First Call: Learning to Love at Hazlewood


A Voracious feature in which we walk into a bar, unannounced, and ask the bartender to make us his or her favorite drink.

Watering Hole: Hazlewood, 2311 NW Market, Ballard

Barkeep: Sara Fisher

Pick Your Poison: It doesn’t have a name yet, Fisher invented it yesterday, but it’s her favorite drink at the moment and includes cucumbers muddled with ice, Hendricks gin, Pims blackberry liquor and a lemon twist. I’m going for the comfort of a hot toddy or a hot buttered rum, but in summer.

When I left Ballard three years ago, the neighborhood was still more Scandinavian bakeries than skinny jeans. Do I sound a little cynical? If so, that condition is only exacerbated by walking into the dark, technogoth, hipster hole on Market Street to funked-out sounds spun by an overly industrial, albeit totally hot, DJ on the second floor. Black couches line the narrow walls.

I arrive in khaki capris and sneakers, not exactly fresh as a daisy after squeezing in a quick trip to the gym between work and my excursion back to my old ‘hood. “Oh no,” I think as I walk in. Here’s the call on this uber-hib, lounge d’swank.

So, how long have you been here in Ballard? Gosh, it’s been about a year (“Figures,” sneers snotty, hipster-averse drinker as she picks up the glass.)

If this is your new favorite as of yesterday? How often does your favorite change? It can change daily. People pick drinks based on mood, it gives them a sense of control. (Hipster-averse drinker takes a sip: “Oooo…”)

Wow, um, this is really good. What are you gonna call it? I’m thinking maybe it might be called “Dress Shirt, No Pants.” (Overjudgmental drinker who really needs to get over this hipster bias laughs awkwardly and slinks her slightly ashamed ass upstairs to enjoying the rest of the dark, maroon liquid.)

The verdict: Well squeeze me into some skinny-jeans and spin me a tune, Mr. DJ. Dress Shirt, No Pants is the best damn summer drink ever. Margaritas always lead to a lingering hangover and mint juleps should only be consumed below the Mason-Dixon in my humble, and slightly intoxicated, opinion. But this has everything I want--the Hendricks and cucumbers give it that feeling of a light breeze while the liquor soothes me into a state of bliss easy enough to actually enjoy hanging out on black couches on an early summer evening. I think it’s time to finally grow up and stop being such a bitch about hip Seattleites, just because I’m not one doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy their cocktails and company does it?

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