Eat & Drinks

Drink-Thirty. A few bars to peruse.

Recently went through the July issue of Outside Magazine which, you should know, is a killer read. Orcas attacking their trainers, Lance getting ready to pedal again, and a collection of stories on why moving water (yea, rivers) are worth revamping and protecting.
In addition, Outside provided a guide on watering holes. I was especially interested in this matter as I’m exceptionally experienced in this subject, at least through the Pacific Northwest and the West.

Overall, Outside covered 38 prime drinking spots, only six of which I’ve visited. Whoa, are you kidding? So, what did they get right and what did they miss? Here’s my take, for what it’s worth.

HITS

Salty Dawg, Homer, Alaska

Outside got it right. This is a classic drinking establishment and I’m sure the evenings are something to see. I’ve only visited during daylight hours and the first time I did so some dude was staring out the window at me and a couple friends as we exited the rig.The Salty Dog in Homer.

He moved his face closer to the window and stuck his tongue out to touch the glass and then lapped the thing around. I was getting really uncomfortable with his shit-eating grin and that damned tongue when I noticed that a giant fly was walking on the outside of the glass. That’s what he was doing; painting a portrait of insanity by making like he was eating that fly!

We waltzed in and I shook the dude’s hand. We bought him a round and that’s when we decided we’d landed on a true freak. “I can get you anything you want,” he said. “In 15 minutes.”

“I’m cool, dude,” I replied, “I’ve got a job interview in a half-hour.” This was about our third stop on a drive down from Soldotna where we’d closed another bar at 6 a.m.

“Ok, well here’s my card,” he said. And out the door he went.

The Salty Dawg is a tourist trap for sure, but it’s also really cool place to check out if you’re in Homer.

Claim Jumper Saloon, Ennis, Montana

Ah, a hometown drinking hole for me. I live about 75 yards from the Claimjumper’s front door and even when I’m not there I can hear what’s going on while resting in bed, reading on summer evenings with the window open.

I was single when I moved to Ennis and I remember thinking, What are the locals complaining about? There are options galore here. And I still believe that. A summer night, with people driving over from Bozeman to fish, and with tourists headed to Yellowstone, and with a bevy of local character, there’s no downtime. The owners, Brad and Kelly Dilorio, are equally entertaining, Brad being a fun-loving, major presence at the bar. He’s a big, bald dude who you can’t miss and he makes a trip to the Jumper worth your time. He also make you pay if there’s a ruckus. And there often is; one time I was talking up a cutie and all of a sudden some dude landed headfirst on my Doc Martin kicks. I looked to my left and saw Brad with a stranglehold on a dude. True western bar here so keep you smartass in check if you value your teeth.

Western Rivers Conservancy partners with Sierra Nevada

It's not like any of us needed an excuse to swill a few cold brews during the heat of summer, but Wild Rivers Conservancy, a group based out of Portland, Oregon, that is protecting and restoring the trout, salmon and steelhead rivers we love, worked a deal that serves us well.

Moscow Mule

I'm sitting in the Melrose Bar a couple weeks ago. It's 8 a.m. and all of a sudden some copper mug rocks off its post and clanks on the floor. My friend grabs his head and says "Ouch." He's staring into the maw of a bloody Mary.

I ask the barmaid, "What's that mug for?" And she replies, "Moscow mule." Say what? "How about you pour me one?"Melrose, Mont., 8 a.m. Moscow Mule introduction.

That was my introduction to an old drink.

The next day I'm fishing the Beaverhead and I begin some banter with a guy on the other side of the stream. Pretty soon he says, "Thomas, I'm going to wade across the river and kick your ass." And here he comes.

By the time he gets to the boat I have a High Life for him and I rip him over the gunnel while he hangs onto my forearm. Turns out he's the former mayer of Telluride, Colorado. We chat and he says, "Stop by the Lion's Den in Dillon. That's where I'll be."

Couple hours later that's where I am and when the former mayor asks, "What can I buy you?" I reply, "What is that you're drinking."

"Moscow mule," he replies.

"I'll take one of those."

A few days later the Mule reares it's beautiful head again; I was spending Memorial Day weekend with the boys at Yellowdog Fly Fishing Adventures letting our posse of young kids tear up the banks of the lower Madison while we talked about world fly-fishing destinations and the good deals to be had these days. That's when Ian Davis whips out some copper mugs.

I say, "No way. Moscow mule?"

Ian, taking my prompt says, "Yea, you want one." Well, I suppose so. It would have been ungracious to decline, right?

I see a lot of Moscow Mules in my future. They are a quick drink to make, they are super refreshing, which makes them a great summer thirst quencher, and you don't need much in the way of materials to impress. Copper mugs are fashionable, but they aren't required.

The Black and Tan

You can’t beat a straight Guinness on Saint Patrick’s Day, but I’ve always found the black and tan to only up the enjoyment level.

Most people, it seems, believe that the black and tan is named for color alone, but it was actually named after a group of Churchill’s British Soldiers stationed in Ireland with mismatched uniforms.A match made in heaven.

When cozying up to a bar after a great day on the water, there may not be a better way to start off the evening than with a black and tan. I’m especially fond of them in winter when, despite their actual chilled state, they seem to warm the bones.

To make the traditional black and tan chill a couple cans of Guinness Draught for at least a half-hour. Then, half-fill a standard chilled pint glass with Bass Ale. Pour the Guinness over a spoon on top of the Bass, allowing for a good head. What you end up with is a beautiful, rich, creamy beer with the Guinness resting on top of the tan beer. The traditional black and tan tastes awesome and offers the advantages of both beers in the same confinement.

One famous person who liked black and tans, and everything else for that matter, was author James Cozzens. It’s reported that he drank a double

Bukowski's Favorite

I wouldn't have been proud to have Charles Bukowski as a son; he tried to smack women, was a raging alcoholic and was as crude as men get. I've dropped my fair share of F-bombs, but there's a sure limit when cursing leans from a directed, shocking and sometimes comedic act to just poor taste and an indication of one's intelligence or lack thereof.

On the other hand, Bukowski was a genius poet and, given his addiction and attitude, and that he worked for the United States Postal Service, it was a miracle he didn't go postal before going postal was cool. For most of his life he denounced that institution, but at least he didn't kill anyone.
Bukowski is known as a drinking, puking, pissing, fighting fall-down drunk poet, who started in the a.m and ended in the a.m., too. I'm not sure that is something to be proud of.

Despite those woes, he was a productive writer and penned numerous books, one of my favorites being a collection of poems called, Betting on The Muse, which Alaskan author Troy Letherman introduced me to. Letherman is so enamored with Bukowski's work and was so eager for me to read Bukowski, that he penned a lengthy Bukowski poem on lined pieces of paper and presented it to me. I've thrown away a lot of papers over the years, but I've held those as treasure.

A few of the lines in that poem, An Empire of Coins, which aren't nearly as influential in this broken context, go as follows:

the legs are gone and the hopes—the love of outpouring
and I haven't shaved in sixteen days
but the mailman still makes his rounds and
water still comes out of the faucet and I have a photo of
myself with glazed and milky eyes full of simple music
in golden trunks and 8 oz. gloves when I made the
semi-finals
only to be taken out by a German brute who should have been locked in a cage for the insane and allowed to drink blood

and this:

"darling," says one of the girls, "you've got to snap out of it, we're running out of MONEY. How do you want your toast?"
light or dark?
a woman's a woman, I say, and I put my binoculars between
her
kneecaps and I can see
where empires have fallen

No, I don't think Bukowski would have been a role model son, but he felt and wrote about it well. If you read his work you'll identify with some of the frustration—it's a life and life in general wrapped into those pages. I'm not sure what Bukowski most liked to drink—probably it was always the next one he might have, whatever it might be—but some have suggested that the boilermaker was his big ticket. If you're into pageantry, you can pour a shotglass of whiskey into a glass of lager and drink a boilermaker that way. If you're barebones and just want to get it down, let your stomach do the mixing.

BOILERMAKER
2 oz. bourbon, rye or blended whiskey

8 oz. lagerOk, maybe that's a good son.

In with the chaser,In with the shooter.Down the hatch, shooter central.The pain is worth it, ask Bukowski.