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BAR PILOT - February 2010

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Cheap Date

Hungry Tiger Too

A festive evening sans bankruptcy

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Corndog

Yes, I forgot to take a photo before I chowed down on the deliciousness that is vegan corndogs. Ah, well.

OK, it’s official, the recession sucks. Even so, there is a part of your life that should never be adversely affected by the economy: Your game—as in dating game.

Yes, our pocketbooks could do with a bit of fattening, but that’s no reason to abstain from high-rolling on occasion. Portland is loaded with places to wine and dine your sweetie without resorting to Taco Bell. In fact, I was recently able to fill up on food and even wrangle a modest buzz—with my date—for 10 measly dollars.

Wednesday nights at the Hungry Tiger Too (207 SE 12th Ave) are a tightwad’s ticket to financial security. Starting at 7, you can scarf as many vegan corndogs as you want (my max is four) and pints of PBR (my max is way more than four) for only $1 each!

Nope, I’m not a vegan (favorite food = cheeseburgers, medium rare), but the house-made vegan corndogs at Hungry Tiger are alarmingly tasty, with a perfectly crisp cornmeal shell lovingly wrapped around an I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-pig-parts wiener. Deeee-lish, and you can gracefully avoid the horror of finding out that your current romantic interest gets his/her svelte figure from a no meat/eggs/dairy diet, and now has nothing to order on the menu—and will spend the remainder of the evening smoldering with resentment.

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The simple beauty of a $1 pint of PBR.

Wednesday nights at HT2 can get crowded so I recommend getting there no later than 8 or 9 in order to secure a table. Then sit back and enjoy the floorshow as the bar fills up with bearded dudes in American Apparel hoodies accompanied by stylish waifs rocking their best ragamuffin rags. Sure, you’re already on a date, but statistics show it probably won’t amount to anything. Might as well keep your eyes peeled for a future prospect.

There are also (free) board games on the premises like Cranium and Trivial Pursuit to further aid you in getting to know your companion. Do you really want to go home with a moron, a sore loser, or worse, a cheater?

My only gripe about Hungry Tiger Too’s hospitality? The music on the night I was there was cornier than the cuisine. In other words, the kind of songs one can appreciate at karaoke, but not blasting over the speakers while trying to interrogate your future mate. Can we please bury our ironic fascination with Journey, Def Leppard, and Bryan Adams once and for all? Please?

Of course, this friendly joint has other rotating specials besides cheap-date night. If you can’t make it out on a Wednesday, the next best choice is Sunday, when staving off a hangover from the previous night’s revelry is the order of the day. I suggest something from the fortifying “Mama’s Cure Alls” section of the menu: a bloody Mary for $5, the Wake Up Little Suzy (Irish coffee) for $6, or the “Sunday Mornin’” for $6.50. It’s a restorative take on the mimosa that includes a packet of E-mergenC mixed in with the champagne and OJ. Trust me, it’s good for what ails you.

Then again, if you’re feeling ambitious and need to get a head start on tomorrow’s hangover, you can opt for one of Hungry Tiger’s $10 Sippers: a huge, aquarium-size drink that (at least in theory) you really ought to share with a friend or three. And if you don’t happen to have a breakfast buddy, just gaze imploringly around the room. Surely someone will offer to help you slay your monstrous cocktail. Like I said, it’s a friendly place.

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Tags: Beer, Cheap, Cheap Date

The Sporting Life

Vancouver = Vodka

Catch Olympic fever—and a buzz

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Liquor company executives aren’t stupid. Why shouldn’t you have Olympic-themed cocktails the next time your pals come over to watch the bobsled finals? No reason at all.

The marketing wizards at Three Olives, an English company that boasts more than a dozen flavors of vodka, sent me the following recipes to not only inspire sports fans to greater heights of fanaticism but also to toast all nations in the spirit(s) of international competition.

See, the five rings represent the five original participating continents in the 1920 Antwerp Olympics. Cripes, you’d think Antarctica could field a kick-ass Winter Olympic squad, but it appears the nation is comprised entirely of couch potatoes. If you don’t appreciate my shilling for Three Olives, feel free to use the flavored vodka of your choice. But remember, they did go to the trouble of inventing these drinks. Sure beats watching the Biathlon sober.

Blue Skis
3 oz. Three-O Grape Vodka
½ oz. blue caracao
1 oz. lemonade
Mix ingredients in a glass with ice

Mountain Mist
3 oz. Three-O Citrus Vodka
½ oz grapefruit juice
½ oz pineapple juice
Splash of triple sec
Mix ingredients in a glass with ice

Black Ice
1 ¼ oz. Three-O Triple Espresso Vodka
¾ oz. premium dark chocolate liqueur
½ oz. orange liqueur
Mix ingredients in a glass with ice

Curling on the Rocks
2 oz. Three-O Raspberry Vodka
½ oz. melon liqueur
½ oz. triple sec
Splash of cranberry juice
Splash of orange juice
Mix ingredients in a glass with ice

Olympic Flame
3 oz. Three-O Cherry Vodka
½ oz. triple sec
1 oz. cranberry juice
Splash of fresh lime juice
Mix ingredients in a glass with ice

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Tags: Recipes, Cocktails, Holiday Events, Sports

New Bar

Hot or Not?

Couture Ultra Lounge in Old Town

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Trucking back to the office after running an errand in Old Town, I stumbled across this place. I peeked inside and goggled over Couture Ultra Lounge’s vast open floor plan with two bars, a raised dining area, ersatz Greek statuary, and some vaguely Moorish banquette seating for VIP chillin’.

My sources tell me that it will be a big hit with the bridge-and-tunnel crowd, much like McFadden’s, Barracuda, and other joints I instinctively avoid, while less well-heeled natives will shun the place like it’s built over an old Indian burial ground. Over at barflymag.com (an indispensable guide to local watering holes) they haven’t posted a review yet, but I heartily endorse their observation that “overuse of the term ‘Ultra Lounge’ is becoming ultra-lame.” Why not “Extreme Lounge” or “Mega Lounge” or “Uber Lounge?”

I’m not sure why Couture’s business cards list the website since there’s nothing on it. Anyone been there yet? Food any good? Is it another example of faux LA velvet-rope wankery? Will I get the stinkeye if I show up in my usual attire of rock T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers? Does Rudy Fernandez hang out there?

So many questions.

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Tags: Bar Openings

Beer Bulletin

I’d Tap That

Zwickelmania is for brew believers

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It’s a recurring dream: I’m being escorted through a brewery. Suddenly, I scream “May Day! May Day! I’m going down!” I then scale a nearby ladder and execute a perfect one-and-half into a beckoning vat of crisp, pure, virgin beer. And I never surface. News of my demise spreads quickly and Salma Hayek enters a convent. Sigh. Such a lovely vision.

Imagine my giddy excitement at the thought of my firkin fantasy becoming a reality. OK, there will be no diving and I suppose Ms. Hayek is utterly indifferent, but nonetheless, this Saturday between 11-4, ale aficionados can get a gander inside some of the state’s top craft breweries at the Zwickelmania Statewide Brewery Tour, sponsored by the Oregon Brewer’s Guild. Meeting the brew barons and the sampling of suds are definitely on the itinerary.

Here in Portland you can jump on a chartered bus that will roll to such malty meccas as Amnesia Brewing, Hopworks Urban Brewery, Lompoc Brewing, Rogue Distillery and Public House, Widmer Brothers Brewing, Laurelwood Public House, BridgePort Brewing, and many more.

Brewer’s Guild executive director Brian Butenschoen notes that nearly 10,000 folks went on the tour last year, so it pays to research your destinations. And it’s all free, baby.

Fun fact: Zwickel is the name of the sample valve found on the outside of the fermentation or conditioning tank used by brewers to track and taste the beer throughout the brewing process. And Salma, if you’re reading this, I’ll be the taller, Hugh Jackman lookalike sitting in the back of the bus.

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Tags: Beer, Beer Festivals, Events, Craft Beers

Drinking Locally

Stumble Zone Northwest

Strolling on the avenue

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Photo: Garrett Milojevich

An array of tempting cocktails at Basta’s Trattoria kicked off the evening in fine fashion.

View Slideshow » Photo: Garrett Milojevich

An array of tempting cocktails at Basta’s Trattoria kicked off the evening in fine fashion.

View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler

Mmmm. Five dollar pizza!

View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler

Shelby the wonderful waitress (middle) gets props from Garrett Milojevich and Megan Udow.

View Slideshow » Photo: Unknown

Stumble Zone posse represent at North 45.

View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler

One should linger lovingly over a proper Belgian ale.

View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler

It wasn’t all beer on display at North 45. Garden writer Kate Bryant sipped a cute eggnog-based cocktail that came with an adorable floating bear cookie.

View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler

Sadly, at 21st Avenue Bar & Grill we pretty much had the place to ourselves.

View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler

The water went down a lot easier than the martinis at 21st Avenue Bar & Grill.

View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler

At Voicebox Karaoke we tried to sing Simon & Garfunkel’s “Cecilia” as a group. Fail. In fact, the duo reunited to serve us a Cease and Desist order.

View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler
“Feelings, whoa, whoa, whoa, feelings!”
View Slideshow » Photo: John Chandler

A duet between Garrett Milojevich and Alexis Rehrmann inspires Robert Runyon (foreground) to give up show biz forever.

It was shortly before Christmas, and the drinking buddies and I decided our spirits needed fortifying with the impending arrival of those annual holiday horrors too gruesome to consider. There was an insistent drizzle tapping the windows at Basta’s Trattoria, but the elements didn’t faze our festivities one whit. Our first stop found us snug as a troupe of ticks on a hound dog’s backside, surrounded by Pizza Bianca (capers, pecorino cheese, anchovies, and red onions—$5. Modestly priced, my favorite kind!) antipasti, and French fries, not to mention a tippy table full of choice cocktails.

In fact, I recommend that you run and don’t walk to Basta’s for a Blood and Sand, “a classic cocktail originating in the 1930s based on the tryst of unlikely companions. Laphroig rinse, house-made cherry brandy, Antica, scotch and orange.” Yes, it’s one of those spots where the spiffy menu appears to have been hatched by a slumming English Lit major. And the happy hour deals that fly out of the kitchen (all night long!) are worth the trouble it takes to dig up a parking space.

Best of all, we were under the care of Shelby the waitress, whose conduct and demeanor can only be described in the most rhapsodic terms. A remarkable combination of goofy charm and machine-like efficiency, Shelby was punctuality itself with drinks, a suggestion, or a high-wattage smile. Since we had other stops to make we invited her to join us. Alas, she had a shift to finish, so we bid adieu to our super server and continued our survey of watering holes on NW 21st Ave. In a town characterized by lackadaisical musicians and surly slam poets posing as waitstaff, Shelby is a gold doubloon among a pile of bent pennies.

It was our third Stumble Zone outing, and we were rambling through a part of town heavy with bars catering to cooped-up apartment dwellers with a bit of income jangling in their jeans. Here the emphasis is on comfort and calories rather than innovation, which goes a long way toward explaining why the McMenamins Blue Moon Bar & Grill is always hopping.

However, if a thirsty citizen is dead-set on something more intriguing than good ol’ Hammerhead, North 45 is a crucial port of call. Known for its righteous roster of mussels and frites, North 45 is also a convivial and cozy gastro-pub with oodles of international flair; Somerset Maugham would love it there. And the Belgian beer menu is more than bountiful—it’s divine. Virtually all of the beer originates from the blessed toil of Trappist monks doing God’s work. Each offering is served in its own distinctive glassware, specially designed to inflame the senses and maximize the Belgian’s bold and buttery characteristics. A single glass of Delerium Tremens blonde or Duchess de Bourgogne red ale is worth the bank loan necessary to procure it, and you must savor every luxurious sip like it was being rationed with an eyedropper.

Up till this point our excursion had been smooth sailing, but that was about to change with our next destination. We were now headed for perilous waters. For such a blah, nondescript locale, the 21st Ave Bar & Grill is nonetheless legendary—it’s possibly the worst-reviewed joint in town. So I had to get a glimpse of this hellhole for myself.

The comments section of barflymag.com is loaded with hearsay accounts of beer garnished with grasshoppers, nonexistent customer service, and an owner who allegedly screams at his clientele for a variety of minor infractions.

So after a few robust Belgian beers, drinking buddy Garrett and I were itching for an excuse to clean house. Heck, we knew how to make a scene if some imperious tap jockey was going to give us attitude about pushing tables together. But as is so often the case, the bar with the most fearsome reputation inspires little more than boredom and idle speculation about how the hell it remains open. The supposed ogre owner was nowhere to be found and the place was deader than vaudeville. We ordered a round of drinks and quickly abandoned them. Whoever was tasked with preparing our cocktails couldn’t mix a metaphor. Only those of us drinking tap beer managed to drain the glass. I can’t honestly call 21st Avenue Bar & Grill awful, but from the garish paint job to the toxic martinis, it’s clear that the people who work there are completely indifferent as to whether or not their customers enjoy themselves. The lack of warm bodies was no longer a mystery. Feel free to direct hate mail my way.

It was up to our last stop, the Voicebox Karaoke Lounge, to wash the bad taste out of our collective mouth—which it did with flying colors. Our party included a few karaoke virgins, and Voicebox is a good option for the mike shy. You get a room ($7 per person per hour), are quickly shown how to operate the machine, and then you serenade the hell out of each other. So relax, you’re among friends and your questionable chops will not be trashed by a passel of sour strangers.

Our own nervous newbies were soon miraculously transformed into roaring tigers with oodles of stage presence—if not actual talent. Duos, trios, and other ensembles quickly formed, and everything from Annie Lennox to Zeppelin was trotted out and performed with gusto. We figured we’d paid our dues over the curdled martinis at the 21st Avenue Bar & Grill and we were entitled to sing the blues. Besides, we were pretty drunk.

It promised to be a swell Christmas.

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Tags: Stumble Zone

The Sporting Life

Saints and Sazeracs

Super Bowl needs a super drink

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This Sunday is Super Bowl XLIV (or 44, if you’re counting). I’m not the football fan I once was, but like most intelligent and thoughtful citizens, I’m rooting for the New Orleans Saints. The Saints are the underdog in this contest, attempting to smite the favored Indianapolis Colts who are led by quarterback Peyton Manning, the son of legendary Saints quarterback Archie Manning (1971-82), who for many seasons was the only halfway decent player on a miserably bad team. Neat little family drama, no? Besides, the Big Easy went through nature’s wringer, was saddled with bureaucratic incompetence in response (“Brownie, you’re doing a heckuva job”), and could really use an emotional lift. New Orleans hasn’t been to the Super Bowl—ever—and the only thing they’ve had to cheer about in 43 years is Tom Dempsey’s 63-yard field goal in 1970.

Anyhoo, instead of directing your attention to a bunch of local sports bars for this year’s big game, I’m going to advise that you stay home and show your support for the Saints by drinking sazeracs, the most beloved and historic cocktail from New Orleans.

Here’s a little history on the sazerac and some easy steps to follow. Go Saints!

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Tags: Cocktails, Sports

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