Aptly named Summit Public House is a home away from home with a European pub feel, where neighborhood dwellers can count on a comfortable environment to catch the World Cup, the Tour de France, or a Seahawks game. Don’t be bamboozled by the broadcasts, however—the Summit is no sports bar. Missing are greasy baskets of fluorescent finger-staining chicken wings (but the pizza place next door will deliver) and the usual unbalanced ratio of guys to girls (just as many women can be found bellied up to the bar). Conversation regularly—and refreshingly—surpasses jock talk, and scruffy bearded bartenders replace cocktailers in short skirts. In lieu of walls covered floor to ceiling with flashing HDTV’s blaring multiple matches, the corner spot has a modest but sufficient amount of screens—all showing the same event. The warm, fuzzy feeling of community bonding is unavoidable when the entire bar erupts in unison the moment a goal is scored. Piping hot pie, telly, and beer make a night out seem more like a night in—which is why Summit comes out on top in the comfort competition. AJA PECKNOLD