In Crime. Arlen and I go way back.
The Hideout. 1005 Boren Ave (Boren and Madison), Seattle’s First Hill. Weekdays, 4:00-7:00 p.m.
The Hideout can be difficult to classify. I, for one, would call it an elegant dive bar. My APIC* Arlen called it “tacky, but it seems like they did that on purpose.” Yeah, bars should be dark. But The Hideout takes that concept to a new extreme, painting the walls black and placing thick burgundy velvet curtains over the front windows to block out all outside light.
Lighting fixtures and filaments are, for the most part, eschewed. The Hideout relies mostly on strategically placed candlelight for illumination, with an assist from three mismatched rustic (rusted?) chandeliers. The Hideout wisely moves red light bulbs from the darkroom to their refrigeration units, which go easy on the dilated eyes.
Odd, though, that such a dark bar has such an outstanding collection of Northwest art. Over 70 paintings cover the walls in an artistic orgy of a mosaic, rotating on a weekly basis. This week’s selection ran the gamut of ferryboats, breasts, dice, octopi, a scuba diver emerging from a shower and a lion-headed woman taking a gigantic cock up her ass. No. Really.
Well drinks transcend the dive bar-ish feel, thanks to the pain-in-the-ass-to-make-but-oh-so-tasty fresh-squeezed juice: Gordon’s vodka has never tasted so amazing or gone down as smooth. I easily went through four heavy-pour wells without any complaints. Stay away from the gimlet, though: Brett’s drink had zero alcoholic kick to it. Lovers of screwdrivers and greyhounds should seriously consider making this a regular haunt.
The specialty drink menu, though, was cumbersome and somewhat pretentious. I will award The Hideout some points for creativity: The Hemingway, for example, is a shot of hornitos tequila, a Dos Equis and a Nat Sherman cigarette. The Rhubarb Manhattan I ordered (Makers, Aperol, Cynar and rhubarb bitters), however, definitely disappointed. For a bar that has some of the best well drinks in the city, I expected a bit more from the specialty menu. At a $7 to $14 price point, you’ll be better off sticking to the screwdriver.
*Alcoholic Partner In Crime. Arlen and I go way back.
The Hideout. 1005 Boren Ave (Boren and Madison), Seattle’s First Hill. Weekdays, 4:00-7:00 p.m.
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