Redwood

Ever since I moved from my native Pennsylvania, I've searched for a Seattle bar that will remind me of home. With burlap shooting targets lining the bathroom walls and a shotgun shell inlay on the bar, Redwood comes about as close as I can get without having to stomach camouflaged country boys. Instead, I have to stomach a few hipsters while I slurp my beer, but at least they don't say things like "You some kinda queer?" when I accidentally bump into them. A fella can just punch Waylon into the jukebox, grab a short stick to shoot a game of pool in the corner, and keep an eye on the television mounted above the bar. Chances are it'll be tuned to the Mariners game, but the last time I was there, it was an infomercial for a classic country music compilation—fitting for a dimly lit watering hole flaunting both its rural and '70s fetishes. BRIAN J. BARR 514 E. Howell St. , 206-329-1952.

 
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