Some people pick one and stick with it through a trip (or a lifetime). Some beeline for the trendiest/newest/hippest this or that. Other folks play fast and loose, stumbling into every semi-interesting place they happen upon. Whatever. There’s no one right way to choose a bar.
As of this Friday Three-fer, a new Flyover America tradition takes off. Each week a guest writer will add his or her voice to the chorus with Jenna and Sophia. First up: John Patrick Pullen, a Portland-based writer and, at some of the city’s finest pubs, Quizmaster.
The move from Boston to Portland, Oregon was no small decision for me. Like most Bostonians, I routinely referred to the city as “The Hub of the Universe.” But in Portland, my (then) fiancee introduced me to the city’s microbrew scene at McMenamins Kennedy School. Back when smoking was legal, their detention lounge was where all the ashtrays lived. While McMenamins is admittedly Portland’s most mainstream microbrewer (their mini-mall based locales have caused local beer snobs to revolt), they pair their tasty suds like their Ruby Ale and Terminator Stout (I order up a half-n-half mix called a ‘Rubinator’) with Grateful Dead-eque murals and other assorted whimsey.–John
Photo by purotic via Flickr (Creative Commons).
Tom and I walked a couple of blocks from the Hotel Albuquerque to Old Town, where everything was dark except the unpromisingly named High Noon Restaurant and Saloon. We took a shot, securing a table in the small lounge and ordering margaritas and spinach dip. The room, in a 1785 adobe building, was warmly lighted, furnished with sturdy wooden tables and Santos tucked in nooks. A group of attractive, artsy, middle-aged New Mexicans—all flowing clothes and funky glasses and earrings—occupied a cluster of nearby tables. Between sets, the classical guitarist performing in the restaurant joined them and played guitar. New Mexico chic and great margaritas.— Sophia
Over time I’ve realized I love something no real traveler is supposed to love: hotel bars. It’s the chance criss-crossing of all those lives. But the bar has to have character and a distinct lack of sleazebags. (I’m not talking about airport hotel bars here.) Though I spent just a few hours there, the elegant Fletcher’s at the Hotel Captain Cook in Anchorage made an impression. A long polished wood bar. A bartender who wasn’t just talking to pass time; he was a great storyteller–and listener. And, because the hotel celebrates the legendary explorer through art and other goodies, you even get to take in some history and culture on the way to the restroom.— Jenna
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