The Local: Pied Cow

pied cow loungeI don’t belong here, either. Not sure that I can explain it but I don’t fit in. A quieter place for a quieter soul, perhaps? Or a friend to sit with on benches padded by pillows once comforting in the 80’s. The Pied Cow is very open as a space; tables are tiny and round and there aren’t booths in any sense of the word. I think visitors are encouraged to either be a big group that can take over the place or be a very tiny group that can tuck into a corner where nobody will notice you, because if anyone else is in the room you’re in, they can legally testify to your conversation.

My Ninkasi Spring Reign comes in the bottle and arrives with a glass that is chilled.

Sigh. How do pubs, restaurants or any purveyor of spirits fail this basic test? Especially in Portland. If I was in Phoenix or Baton Rouge I’d get it, sorta, but truthfully, anyplace that serves you a beer with or in a pre-chilled glass earns a fail.

Still, the service is prompt this time and people smile at me. I suppose I have to take what I can get. (Edit; until I want to leave and then I’m ignored…)

I’m not up for tonight’s adventure. First day of Summer and it feels like mid-Spring still, except for the constant itchiness at the corner of my eye. My adventure in Spokane was good but has left me tired. I was a whirlwind of seeing people and I didn’t give myself time to take notes on anything I drank. A touch foolish, that.

Maybe after so many days of adventuring with people, I’m feeling a little out of sorts adventuring alone. Sure, I choose to come out on Mondays and I know it would be rude to invite someone to come with me while I write but I don’t think I’ve hit my limit on company, especially good company and I was blessed with a bunch of that while I was away. Now that I’m by myself in a place that does what it can to make the barriers between people fuzzy, I feel out of place and wanting to go somewhere either more familiar or more isolating.

I can barely smell my beer because of my allergies. Some hop spiciness with nudging malt breaks through my sinuses but I don’t recall this as the awesome Spring Reign I’ve had. Perhaps a stout or amber would have been a smarter choice. Something malt-rich that plays well on the tongue. I highly doubt the beer is at fault but I can’t properly evaluate it right now and that’s bothersome too.

Maybe I’m disgruntled today and the Pied Cow insists on supporting my gruntle and not my cheer. The alt-trappings, the alt-music (all seemingly based off 808 machines and the Cure/Depeche Mode), the too-dim light; it’s all bugging the crap out of me. I can’t sit comfortably, I can’t write easily and I want to go home. So that’s what I’m going to do.

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