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New Hard
Cool Slow Bar hits the ground running by Sam Soule
In recent weeks, Slow Bar owners Michael Barnash and Rob Hemmerling have cracked open the space formerly inhabited by Caswell's — a claustrophobic restaurant known for its irrelevant use of bookshelves— turning it into one of Portland's sleekest new watering holes. It's high brow meets low brow meets an over-riding sense of jaded utilitarianism, and it's all part of the Slow Bar business plan. According to Hemmerling, who for nine years worked as the bar manager at Vic's Tavern in Milwaukee, the Slow Bar is meant to be, "a bartender's bar."
For years Hemmerling had been keeping a scrapbook of (one can only imagine) wide ranging design elements torn from fashion magazines, slowly formulating a vision of the bar he would some day open.
Why? Well, certainly
the staff have friends, lots of them, but that
The overall effect
should be jarring. It's not. The Slow Bar feels is a somewhat classy,
somewhat dirty, full-on drinking joint. Virtually
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Nothing about the development of the Slow Bar
happened fast, though opening the place on time and renovated properly was
a bit of time-cruncher. Hemmerling had the name for the place years ago,
perhaps before anything else: "The Slow Bar" taken from the cult film Blue
Velvet, the name of the seedy lounge hang-out featured prominently in the
film. But in fact, the similarity between the celluloid Lynchian vision
and that of Barnash and Hemmerling's bar is in name (and deer antlers)
only.
On paper, the Slow Bar has the suggestion of being a
bar with a design and menu philosophy at war with itself. Sleek milk white
armless couches sit by the front window while hunting lodge deer antlers
(the Slow Bar's trademark) hang above the bar. An upscale food menu that
offers Guinness Fondue, Pizzatta and Sweet Potato french fries, stinky
cheese optional. A bar menu that dares to serve Pabst Blue Ribbon and
Heineken? What profane exclamation would Blue Velvet's Frank XXX give
that?
However, the Slow Bar is anything but a fashionably
incompatible mess. The proof is the patronage. Punks, lawyers and every
stripe of nightlife thrill-seeker in between have all been rolling in to
the Slow Bar to make it their bar since the place opened. It's a diverse
crowd that has made the Sailor Jerry's Mojito their drink of choice (the
Slow Bar is currently selling more Sailor Jerry's than any other bar in
Northern California, Oregon or Washington), seconded only by shot of Rebel
Yell. Name not withstanding, the place hasn't seen a slow night
yet.
What it all boils down to is taste and degree. In
that the Slow Bar has found a magic balancing point. Hence the beautiful
custom made booths— huge things of high-backed maroon padded wombness —
the diner-like stainless steel bar-top, the walnut entryway and bar back.
Hence sectionally painted walls in soothing compliments of gray, enamel
and black; dinner items like cevice, hamburgers served with heirloom
tomatoes; bottles of champagne for sixty bucks a pop. That's
taste.
Then there's degree — elements that open the neck of
the button-down shirt the bar staff wouldn't be caught dead wearing. The
series of multi-colored screen prints featuring a "swinging" suited male
model from the late-60's along the back wall. The tall vases stuffed with
dried twiggy things lining the top of the bar back. A jukebox dominated by
punk rock thunder-clappers like Deadbolt, the Supersuckers and the
Dwarves; yet one not so drenched in tough guy attitude that a little space
isn't reserved for the pop-minded sensitivity of Big Star and the Jesus
and Mary Chain. And then there's the staff. A little rough around the
edges from a lifetime of hard play, guys (mostly) in t-shirts and crew
cuts with a skin tone heavily blotted with tattoos. No one's going to let
the fun get too out of hand here.