{"id":10002,"date":"2014-08-29T09:48:30","date_gmt":"2014-08-29T13:48:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/?p=10002"},"modified":"2014-08-29T09:48:30","modified_gmt":"2014-08-29T13:48:30","slug":"not-the-usual-suspects","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/not-the-usual-suspects\/","title":{"rendered":"Not the Usual Suspects"},"content":{"rendered":"

September 2014 | view this story as a .pdf<\/a><\/p>\n

Because we’ve all had one too many at our go-to bars.<\/strong><\/h3>\n

By Olivia Gunn<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"After-Dark-Sept14\"<\/a>Sometimes you wanna go where no one knows your name and they really couldn\u2019t care if or why you came. Just get home safe and don\u2019t make a scene. Here in Portland, that\u2019s our Ruski\u2019s.<\/p>\n

With no dress code (it\u2019s fine if you don\u2019t own a pair of Oxfords and oversized Wayfarer glasses), membership, or knowledge of the latest craft beer trend required, Ruski\u2019s is the one bar in Portland with nothing to prove. It is what it is, serves what it serves, and if you ask no questions, you\u2019ll be granted the same in return.<\/p>\n

I take a seat and am greeted with a smile and \u201cWe\u2019ve got such-and-such IPA on tap and yada-yada-ya.\u201d Nothing fancy, straight to the point, and my beer is placed in front of me in a matter of seconds.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been to Ruski\u2019s on a Saturday night with only standing room for a band that\u2019s squeezed itself into a corner by the door, and then I\u2019ve been to Ruski\u2019s on a Saturday night when I\u2019ve wondered if I should check the pulse of the old man next to me just to be sure.<\/p>\n

Ruski\u2019s is the bar many sitcoms have tried to replicate, and though some have come close, it\u2019s a bar that simply can\u2019t be experienced, even explained, unless you visit alone just once. It is then when you notice the bar\u2019s true character. The walls are covered with memorabilia of the good old days, and a jukebox plays hits that remind you just how good they must have been. It\u2019s the bar my dad could appreciate, my best friend would love, and worth a stop on the way home.<\/p>\n

LOCAL GETAWAY<\/strong><\/p>\n

If you\u2019re like me, you envy those who can sit in a coffee shop for hours on end, reading the latest Number One on the Times <\/em>bestseller list. First of all, I never have the time, and second, the only time I can justify reading during the day is on vacation or in a terminal, usually on my way to vacation. So when I stopped by Local Sprouts on Congress Street this evening and found an empty bar with three of my favorite brews on tap\u2013Allagash, Peak Organic, and Oxbow\u2013I was nerdily excited that I\u2019d thrown a good read into my bag before I\u2019d left this afternoon. Sitting here among the muffled murmurs of a few diners and their servers, I enjoy the lack of distractions. The bar itself is simple compared to its often cluttered, overly stylized neighbors. Beside the taps I notice one or two bottles of wine, a few liquors, but mostly coffee mugs and a stock of Almond Breeze. Only open until 10 p.m., Local Sprouts isn\u2019t the spot you\u2019ll celebrate Beth\u2019s 21st or throw John\u2019s surprise bachelor party, but it is a nice alternative for some one-on-one time with your main character. Speaking of which, I need to get back to My \u00c1ntonia<\/em>.<\/p>\n

CABALLEROS<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat was that? Did you just spit?\u201d The culprit turns sheepishly to find Jess, one of the many women of Amigos whose bad list you hope to avoid. \u201cThere is a trash can right there. This is somebody\u2019s living room.\u201d Kyle, the spitter, apologizes and offers Jess a beer, which leads to yet another lesson of the Been-There-Done-Thats. It\u2019s Shannen\u2019s 25th birthday, and we arrived at Amigos around six for Taco Tuesday, one-dollar tacos until seven. After six each (hey, they\u2019re small!), we take a pitcher of PBR to the back patio where everyone enjoys a smoke. It would look like an episode of Mad Men<\/em> were it not for the flannels and beards galore. Shannen has convinced us we must stay until close, and seeing it\u2019s only 9 p.m., I\u2019m getting a little antsy. That is until Jess offers Shannen a slice of birthday wisdom. \u201cYou\u2019ve got two choices in this life. You can either feel, really feel, or you can put up a wall and not feel a thing.\u201d I take another swig, having been completely unaware of the enlightenment Taco Tuesday can muster. After two hours, two pitchers, and one too many cigarettes, I\u2019m ready to desert the birthday girl and call it a night, but now it\u2019s 11 p.m., when the bar seems to come alive right before my eyes. It\u2019s not the happy-hour crowd, the tourists, or the couples. It\u2019s the bartenders and servers whose shifts just ended, and they\u2019ve been waiting for a drink all night. Abby, our friend who just left work, barrels in practically ordering a beer while still on Dana Street. The back patio is finally filled, and we\u2019re all counting down the minutes until midnight when we\u2019ll down Washington Apples and play a rather rowdy game of \u201cNever Have I Ever.\u201d We\u2019re the loudest crew at the bar, but no one seems to mid, and when the time comes, everyone is singing a big, loud Portland \u201cHappy Birthday\u201d to Shannen.<\/p>\n

BISTRO ROW<\/strong><\/p>\n

Choosing a spot to eat on Middle Street should never be hard. Throw a stone and it\u2019s likely to land in someone\u2019s good meal. There\u2019s Duckfat, whose Belgian fries are legend, packed every day. You\u2019ve got East Ender next door, with artwork brought to you on serving plates and rarely an open table. There are three more restaurants directly across the street. And on the corner at the very end of the street in a tiny storefront sits Ribollita. It\u2019s nearly 8 p.m., and my family, who\u2019s traveled all the way from Pennsylvania, is starving. My uncle wants a glass of Cabernet, my grandmother wants something authentic, my aunt wants to eat healthy, and my granddad just wants food, \u201cdarn it.\u201d We pass by the crowds of hungry folks waiting at Duckfat and East Ender, and I\u2019m hoping Ribollita isn\u2019t the same. I don\u2019t know how long my grandparents can go on empty stomachs without drawing the attention of locals. \u201cHi, there\u2019s five of us\u2026\u201d I wait for the hostess to give me a half hour, but instead she leads us to a table outside, brings ice cold water and fresh bread. Thank the Family Road Trip gods. Our server confesses that the food will take a bit longer than usual\u2013he\u2019s been busy making cappuccinos\u2013but it\u2019s certainly on it\u2019s way. Because of hospitality, the wine, and all-around family feel of the place, my own family is surprisingly fine with the wait. Where there would normally be complaints, tonight it\u2019s laughter and love, and when the food arrives (North End Linguine, White Bean and Romano Ravioli, Penne Arrabiata, and Fettuccine Alfredo) we\u2019re busy passing, sharing, and indulging. I take a look at the hungry diners waiting in line for the hip spots that sometimes offer too little food and too much hype. \u201cThey look hungry,\u201d my granddad says between mouthfuls of ravioli and gulps of Shipyard. He smiles at me before my uncle goes into another family story. The night is perfect, filled with the excitement any vacation brings, and I can already tell it\u2019s going be a wonderful visit.<\/p>\n

SPIRIT IN THE NIGHT<\/strong><\/p>\n

As it turns out, nobody wants to go to Bubba\u2019s \u201980s Night. It\u2019s Friday night, I\u2019m in cut-offs and a leopard-print top, I\u2019ve just spent the last hour listening to Springsteen, and now nobody is in the mood for Bubba\u2019s. A last-minute change of plans is made, and I\u2019m off to Rosie\u2019s, rather begrudgingly. The Fore Street bar is reeking of stale popcorn and crammed with college students. Our small group joins a larger group in the back, and I\u2019m introduced to nobody as they nod and continue telling inside jokes from their days at Colby. Here I am looking like Stevie Nicks\u2019s and Tom Petty\u2019s long-lost love child while everyone else is wearing salmon colored Bermudas and Sperrys. There is nothing special about Rosie\u2019s for me, and I\u2019m sorry for that fact because so many people love to drink here. It isn\u2019t a warm environment, the bar is too small, and the tables are always sticky. Granted, I\u2019ve only been here after 11 p.m. Behind me a young man attempts to teach two girls how to throw darts, and I have a bad feeling I may be heading home with an eye patch. True, this would only add to my get-up, but I\u2019ll spare myself.<\/p>\n

\u201cGuys, let\u2019s have an adventure tonight.\u201d We\u2019ve hopped from bar to bar, from Rosie\u2019s to Pearl, and we\u2019re on our way to Bull Feeney\u2019s when I get another idea, maybe a way to change it up and give these Colby grads a good time.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go buy some beer and go to the pier.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe pier?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re in Portland, aren\u2019t we?\u201d<\/p>\n

With two six-packs in tow, we\u2019re six 20-somethings on a mission, about to make a life-long memory. I can\u2019t disclose our exact location because that\u2019s half the fun, but the water is still as the moon barely hovers over it. DiMillo\u2019s rests against the backdrop, and our whispers and stifled laughs drift subtly through the harbor.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho wants to swim?\u201d<\/p>\n

Before I can even decline, three bare bodies zoom past and are in the water. It\u2019s a surreal moment, one from the movies: a group of friends, several still strangers, skinny-dipping and drinking beer on a New England dock. Maybe it\u2019s not one for an audience, but if I\u2019m going to give you an honest, genuine Portland After Dark moment, this is it. The gutsy swimmers grow cold, and it\u2019s already past 2 a.m. After cleaning up our traces, we part ways on an empty street. Heading home, I\u2019m almost positive I see the moon smiling over the Old Port.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

September 2014
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