BAR PILOT - July 2009

Cool Places

Aiiieeee! I can’t stand it! What’s the best bar for chilling?

Posted by: John Chandler on Jul 30, 2009 at 03:00PM 10 Comments

The Penguin Pub in Sellwood is my choice for a proper place to chill when the weather gets infernal. (Middle) Penguin tchotchkes help to further cool the parched patron. (Bottom) Crystal Head vodka.

The heat can make a man do strange things. I figured this out while trying to stuff one of my pugs into a pirate costume for our living room production of Peter Pan. The stitches should be out in four to six weeks, thank you very much.

Yesterday I was beyond hot, well past uncomfortable, and on the verge of setting sail on the HMS Freakout when a phone call from my friend Lucy saved my bacon. We decided to visit the Penguin Pub in Sellwood (8117 SE 17th Ave). “But why there, oh mighty Bar Pilot?” you may ask yourself. By they way, thanks for the “mighty” designation.

First and foremost, as befits its arctic moniker, the Penguin is blissfully chilled. And the penguin memorabilia strewn all over the place tricks your subconscious into thinking it’s even colder. I don’t know about you, but my subconscious sweats like a sprinkler.

Second, they claim to have the coldest beer in town. Their kegs are stashed in the basement and the beer runs through cooled tubing of some kind. I don’t know if it’s officially the coldest, but it’s damn frosty, and lowering my body temperature back to double digits was imperative.

Third, they have Bottle Cap–flavored Jell-O shots. Bottle Caps are an ancient brand of candy, kind of like a cross between Sweet Tarts and Alka-Seltzer. Mmmmm. Disgusting.

But last night was bonus. While bellying up to the bar, I spied a curious artifact nestled among the liquor bottles. It appeared to be a glass skull. Bum-bum-BUM!

Having spent years playing Dungeons & Dragons (laugh and I’ll smite thee with my +4 sword of sharpness), I knew better than to pick up this cursed relic myself, so I asked the bartender to fetch it. The skull sloshed as she brought it over. “It’s called Crystal Head vodka,” she said, placing it on the bar. “It’s Dan Aykroyd’s brand.”

Qué? Apparently the surviving member of the Blues Brothers is into both spirits (he has his own Dan Aykroyd line of wines) and the spirit world, as he’s fascinated by the legend of the crystal skulls, allegedly ancient artifacts of great power that served as the basis for that lame Indiana Jones movie that came out last year.

A shot of this fabled elixir cost me a staggering $11 (quite a markup since a bottle retails for around $50), but it was a refined little vodka with a devilish afterburn that simmered nicely in the ol’ labonza. The sticker shock was mitigated somewhat after I found that purchasing a taste of Crystal Head at the Penguin Pub made me eligible for a drawing. Once the skull is drained of vodka, the grinning death’s head will be raffled off, and I know I’m going to win it. It’s going to look really cool on the mantel above my fireplace. And when it’s this hot outside, being cool is a thing beyond measure.

Questions for the day: What’s the best bar in town for chilling out when the heat is hellish? What’s your favorite hot-weather cocktail? Got any zany/brilliant DIY methods for keeping cool? Let’s hear ’em!

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Tags: Places to Go, Vodka, Summer

Lebowski Achievement

A few words on a genuine phenomenon

Posted by: John Chandler on Jul 20, 2009 at 12:00PM 9 Comments

Incredible facsimiles of Jesus Quintana, Maude, Walter, and the Dude will be out in force at Lebowski Fest on Wednesday and Thursday.

This may come as a shock to most of you, but I’m a bit misanthropic. I don’t trust people, and I avoid large groups if at all possible. I tend to keep acquaintances at a distance (a warm distance, but a distance nonetheless) until they pass certain crucial “friendship” tests. And if they pass, I will then impose myself upon them until they’re obliged to fetch a restraining order. Sorry, that’s just how I roll.

One of those tests is how they feel about the Coen Brothers flick The Big Lebowski. Me, I adore it. I could watch it on an endless loop for a month and I would not consider it a waste of time. From Jeff Bridges’ note-perfect portrayal of the Dude (“the man for his time and place”) to the tiniest supporting role, it’s a movie stuffed to the gills with deft cinematic and literary references (Raymond Chandler, anyone?), surprising warmth, and relentless belly laughs. It might be the most quotable film made in the last 15 years.

The movie barely registered a box-office blip during its 1998 theatrical run, but the years have been kind to The Big Lebowski, the story of a man who wants justice for his peed-upon rug. It’s a legitimate cult hit, inspiring festivals, revival screenings (it’s the Clinton Street Theater’s most successful movie behind The Rocky Horror Picture Show), and all kinds of impromptu goofy happenings. Remember Cinco de Lebowski earlier this year, when scores of Dudes marched from Laurelhurst Park to the Bagdad Theater?

At least some of the credit (blame?) for the exponential growth of the Lebowski movement can be laid at the feet of Will Russell and his friends, a group of thirtysomethings from Louisville who threw the very first Lebowski Fest in October 2002. Held at a low-rent bowling alley in Louisville, the fest featured standard-issue Lebowski tropes like a costume competition, trivia, and (obviously) plenty of bowling. “We were expecting like 20 people, and 150 came out,” Russell recalls. “A few months later, we started the website.” Word of mouth on the Internet fueled the fervor.

“It started out as a joke, and now it’s this big ridiculous thing,” says Russell, who’s also a co-author of I’m a Lebowski, You’re a Lebowski, a very funny book about the phenomenon. “It’s like, Why is this still going on? It just gets perpetually more and more ridiculous. But it’s a lot of fun.”

Russell, who used to play in a rock band with fellow fest founder Scott Shuffitt, describes these rolling Lebowski shindigs as something akin to a Star Trek convention, “except that we drink more and bowl more. It’s still nerdy, but it’s a more hedonistic type of nerd.”

But what is it about The Big Lebowski that continues to inspire Lebowski Achievers (the Lebowski fandom equivalent of a Deadhead) across the nation to don their Dude bathrobes or to grow that peculiar brand of beard known as a chin strap in order to look like John Goodman as the hotheaded Walter Sobchak? Whatever the appeal, it takes a while to really succumb to the movie’s oddball charms. “I saw it in 1998, and I was kind of indifferent,” Russell says. “It wasn’t until like the third time I saw it, on VHS in 2001, that I realized that this is the greatest movie I’ve ever seen in my life.”

And there’s nothing Lebowski Achievers enjoy more than quoting their favorite lines. I’m kind of partial to “Is this your homework, Larry?” or perhaps Jesus Quintana’s (John Turturro) threat to Walter about what he’ll do if Walter pulls a gun on him while bowling. I can’t really go into it, but trust me, it’s a scream.

If any other Achievers feel like chiming in with quotes from the movie or stories about why it’s become such a phenomenon, please do so. See you at Lebowski Fest! I’ll be enjoying a beverage and trying not to cuss.

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Tags: Events

Somewhere on Sandy

A Wooden Chicken mystery

Posted by: John Chandler on Jul 15, 2009 at 04:00PM 10 Comments

The Wooden Chicken at 12500 NE Sandy Blvd: where the hell did he come from? (Center) Some of the 2,000-plus taps that adorn the walls. (Bottom) Yes, Greg Biffle was here!

I’ve lived in Portland for 15 years so I like to pretend that I know my way around. And when it comes to downtown and most Southeast locales, I’m on solid footing. But I’m inexplicably drawn to the hinterlands, those little pockets of Portland and the outlying areas that resolutely continue to hock a loogie at any earnest effort to become more cosmopolitan. Perhaps due to my own hayseed upbringing (a shout out to all my Coos Bay homies!), I can easily morph into small-town mode when I find myself away from the urban center. I just put on a ball cap, keep my eyes on the floor, and make sure every third word is a profanity. Picture a Transformer that reconfigures itself from a Lexus to a riding mower.

I was way out Sandy Boulevard in the Parkrose ‘hood the other night with a fellow nightlife ne’er-do-well, looking for someplace to quaff a brew or two when we stumbled across a neon sign that hooked us like a pair of thirsty rainbow trout.

“What the hell’s the Wooden Chicken?” I asked Lucy. Since she’s lived here a few years longer than myself, I figured she knew all about it. She merely shrugged. We pulled over so I could get a picture of the sign, but we weren’t sure what to do next. Finally this bit of infallible logic won her over.

“C’mon! If you see a sign for a place called the Wooden Chicken, you damn well better go in,” I argued. So we did.

I was expecting a little squatter’s shack populated with barefoot guys called Zeke, Abner, and Rufus, tending a Rube Goldberg moonshine device, but the Wooden Chicken is a tidily rustic and spacious sports bar with a dozen or so screens tuned to the NASCAR network and 75¢ tacos on Tuesdays. And then there’s the beer taps.

The dominating decorating motif here is a cornucopia of beer taps (sadly not connected to kegs) on every imaginable inch of wall space. Oh, there’s also a bar stool bearing Greg Biffle’s autograph. Ask your Uncle Red who he is.

“Wow, how many taps are there on these walls?” I wondered aloud.

“The last time we counted there were 2,137,” replied the bartender. “But there are always more coming in.” That was the first of two burning questions answered. The other?

“I really don’t know where the Wooden Chicken name came from,” he said, placing a pint of domestic lager in front of me. “We took over the place in 1984, and it was the Wooden Chicken then.”

OK, historically minded drinking buddies, help me out. What is the origin of the Wooden Chicken name? I’ll settle for interesting made-up stories.

Yes, this is a competition and two winners will receive a valuable prize from me, the Bar Pilot: one winner for the actual origin story, and one for the most compelling fabrication. Go!

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Tags: Places to Go

Happy Hour: Metrovino

Taking the sting out of ordering wine.

Posted by: John Chandler on Jul 09, 2009 at 02:00PM 10 Comments

The Midtown (left) provides spirited accompaniment to the zesty seafood chowder (below) during happy hour at Metrovino in the Pearl District.

Confession is good for the soul. Lurking amid my vast knowledge of alcoholic beverages, there is a gaping hole that yawns wide and cavernous (and I appreciate you not calling me out on it). The fact is, I don’t know squat about wine. There, I said it. True, I enjoy a glass of the stuff now and again, and I have a deep affection for the spicy pinot gris of St. Innocent Winery in Salem. But I am totally stymied by terms like “terroir,” “varietal,” and especially “Phylloxera.”

In short, the last place you’d expect me to dip my bill during happy hour would be a wine bar in the Pearl. Surprise! Metrovino (1139 NW 11th Ave; 503-517-7778) is a keeper. Sadly, it’s another subscriber to the brutally short happy-hour policy (4 to 6 p.m. sucks!), but its proximity to downtown’s cubicle central makes it a more feasible option for sneaking out of work by five. So do it.

Right off the bat, I discovered a food-cocktail pairing that is destined for happy-hour immortality. Metrovino features a seafood chowder for $5 that is nothing short of sublime. There’s no trash fish in this bowl. Chunks of tender halibut swim alongside clams, oysters, and yellowtail in a deliriously smoky broth. The origin of this heavenly flavor lies in the presence of the fatty, house-smoked bacon that harmoniously cohabits with the fish and bivalves. Was ever a marriage of sea and swine so richly rewarding? I say to thee, “Nay.”

As if these beatific tastes weren’t sufficient to make me flip my toupee, the Midtown, a less-civilized variation on the Manhattan, with rye whiskey, sweet vermouth, and whiskey bitters ($5), embraced the piquant seafood flavors like a long-lost brother.

I also grazed through a lovely platter of grilled asparagus and savored a subtle pinot gris from Emerson Vineyards ($6.75) that combined delicate notes of pear and cantaloupe with just a hint of sour apple.

Here’s the real topper. My friend and I were so impressed we stayed for dinner, dessert, and more wine. I would sincerely advise you to show more restraint than we did. Metrovino is the sort of place where it’s easy to get caught up in the moment. It’s no surprise that the staff like to leave a menu at your table. It makes for exciting reading even when you’re up to your elbows in oysters and fried quail. Another glass? Surely. And best of all, the waitstaff is affable, articulate, and friendly, and would sooner eat a cork than cast a snooty glance in your direction—no matter how inane your questions about terroir, varietals, and Phylloxera.

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Tags: Happy Hour

Ask Barbecue Bill

What should I bring?

Posted by: John Chandler on Jul 06, 2009 at 10:00AM 12 Comments

Photo courtesy of tappedkeg.com

Greetings good people of Bloggerville!

My buddy John Chandler is out this week practicing the camel walk for an upcoming So You Think You Can Dance? audition, so he turned things over to me for a little while. You can call me Barbecue Bill, or you can call me Bill, or you can call me the Billy Club. Just don’t call me late for the damn cookout! Haw!

Bar Pilot Chandler sent me some miscellaneous items from his mailbag that appear to require my expertise, since they have to do with the subject of backyard socializing. Man, so many questions! What’s the ideal cut of meat to slap on the grill? If I’m the host, how much beer should I have on hand? Should organized games be part of the barbecue? Well, sir, I’ll do my best to get to these questions in good time. Right now, I got this little booger of a conundrum to think on.

“I’m a vegetarian and I get invited to barbecues all the time. What should I bring that doesn’t make me stand out like some kind of hippie, beef-hating freak?”

Good question!

First of all, don’t be coming around with none of those veggie burgers, ‘cause they taste like a cow flop. Hell, if I see someone coming to my barbecue with a platter of them soybean patties, I yell, “Tango!” That’s the attack word for Otis, my Rottweiler. You’d best be fleet of foot, my friend, otherwise Otis will be dining on rump roast, and you don’t want that.

My advice is to stuff yourself full of garbanzo beans or falafel or whatever rabbit food that you people eat before you arrive. Then show up with a vegetarian dish that everyone will like. I would suggest any combination of the following:

Frito’s
Spicy three-bean dip
Beer (lots)
Yukon Jack
Peppermint ice cream
Mike’s Hard Lemonade

If you put your mind to it, there’s all kinds of options available that won’t earn you a trip around the yard with Otis. You got questions for Barbecue Bill? Let’s have ’em!

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Tags: Summer