Huh. I’m clearly still a bit rusty on the blogging thing, since I had something ready to post on Friday and clearly forgot to hit the “Publish” button. Ah well. Onward!
I’m at the Montavilla Station, on the recommendation from a commenter a few months ago. I was wary coming on a Monday because of football but I’m in luck: it is pretty low key tonight.
I like football but I like it at home, or on fortunate occasions, in person. I don’t really see the point of going somewhere to watch tv and ignore people but perhaps I just have trouble getting into the spirit of things. It wouldn’t be the first time that accusation has been leveled at me.
The upside of the Station is that it has some dive bar character: music posters near a small stage and 45s on the wall, a really lovely station for alcohol, lots of wood…and wood paneling, which still holds the stain of cigarette smoke and gives me a sense of how old it is.
The regulars are here though: speaking a partial code I have no cypher for, laughing and commenting and using the phase ‘booty up!’, which the bartender is kind enough to tell me is in reference to the boot she’s wearing to protect her Achilles. We have a short conversation about how important it is to run or walk, so your brain can just zone out and process crap and she tells me how she’s looking into other exercises because “I ain’t wearing stretch pants during the winter.”
I guess that is a bad thing for some reason, but I respect the statement. She’s got standards, damnit.
I’ve sip my Deschutes Red Chair, a nicely balanced pale, the kind of thing I expect from Deschutes, because my choices are limited. I have choices, though, mostly Widmer and Deschutes on the craft end: about what I’d expect from a dive bar.
It’s about this time a fella in a Zelda shirt comes in for a pint of PBR. Bartender tells him the can costs the same and he gets 2oz more, because the glasses (with a Coors Light icon) are cheater pints.
“Anything with a logo on it,” she tells me, “is 14oz instead of 16, and they still try to call them pints!”
Sigh. Still, awesome bartender is awesome. I could consider becoming a regular with cool people like this serving, if I didn’t have such wanderlust. Both for place and for beer, now that I think about it. I just couldn’t come here every week and drink Deschutes, you know?