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We like a good dive bar. In fact, any bar that serves all of its drinks out of plastic tumblers ranks high on our list. You might not be aware that one of the best dive bars in the city is located just north of Market Street in Ballard. The Golden City which shares name and menu but not entrance with the adjoining restaurant easily fills the bill as one of Seattle's dive-iest.
All seating is vinyl--whether it be the ochre of the booths, the sparkly red of the chairs, or the black of the bar stools, you cannot leave a permanent stain anywhere you sit. Things are stained, however. The artwork, for instance, is ensconced in a quarter inch of nicotine. The once bright paint by numbers water color has become uniformly titian. It depicts a steamboat in the background with slaves in the foreground playing the banjo. We have offered money for the painting every time we have gone, but the proprietor turns us down.
Of course, merely having the physical attributes of a dive bar, does not a dive bar make. Much like a church, a dive bar is defined by its patrons. Upon the arrival of our most recent visit, there were only two patrons. One, a woman in her mid-fifties at the end of the bar. Acid-washed denim jacket. Pontiac t-shirt. Black cotton stirrup-pants. White Keds. No socks. She was listening to her Sony Walkman, you know, the yellow kind. She was either well into her cups or crazy. Possibly both. At the other end of the bar sat the other patron--a man in his early seventies. Navy peacoat. Greek fisherman's hat. Khaki pants and, strangely enough, white Keds. He also was well into his cups or crazy.
Quickly we order drinks. Jack and coke and a vanilla gimlet with a lemon twist. The bartendress gives a strange look with the second order.
"What's in that," she queries.
"Oh, make it two Jack and cokes," we reply.
"How about I just make you a double?"
Politesse in a dive bar precludes one from an exasperated sigh, but this is where one would have gone. "Sure, that sounds great!"
If you are planning on long distance drinking, let us warn you that ordering a double, no matter how well intentioned, at an establishment such as The Golden City will lead to inebriation. Now that we have our drinks, it is time to play music on the jukebox:
"Jukebox Hero" by Foreigner
"The Final Countdown" by Europe
"Hold the Line" by Toto
"(Don't Fear) The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult
The first three songs only gets our heads bobbing. The other two patrons and the bartendress are stuck in their own little worlds. When the Blue Oyster Cult starts playing, however, the entire atmosphere changes. The woman with headphones on rips them off to proclaim, "I love this [expletive deleted] song!" She stands, moves in front of the jukebox and dances. Well, her feet aren't moving, but her hips and head are. She gyrates toward the old man.
"Get away from me, you harlot," he exclaims.
Suddenly, the promise of The Golden City is being filled. The bartendress warns the woman to leave the man alone to which the woman replies, "I dance where I want." The bartendress walks to where the woman was sitting, grabs the bag and walkman left in her spot, and throws them out the front door. The woman calls the employee a bitch and leaves.
A few minutes later, a man selling steak and cheese out of his backpack offers us some of his goods. We decline on the steak but are tempted to purchase the block of extra sharp Tillamook cheddar. Perhaps if we had had one more double, we would have purchased it. The bartendress claims the cheese for a mere two dollars. Then she asks the man to leave. The place is slowly filling up. Everyone seems to know everyone else. Many patrons just follow one man to the bathroom in back then leave--never purchasing anything. Hmmm, that's perplexing.
Our only interaction comes in the form of a twenty-something poet and muralist. He buys us shots. Mexican Thanksgivings. Then, he recites his poetry to us. While we cannot remember the quality of the poetry itself, we were impressed with his recitation. Thanking him for the entertainment and drinks, we stumble home.
Golden City
(206) 782-6809
5518 20th Ave NW, Seattle 98107
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That bar is amazing. It opens at 6am. One time I saw a guy with one leg get in a fist fight with a midget. There are usually several patrons with no teeth. It's the last little bit of old Ballard.