We walk into a dark bar on a dark night

Alchemy, Seattle, Washington (West Seattle)
“A place that’s quiet and dark; where you can drink whiskey in a cracked glass.” According to Scott, one of the bartenders at Alchemy, that’s something people look for in a bar. He’s right, of course. (It’s possible not everybody wants to drink out of a cracked glass. More research may be required.)

Dark is something many people appreciate in a bar. Alchemy keeps things dim, with artificial (and a few real) candles above and behind bottles behind the bar providing most of the light. When we ask people what they like in a bar, we have often hear “dark dives.” You’d think that in Seattle this time of year (with the sun up at half-past seven and down at half-past four) we’d have had enough of darkness, but it’s still appealing. Mindy said she liked the place just after we came in.

“Darkness” is fine when we’re talking literally. If someone says they’re “in a dark place,” you hope they’re talking literally rather than metaphorically. When the Bible talks about people “loving the darkness rather than the light,” I don’t think it’s condemning those who don’t have lots of lamps in the house. I talked with another of the bartenders, Dev, about how pleasant these rainy days are for those of us who need to sleep during the day, and I don’t think Scripture was condemning those of us who are vocationally nocturnal.

Both people we asked “What makes for a good bar” said “atmosphere.” And there does seem to be a strong correlation for many people between dim lighting and atmosphere. Alchemy has much more going for it than low wattage, though.

The hostess greeted us cheerily when we entered. She offered us a table but pointed the way to empty seats when we said we preferred the bar. Dev, the other bartender, poured us water before we even asked, which is a strong positive in our book. He gave us menus with a happy hour flyer on top, and he told us the food specials.

I ordered the “Death of the Hipster” cocktail, and Mindy chose “East of Eden.” We ordered the deviled eggs as well. Dev accidentally prepared “At Six and Sevens” for me and apologized that he was working a bit on autopilot. I was pleasantly surprised by the bits of bacon in the eggs (they were emphatically not Bac’n Bits).

The man sitting next to me at the bar asked about my drink, and I gave a favorable review. Mindy was soon chatting with the man sitting next to her. Even more than the proper aperture in a bar, we appreciate people feel free to talk to each other, often encouraged by bartenders. That was certainly true of Alchemy while we were there. We found it easy to ask our two questions, “What makes for a good bar?” and “Whether you go or not, what do you think would make for a good church?”

The guy next to Mindy asked to be referred to as “Travelin’ Man,” who said a good bar had atmosphere and a good bartender. He added that it should have a variety of choices for food and drink. When Mindy asked what he meant by atmosphere, he said, “distinctive character.” He said that sports bars are basically all the same, but “this bar, they have a theme going on.”

She asked him what he thought made for a good church. “Since I’m not a Christian anymore, I’d say a Buddhist church.” He added, “Religion is man-made in my opinion.” Organized religion has been “a mixed bag used for good and bad for centuries.”

Dev was able to take a moment for our questions, too. For the bar, he said, “Atmosphere is everything. If everyone is rushing and stressed, I’m not going to hang out there. Right when you go in, you can tell how the restaurant is ‘breathing.’” He noted that Scott has said, “How can everyone else (the guests) have a good time if you (the staff) aren’t having a good time?” As for what makes for a good church, he said, “Innovation, more embracing of modern times for a modern world, that would be an attractive church.”

We’d finished our eggs and our drinks, so it was time to go back home. As we left into dark Seattle, the hostess said, “See you again?”

Mindy said, “Hope so.”

She said, “That would be lovely!” And it would be.

We walk into Parliament

Parliament, Seattle (Admiral District of West Seattle), Washington

We planned to talk to people at Parliament, honest. We went in curious about a lot of things that we hoped to ask about. The bar has owl decor* throughout; they're a music venue; there's a very different bar next door and several others within a block or two.

But when we arrived, the Seahawks were battling the Packers on all the screens, and we couldn't find seats at the bar. The bartender was attentive and got our drinks quickly (a hopped apple cider for Dean and a sour cherry cider for me), and we sat down at a table to watch the game and the bar.

As we sipped our ciders and took stealthy photos, it was pretty clear that we weren't going to be able to talk to anybody else. By halftime, the first of the two bands who'd playing later in the evening were setting up, and we'd finished our ciders. We took our glasses back to the bar (noticing a few more owls along the way), thanked the bartender, and were on our way.

In spite of only talking to each other, we were glad we'd finally gotten into Parliament.

*A group of owls has been called a parliament since the Middle Ages. But you already knew that, of course.

We walk into an Oregon bar

Southland Whiskey Kitchen, Portland, Oregon
We really didn't intend to write about this place.

During October, for our church blog, Mindy and I visited the extreme east, west, north, and south communities of Washington state, and we wrote about the bars we came across during those trips. Before going to the southernmost church, we spent Saturday night at a hotel in Portland, Oregon. We got there around dinnertime, and it was an easy walk (even in the rain) to a place with “Southland” in its name, which sounded so very thematic. Mindy had found it online and was interested in the smoked meats, and it looked like they had good happy hour deals.

As we came in, we were reminded of places we’d been to in the South. The dark wood and iron decor were part of the feel. So was the well stocked whiskey bar. There were lots of graphics with chickens and pigs on the walls. But the ready hospitality was a part of it too. The host at his stand greeted us quickly and cheerily and offered us a table.

We told him we preferred the bar, where the TVs were making for a nicely varied sports night. Game four of the World Series was playing, as were the Portland Trailblazers, and the Washington State Cougars (we heard a lot about them on our trip east at the beginning of the month. “Go Cougs!”)

The bartender gave us the full menu, but all we needed was the happy hour insert, which had everything priced at $5. We ordered the bacon and blue cheese chips, house smoked wings, and the pulled pork sandwich. I ordered a Kentucky Mule, while Mindy decided she wanted to continue the theme of the trip with a Southern Punch.

After trying the food and drinks, we agreed that we really should write about this place, but we hadn’t brought our notebooks or pens; our usual reporting tools. I asked Rickie behind the bar if we could have a pen and a sheet of paper. He tore a page from a notebook, and I started writing away, including notes on bits of overheard conversations (“You’d have to be a sadist to not like mac & cheese,” and “I would always get so drunk at baseball games.”)

But we really needed the paper and pen to write down answers to our two questions, “What makes for a good bar?” and “Whether you go or not, what makes for a good church?”

We first talked to Rickie (who supplied our reporting tools and is one of the managers at Southland) He said a good bar needs “good drinks and someone who gets them to you.” He was especially proud of the liquor selection at Southland. “We have a whole lot of good whiskey.”

As for a what makes for a good church, “Comfortable seating, because you’re going to be there an hour. It’s been a while since I’ve gone.”

I also had a chance to talk to Jim, the bartender who served us. He said, “I prefer a dive bar; I’ve been a dive bartender. Someplace cozy, where you know the people, a Cheers thing.” He wanted a church that was “not pushy; you have to enjoy the time. Religion, like a lot of things, you can’t find it until you’re ready to find it.”

On that rainy October night in Portland, we were glad we found the Southland Whiskey Kitchen.

We walk into a bar after church

Bigfoot Inn, Washougal, Washington
It really is weird to feel guilty for not drinking. I know there are plenty of Baptists in the United States who feel racked with guilt for sipping a Bud Lite while watching an NFL game after church. People with problems with alcohol abuse beat themselves up severely for giving in to the bottle.

But this is a bar blog, and it just feels wrong to go to a bar and not drink (though Mindy did it earlier this month). The thing is, during October we went to churches in the furthest north, south, east, and west parts of the state, and last weekend we spent the night in Portland and drove to Washougal, the most southern town we could find in Washington. Bigfoot Inn was just a couple of blocks from the church we visited.

I was going to be driving back to Seattle, the weather was looking iffy, and I hadn’t slept well the night before -- so I decided it would be best if I had caffeine rather than alcohol at the bar. In my defense, Bigfoot Inn had a big sign for Dr. Pepper outside. DP it was. Mindy had a strawberry/apple hard cider from the tap, and I enjoyed a few sips.

As soon as we heard of Bigfoot Inn, we wanted very much to visit. It does a fine job of honoring the Sasquatch traditions of the Northwest. The hairy creatures provide much of the artistic decor (along with Halloween touches, since it was the weekend before the holiday).

We sat at the bar, and Cassy the bartender brought us a menu, noting that it was two for one taco day (and the tacos were only $2.75 to begin with). I ordered a half order of nachos (only $4). Everything on the menu was inexpensive, which is a plus for a neighborhood hangout.

When one man came in, Cassy said, “So, Ricky, you’re going to have four tacos?”

An even better deal than the tacos was the pool table; games are free on Sunday (they’re normally 50 cents a game). A couple of older guys were playing pool, but they interrupted their game to try the pull tabs (“Whoo whoo” I heard one of the men say, so I guess he won).

Football was on the TVs, and it was a good day for the Seahawks who tamed the Lions (See what I did there? One of many reasons I’m not a sports writer.) But a Hawks win makes the whole state of Washington happy.

When Cassy had a free moment we asked the two questions we always ask, “What makes for a good bar?” and “Whether you go or not, what makes for a good church?”

“For a small town, this is community. It’s a place to hang out. Women have a pool night, men have a pool tournament night, and everyone watches the games.” There was talk about how it was a family kind of place, but as Cassy’s mom is a breakfast cook and her uncle is the DJ for karaoke every week, it literally is family for her.

As for church, Cassy said she hadn’t gone since she was a kid and even then didn’t go regularly. Still, she had a suggestion, “There should be a good feeling and good stories from the Bible.”

As we walked to the car we could see a thunderstorm coming in, and as we got on the road, it hit. I was glad to be sober and alert behind the wheel, but I was also glad we had taken time for the Bigfoot Inn.