Named after the popular poem by Lewis Carroll, The Walrus and the Carpenter is a bar that also serves delicious seafood appetizers and snacks. Singles can go in and enjoy a strong drink and mingle with other seafood lovers. The atmosphere is very casual and the wait staff is friendly.
Seating is limited, but usually clears out after happy hour, which runs daily from 4 p. Because the place is so small, there is not any room for dancing, but the food is more than worth a visit. This is a great place to bring single co-workers for after-work drinks. Best Martini Lounges In Puget Sound Nicole Ramage is a full-time single parent as well as a full-time student who works from home as a freelance writer.
Currently living in Portland, Oregon, she takes many trips to the Seattle area for work as well as shopping excursions.
Her work can be found at Examiner. These new spots are sure to satisfy your cravings. We've found a lineup of eateries and a vineyard worth checking out. Here are the newest places to check out the next time you've got wine on the mind. Best Beach Vacations On The Atlantic A look at five of the best beach vacations with widest range of things to do and places to stay along the Atlantic Coast.
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Falk throws 3 TDs, No. Love's 3 TDs lead Stanford past No. The bar is lined with imported whiskey bottles and exotic Scotch liquors that the patrons can only envy in their hedonistic ignorance. The walls are covered with the musty art deco of leather-bound books and rare cigar boxes. The only things you'll find disrupting this faux earlyth-century vision is the television tuned to sports and the occasional lone woman working feverishly on a laptop.
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This bar doesn't advertise, but given its unique niche, it doesn't need to. The place is dim, noble, with comfortable chairs and a marble-topped bar. The Warwick's specialty is wine, and the place is usually busy during weekday happy hours, attracting mostly professional women, who visit after work. The bar has other significant nights and hours such as when the flight attendants from US Airways visit , but in terms of erotic possibilities, none comes close to the Brasserie Margaux's weekday happy hour. She needs a good fuck.
She will not find it among the sterile men with whom she competes in the offices high above the streets, so she must descend to dim places like this posh bar, to find the common man--the man who can produce an erection with the energy of a cobra. Indeed, on a late afternoon like this, with twilight seeping through the restaurant's south windows, and the Platters singing, "It's twilight time" on the bar's soft stereo, the sight of all these needy women in power suits is something more than marvelous. No effort was made to ennoble the space; it's all very bland and functional, like a cheap porn movie.
To hell with period themes, decadent marble, cherry wood furnishings--you don't go to a hotel bar to admire the setting, but to meet and seduce a stranger as quickly as possible. And anything that might obstruct, blur, or obscure this primary objective has been effectively banished from this bar. Indeed, if I were a pimp a career move I'm seriously considering after visiting this bar , I'd bring my girls nowhere but here.
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Not for the sports stars, mind you, but for the lesser-known ball players, because these minor men are more likely to have free time no interviews or obsessed fans , free morals no contractual obligations to be a role model , and money to waste on the pleasures of the night. The lounge's bartenders seem pragmatic and unmoved by the frenzied world of desire that swirls around them; they offer no value judgments, and are not talkative. Everything's business as usual at the City Brew Lounge.
Despite popular opinion, the Cloud Room is not a place for romance, be it fleeting or permanent. The drinks are far too weak and expensive, and the music performed by a rotating pair of one-man bands will stifle any sexual flame quickly after it is ignited. Of course, there is the view, but with the recent debacle of the expanded Convention Center, even that has lost much of its luster. The one saving grace may be the elevators--mirrored, dimly lit, and slow-moving--but onboard coitus, be it rising or falling, is frowned on by the hotel's staff.
Walk deeper inside and you'll discover that you've entered a dark, smoky tavern with an odd mishmash of style and purpose. Japanese slot machines line the walls, bamboo furniture stolen from the Disneyland set of The Swiss Family Robinson surrounds the bar, and soul music plays from the ceiling speakers. The effect isn't exactly sexy, but the Dragonfish is comfortable and cheap.
The bar serves one of the best happy-hour bargains in town: Occasionally hotel guests hang out at the bar, but the Dragonfish's customers are mainly locals and workers from other hotel bars in the neighborhood. This is one of the Dragonfish's strengths--it stays open later than any of the other hotel bars, many of which close around Make time for a trip to the bathroom. It's a walk through the lobby, an elevator ride to the second floor, then down a long, terrifying hallway lifted straight out of The Shining. If you're looking for a quick tumble with a paper pusher, check it out. I walk in and am immediately five inches taller and five times more alluring.
I can't help it, it's the room--a deeply satisfying cocoon, dark and windowless, completely closed off from the world and the weather and all other signs of practical life. Lonely hearts are scattered at the bar, staring into their Sapphire and tonics. A group of wealthy hotel guests, brand-new Mariners logos smeared across their chests, shares late-night fancy food: It's all so civilized.
I feel confident, grown-up, foxy even in this light, everyone has perfect skin. Conversations around me are low, respectful, as if in reverence of our esteemed surroundings; with dark wood everywhere, brocade chairs, and thick carpets, everything drips of tradition and class the Sorrento has been around since For the love of God, don't go ordering a grape nehi here.
Example of a house specialty: Stick to gin or rye, and by all means bring a hot date--you won't find more privacy and elegance elsewhere. If you fly solo at the Fireside, do so at your own risk: But don't say I didn't warn you if you get stuck at the bar with the guy who insists he's Bill Gates' brother.
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If you're a man, just put on some khakis, a dark blue sports jacket, and a button-down white shirt no tie. For women, a casual business suit in any color will do. Stroll into the place around 8: Drink until you can barely stand, then ask for the check. This place gets so few Seattleites, thanks to its proximity to the Convention Center, that the servers are content with a room number and an indecipherable signature. Even the most incompetent grifter could bamboozle this joint. Maybe it's the unabashedly fake "living room" that sits away from the bar, suited only for superficial chitchat and the swapping of business cards.
Maybe it's the neutral beige lighting. Or maybe it's the open way the bar's boundaries blend into the hotel's pricey jewelry store. In any case, this place knows exactly what it is--a corporate booze pit--and there's something comforting in that. That's not entirely fair: Not all the businessmen in the Four Seasons are fat. Some are just as fit and trim as they are far from home The Georgian Terrace is the smaller of the Four Seasons' two bars, with just eight barstools tucked into a closet-sized space.
There are a few tables scattered here and there in the lobby, and the cocktails are served up with darling and easily stolen silver bowls. If you're looking to make contact with an honest-to-goodness out-of-towner, the Terrace is the place to start. The seats are close together, there's a TV in the corner, and you pretty much have to rub up against people to get into the bar, making it almost impossible to avoid engaging the people around you in conversation.
But once you meet someone you like, pick up your drinks and move to the Garden Court. Two airy stories high, the dimly lit Garden complete with live trees is a perfect place to disappear and let your tongue and fingers do the talking. Who cares if the expansive space--with brass, marble, and beige everywhere you look--is one big corporate template?
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No one's here for the ambience. The point is getting laid. On a recent Tuesday night, an hour before last call, I was surrounded by half a dozen couples who whispered and giggled and canoodled shamelessly, ignoring the nervous laughter from a lone group of out-of-town businessmen.
Pours are generous here, with a ton of top-shelf single malts to choose from, along with requisite silly tourist drinks like the "Seattle Sunrise": Myers's rum, orange juice, pineapple, and cranberry.