The Watering Hole:
Targy’s Tavern, 600 W Crockett St (at 6th Ave W) UPPER QUEEN ANNEThe Atmosphere: Targy’s is like if your living room were a bar, only with more and better booze. Located six blocks west of the Queen Anne commercial district, nestled next to a vintage jewelry store in a mysterious commercial corner in an otherwise entirely residential neighborhood, Targy’s is easy to overlook and doesn’t get a whole lot of walk-up business. Because of this, Targy’s has fostered its own close community of regulars, gathered comfortably around the bar watching a football game on Targy’s collection of four or so TV screens.”IT’S BASEBALL SEASON!” screamed one woman. While everyone was gathered on Targy’s ample collection of barstools, one corner is occupied by a couple of sizeable couches–also within view of a TV. These couches, the kind that completely envelop anything they touch (watch out for your cell phone!), become more in-demand on weekends or closer to last call. A few pool tables and dart boards also live on a slightly-elevated area near the entrance, keeping them front-and-center while still not in the way of anyone getting a drink or going to the bathroom.The Barkeep: Erik Patten has been working at Targy’s for around five years in what seems like a match made in heaven. Both he and Targy’s are Queen Anne originals–he grew up on Queen Anne and passed Targy’s all the time as a kid. He says he worked at a couple of clubs, but never again. “I’d rather work someplace I’d wanna hang out at,” he says.The Drink: When I ask Erik what he normally drinks when he’s off the clock, he responds that he normally has a beer and a shot of Jameson. These are both things that I love, but I ask him what he’d make, if pressed, as a mixed drink. He poured me a Manhattan. I followed that up with Erik’s drinks of choice: the shot and the beer.The Verdict: Keeping with what I have grown to expect from and love about Targy’s, the Manhattan was no more complicated than it had to be– basically a full glass of whiskey with sweet vermouth training wheels. Nothing was overdone. The bitters were barely noticeable and the only garnish was a thin curl of lemon, making it the least pretentious Manhattan I have ever consumed while still being ultimately satisfying.Next was the biggest shot of Jameson I have ever even contemplated consuming next to a bottle of High Life. After taking the shot, we discussed the merits of High Life in a bottle versus on draft, and agreed that the bottle completely makes the High Life. I approve.Postscript: The ladies’ bathroom has the message “Kevin, will you marry me?” on one of the doors, and has for quite some time. Kevin, will you please respond?
