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booze crews

Booze Crews #2: Slammers

Review in Haiku (idea from portlandfood.org)
——————–
slammers is a bar
with the strangest bartender
alive in portland
——————–

Slammers, 9th and sandy. In an old house that hasn’t aged well, to the point of load bearing kitsh on the walls and ceiling. ATM dispenses tubes of money. Internet Jukeboxes, I’ve found, are invitations for people with bad taste to expose their nefarious CD collections and force unsuspecting people with good taste to have a Tim McGraw/Phil Collins/Nirvana sandwich. Normal jukeboxes protect the innocent and well intentioned from situations like this. Four beers on tap, one of which is drinkable (no PBR). Paintjob that i confused for the Ghanan Flag after a while. Creepy gender stereotype bathrooms (potpourri and lavender for the ladies, race cars for the boys) Lots of boistrous regulars. Bartender has patented the Slammer’s Shuffle, when she forces the bar to absorb empty stools to make room for more.

I liked it. a place where you can get super rowdy, the bartender called me by name (and the rest of the party, for that matter) after carding me, which is cool. She’s one crazy lady though.

Booze crews #1: Basement Pub

In the words of a good, old friend of mine,

“drinking is not all I think about, my interest is purely an academic one which requires much research.”

I live in Lower Buckman, near Garlic Gulch. I recently spotted the acronym ‘LoBu’ to describe lower Burnside; despite our weekly publications’ intense desire to make Portland into a hip happening cosmopolitan city that we aren’t, I kind of like it. After all, we have a Brooklyn, a NoPo… but I’m getting off track.

the beer awards prompted the start of this series, Booze Crews, where I cover a bar I like or don’t like, and why I like it (or don’t).

First up? My Local, the basement pub. Dark, smoky, 6 good ones on tap (@ the moment: Laurelwood Free Range Red, Pike St. Kilt Lifter, Sierra Nevada, Pelican Kiwana Cream Ale, India Pelican Ale, Full Sail Amber), PBR, an array of bottles, cans and some wine I’ve never bothered to try. A refreshingly eclectic menu of cheap eats, which I suppose you could cobble into a meal, anchored by a soup of the day and a marked lack of a fryer in back. Ghetto-fabulous furnishings, a fish tank(!) excellent Jukebox, kick-ass staff, impossibly difficult pub trivia on Sundays, pinball and a vintage table-top pac-man. Happy hour gets you a giant pint (22oz? 24?) for the price of a regular (3.25 micro, 2.50 PBR) and some cheaper eats.

Downsides include the smokiness (it’s crippling at times) and on busy nights the clientele is hipsterific beyond my ability to stand. That’s it. Best local a guy like me could ask for–ok, so I wouldn’t mind a liquor license, but I think that’d kill the vibe–the gaggles of irrepressible hipsters and hipster-chicks would choke the place–with only a few wines and wyder’s pear to satisfy them, their numbers are still pretty low.