Let's say you're running errands with your 6-year-old daughter in just about any American city—St. Louis, for example—and, upon peering through a tavern window, you notice that a college basketball game you're interested in is tied with less than 10 minutes to go. You walk in, order a beer for yourself, a Sprite for your daughter, and a plate of tater tots for the two of you to munch on. Because the sun has yet to set, nobody is inebriated, and a laid-back, convivial time is had by all (except for the team you're rooting for, which loses at the buzzer). Walking into a place of drink is not viewed as taboo by your offspring because it's something she's been exposed to—casually and responsibly—all her life.
Scott Anderson
Kayley Kirmse
Ballard Loft.
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Sadly, Seattle is different. Even with the imminent abolition of the state's monopoly on hard-liquor sales, we're still saddled with a collection of archaic, blue-nosed liquor laws which largely prevent the sort of scenario outlined above. Seattle fancies itself an ultra-progressive city in a left-leaning state, yet kids are left with the impression that the corner bar is tantamount to a strip joint, a place where clandestine, nefarious behavior takes place behind tinted panes. (Or worse: Washington state bars which served anything stronger than wine were not permitted to install windows until the 1970s.)
To the contrary, throughout the world, the public house (such terminology did not develop by happenstance) has served as a gathering space, a de facto community center where people engage in civic debate or socialize at the end of the week or a long workday. Yet in most Seattle watering holes, bound by licensing regulations which typically require the erection of a physical barrier near the bar should that establishment wish to allow minors through its doors, a pint of stout might as well be a lap dance as far as your kid is concerned. And when it comes to drinking, mystery often breeds excess.
Thankfully, a handful of local bars (restaurants which happen to have bars don't count) have seen fit to jump through the necessary licensing hoops to create environments where Mom and Dad don't have to feel like degenerates while hoisting a few adult beverages in the company of their spawn. And despite assumptions to the contrary, breweries like Fremont and Two Beers are among the most progressive when it comes to accommodating families.
In these pages, as a service to parents who struggle to navigate what amounts to a geographic crapshoot of where they can take their kid and be an adult too, a group of writers who have contributed to the creation of tiny humans provide a guide of their favorite places to drink—with their kids, as in most civilized cities. MIKE SEELY
*****
In Ballard, the Sexton has quickly become a go-to for craft cocktails; Noble Fir has some 20 different microbrews and ciders on tap (and another 20 available in bottles); and regulars line the bar at salty fisherman dives like the Sloop and the Smoke Shop from sunup to sundown. But you know what none of these offer? A place for a girl to get a drink—with a baby. When the mood strikes, head over to the Ballard Loft—it looks and feels like a bar, but no one will bat an eye if you roll up with a stroller. The Loft actually prides itself on being family-friendly—there's a kids' menu with tiny corn dogs, cheese quesadillas, and the like—but keep in mind that minors aren't welcome after 9 p.m., when the place fills with the boisterous Ballard nightlife crowd. Before then, however, you're free to bring the kiddies in for a pint (for you, not them) on the patio, where you can graze on Uli's sausages and contemplate something stiffer off the specialty-cocktail list. CHELSEA LIN 5105 Ballard Ave. N.W., 420-2737, ballardloft.com, BALLARD
*****
As its name suggests, the Barking Dog Alehouse is dog-friendly. It's also kid-friendly. Combine dog-friendliness and kid-friendliness in a white, upper-middle-class residential location (that description fits most of Seattle) made possible only by grandfathered-in zoning laws which date back to when Ballard was an independent entity, and you've got a consistently packed pub where anyone wary of waiting for a table would be wise to show up by 5, even on a weekday. (For the most punctual of families, the six-top near the bar is a luxury box of sorts.) Adults put off by dog- and kid-friendliness can take solace in the Barking Dog's beer and Scotch menu, geared to the geekiest of geeks. Mondays are especially welcoming, with $9 microbrew pitchers and 20 percent off the pizza menu, where the Sicilian (prosciutto, grape tomatoes, and mozzarella doused in balsamic) stands out. With the newly opened Ridge located a few blocks east, Phinney has become a pizza-and-pint mecca—no babysitter required. MIKE SEELY 705 N.W. 70th St., 782-2974, thebarkingdogalehouse.com, BALLARD/PHINNEY
*****
If one American hotel chain epitomizes insufferable hipsterism, it's the Ace—to the point that it was deservedly lampooned during Portlandia's inaugural season. And yet the Seattle original bears none of the obnoxiously precious trappings of its offspring in Manhattan, Portland, and the like. It's sleek and minimalist, sure, and you can probably get a room with a guitar in it. But the Seattle Ace doesn't grab a megaphone when touting such attributes, and the Cyclops, which occupies the hotel's ground floor, is as self-assured as the Belltown boutique itself. There's no overarching vibe, no "make all patrons feel as though they stand a very real chance of chatting up Zooey Deschanel while listening to an unannounced acoustic set from Bon Iver in the faux-speakeasy VIP balcony area" mandate. Rather, through knowing ambiguity and endurance, the Cyclops has emerged as one of downtown's most dependable bars, and is comfortable enough in its chameleonlike skin to allow young parents to drink in the company of their tots in a barely cordoned-off nook near the bathroom—as well as in the attached dining room—without ghettoizing them. MIKE SEELY 2421 First Ave., 441-1677, cyclopsseattle.com, BELLTOWN
