Barley, Hops and the Hill

Let’s discuss the fun that was Friday night.  It was a splendidly mellow evening of 3 bars, a few beers, one over-priced cocktail and bone marrow.  The Hoppers this week were Paige, Carl-Erich, Justin, Mark, Duff, Susie, and Kelly.  As always, thanks for hitting the hood with me.  By the way, pictures will accompany this in 2 days.

We started the night at the incredible Smith on 15th Ave.  Now, I might have a special place in my heart for this place due to the Big Boss Porter that they serve.  It’s pretty much liquid chocolate at 9% alcohol.  Thank you Poland!  But, it’s an experience no matter what you get.  Smith is a large dark room with a skylight in the ceiling so in the evening in the summer you have the sweet natural light shining down on the long tables in the center of the bar.  The walls are wallpaper and canvas decorated with all sorts of taxidermied heads and animals.  If you are a veg, might be a good place to avoid.  Another wall is covered in portraits of god knows who.  Pretty much the word that comes to mind for Smith is ‘gamey’.  Do with that what you’d like.

I asked for the drink special which turned out to be $9 of really nothing good.  It was a cocktail but it tasted like they just dumped rum in a martini glass and tossed in a cherry.  Looking into the multiple beer taps and the 4 door glass fridge of beers, a liquor drinker can realize his/her mistake. C-E was in lust. “Great beer selection though it’s no Stumbling Monk.  One night with an iron stomach and a fistful of cash, Smith will fulfill your desires for different (yet not that different) foods.”  The food menu ‘is broad and wide and will make your ass broad and wide’ (thanks for that Justin).  Hopper Mark was ecstatic to try the marrow.  His take? “Bone marrow = gross.  Tastes like bone marrow.  Not sure why it looked so good on the Travel Channel.”  Maybe it was the scooping the marrow out of the bone which Paige rightly pointed out was not labeled.  Cow?  Dog? Californian?  Tasted like crap.

Judgings:

Service: 4 Stars

Atmosphere: 4 Stars (Yes, taxidermy is ‘chic’)

Drawings in the Men’s Bathroom: 5 Stars (guess we all need to explore)

Bartenders: 4 Stars

Cocktails: Crap

Looking around at the Hoppers, one could immediately tell we were a sophisticated bunch on Friday and mature enough to handle a bar with no blasting music.  We were ready for 22 Doors.  This place is tucked between respectable businesses on 15th Ave and looks like it wants to be one too, kinda.  The walls are a darker yellow and show off the work of local artists.  Booths of brown leather line the walls in the front half while a large bars relaxes in the back.  The bar top is made of doors with the door knobs still in tact.  Justin and Susie were not amused when I made car sounds and pretended I was driving with the door knob.  Come on, tell me some other reason why they might be there.  An outside patio is tucked on the side and you would be unaware if you aren’t in the know.  Now you are.  Welcome.  Heaters hang low so that, when they are working, you can enjoy the extra seating  and not freeze your arse off in the Seattle summer air.

 (Susie being weird)

Now, I have got to say, this place was a let down after going for brunch last week.  Hopper Justin was on that, too. “Servers are more attractive in the morning.  Maybe they are like the lights on Virgin Airlines and change with the time of day.”  The morning staff = delicious.  Evening staff = forgettable.  Our server reminded Hopper Mark of Willy Wonka and C-E of Peter Pan.  The crowd, too, was a bit dull.  The people who go there are older, looking for a quieter place to get a cocktail and talk about the gossip from your kid’s soccer team.  All the drinks that we imbibed received positive comments, even Kelly’s water.  This place is somewhere you never need to go for a night out.  Brunch, though, is great (good food, great prices, perfect portions).

Judgings:

Staff: 2.5 Stars (as averaged between the morning and evening)

Ambiance: Snooze

Drinks: 4 Stars

Patio: 5 Stars

22 Doors: We only counted 9

So, our modest group shrunk to the only serious drinkers and, most likely, the only ones who might have problems: Mark, Justin and I.  And to Barça we went.  Barça is a cavernous space with two levels and two differnt bars inside.  The walls are dark red and the furniture is black.  The lighting could allow for all kinds of dark deeds to go on in booths unknown. The downstairs has limited seating but an expansive bar with many, many taps. I’m fairly certain they serve liquor but I was too focused on reading the array of beer.  I pointed at the one I didn’t know and turns out it was Belgium deliciousness.  Don’t ask me what it was.  They seem to specialize in beers that have their own glasses as the three of us each proudly proclaimed our choices without saying a word.

Upstairs is a mob scene of booths.  Downstairs is for standing, upstairs is for slowing life down.  A small bar is tucked in the corner and they label themselves a vodka bar.  I threw up a little in my mouth looking at it.  Hopper Mark liked the digs.  “It could be in Belltown, except I don’t hate everyone on sight.  Seems like a great pre/post drink place.  Good music, but you can still have a conversation without yelling.  Great place for a ‘group hang’ leading to a hook up.”  People watching here is a total trip.  One woman terrified us all with her sculpted arms.  Mark feared “she’s going to rip my head off my shoulders and drink my blood.”  Justin complained that you can’t tell who is gay.  Ah, the stuggles of Barça .

Judgings:

Beer: 4 Stars

Ambiance: 3 Stars

Staff: 4 Stars

Booths: 4 Stars

People Watching: 5 Stars

‘Twas a memorable evening of mellowness.  Every once in a while that is great.  But we are coming back with a big ol KAPOW this week.  We are GOING DANCING!  That’s right, Saturday night is our first dance night.  First a party at my digs (1113 15th Ave) starting at 7 PM, 8 PM, whenever you want it to start.  Then we will go to War Room and then The Cuff.  You ready to get your dancing shoes ready?  Nice.