Gritty Shaker

MyOpenBar.com brings the stimulus

HOPE GANGLOFF

Via Lifehacker and half the people I know on this planet: MyOpenBar.com, a daily "guide to free booze," will hook you up with free (or at worst, ridiculously cheap) drinks in New York City, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Chicago, Honolulu and Miami. True, much of its content is supplied by the bars and restaurants themselves, but now's not the time to split hairs. Free drinks!

The New York Times has a profile of site founders Seva Granik and Jason Fried, who may get cabinet-level positions in the Obama adminsitration off of this burst of publicity. They're doing holy work, no doubt about it. I need them to bring their magic to Seattle, where free drinks are difficult to come by. I can't even promise you a free drink right now, and you're one of my very best friends.

Oddfellows' cocktail menu to become my regular Saturday night thing

I don't know what you did with your Monday, but I spent mine watching "Road House" with the most appreciative audience it's probably ever going to get. Seattle journalist David Schmader - he of the "Showgirls" live commentary that helped to transform Paul Verhoeven's shitty movie into a beloved shitty movie - presented Patrick Swayze's roundhouse kitsch as part of a "bad movie" series at Central Cinema. Unlike "Showgirls," "Road House" doesn't require much explaining, and Schmader kept commentary to a minimum; after all, a fight to the death between two men in bronzer and mascara kinda speaks for itself.

But I digress. I wouldn't have made it to the first Glasgow kiss (and I surely wouldn't have made it past Sam Elliot's "commando" moment) if I hadn't fortified myself with cocktails and chow at Oddfellows. The new Capitol Hill joint boasts eight specialty cocktails, priced not unreasonably at eight bucks apiece, and - surprise! - most of them can't be found elsewhere in Seattle under different names. Without Oddfellows' liquid courage, I couldn't have met Rowdy Herrington and company armed with my own double deuce.

The Rum Club. Goslings, grenadine, lime, egg white and nutmeg. The egg whites take the edge off the citrus without weighing down the palate. If all rum punches were this good, the words "rum punch" wouldn't make you recoil the way you just did.

Elder Fashion No. 2. Goddammit, I love Campari. I'll continue to love it even as the cherry-flavored Dutch import Heering steps over it to become the redheaded it-girl of 2009. (And it will, firecrotch, it will.) The Elder Fashion No. 2 mixes my beloved with gin, St. Germain, grapefruit and orange bitters, and the result is a beverage that pretty much defines bittersweetness. It's richly floral, comes on strong and goes out smooth. My friend Jessica described the taste as tantamount to "licking the bottom of a fancy shoe," and for the life of me I can't see why that's such a bad thing. Maybe that's more than you needed to know about me.

Toronto Cocktail. Rye, Fernet Branca and Angostura Bitters. As cool a breeze as that which blanketed Seattle in mountains of snow over Christmas. Usually, I use the word "medicinal" to describe things I don't like, but in this case I'll make a rare exception. This bright, minty concoction tastes like it should be good for you.

That's all I was able to try on this visit - alas, I only have two friends - but on return trips I'll surely try The Last Word, which puts Maraschino and Green Chartreuse in close company; the bourbon, Cointreau and blood-orange bitters of The Oddfellow; The Bentley, a vehicle of Calvados apple brandy and Dubonnet; and the Blood & Sand, with its waves of Heering washing over scotch whiskey. Mark my words: This amazing cherry shit is gonna help the Dutch to buy back the country.

By the way, the bottles of sugar cubes pictured above ain't there for looks. Oddfellows' bartenders douse the cubes in bitters and drop them into a glass of champagne and brandy to make the only champagne cocktail I've ever been able to finish. I plan to have one with breakfast one of these days.

And on that subject, Oddfellows' food is damned good. My friends and I considered the menu for scarcely a moment before ordering most of it. Their mac 'n' cheese is a standout even in a town that serves it in every last restaurant, the riccotta and fig toast is richly satisfying and their French Dip brings the diner staple back from the dead. If I may be permitted to bring this full-circle, I think Swayze does a French Dip on Kelly Lynch halfway through "Road House."

This bar's crap. Let's slash the seats.

Hello, my name is Geoff Carter, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to Gritty Shaker.

"Gritty Shaker" is a track by Irish producer and DJ David Holmes. It's the fourth track on his 1997 album "Let's Get Killed," which I strongly recommend to anyone possessing even one lonesome cochlea. Steven Soderbergh liked "Gritty Shaker" well enough to use it, in slightly modified form, as the theme to his 2001 Ocean's Eleven remake. No less august a personage than George Clooney pronounced Holmes' sound "kickin'," and probably he blasted "Gritty Shaker" in one of his several luxury cars.

That's a fair slate of endorsements for an instrumental track, but I chose "Gritty Shaker" as the name of this bars 'n' booze bl-g for reasons other than its Hollywood pedigree. At the time my friend Mark Shaffer and I came up with the idea for this bl-g, we were working for a cityguide website whose stringent process of editorial review prevented us from coming right out and declaring a cocktail overpriced, a bartender poorly trained, or a entire bar just plain awful. We're journalists, goddamn it; we know how to drink and talk shit at the same time. A ventriloquist couldn't hope to do better.

Luckily, we've both of us been sidelined by the newspaper industry's steady march to extinction, and at long last we can speak our gin-addled minds. Mark's a whiskey man, I've been favoring Negronis of late, and my girlfriend Lorien infuses vodkas when she's not coaching roller derby. We seek out worthwhile happy hours with a fervor equal to that of the conquistadors who sought for El Dorado. We know that a good bartender is as rare a find as a good doctor. And we judge a bar not by the color of its walls, but by the character of the drunks leaning on them for support.

That's what Mark, Lorien and I intend to do. Now that we've gotten that statement-of-intent jazz out of the way, let's order us some drinks. I already know what to put on the jukebox.