A Brilliant Birthday

One of my dearest friends had a birthday not too long ago and it just so happen to fall upon a Monday this year. The night before her birthday, we celebrated with her family over a lovely home-cooked dinner, but one simply must celebrate their birthday on the actual day when in the company of Seattle's Darling, so my friend and I arranged to meet for a celebratory drink at a local neighborhood bar, The Rob Roy.

It was only fitting since my friend and I, whom I had originally met when in high school, but for awhile lost touch with, reconnected at a swanky cocktail party that the owner of the Rob Roy threw a few years back and we have been inseparable ever since, surviving endless adventures, including a road trip up the Golden Coast, numerous change of residences and more heartaches one should ever have to count.

It had been sometime since last we've been in to The Rob Roy, the black quilted leather covered walls still exuded the feel of stepping into James Bond's private den, complete with psychedelic 70's art work, a mounted boar's head and the sexiest of mid-century chandeliers. And though, many of the familiar features of the bar were a welcome sight, we did notice a number of upgrades that had occurred since our last visit: new leather bar chairs, an expansion of bar stools, a pair of sleek Braxton Studio end tables, and a pair of Louis Ghost Armchairs. Swanky and sexy indeed.

We grabbed a pair of seats, at the far end of the newly upholstered leather bar. Our bartender that night was beaming beyond belief, he had just recently became engaged. As my friend and I sipped Fernet and savored a few choice libations, our jubilant bartender did not hesitate in the least to share with us his engagement ring and how he met his lucky lady, giving my single friend and I hope that, indeed, "There is a lid for every pot," (as one of my friend's co-workers so colorfully phrased it.) As we began to feel the effects of the alcohol we attempted to come up with a few of our own metaphors: A stem for every vase; A candle for every candle-holder; A glass slipper for every foot (pedicured or not.)

To help further spur our creativity (for better, or worse) we decided to grab just one more drink and ended up at The Coterie Room, which is by far my favorite purlieu in the Emerald City. Prominently positioned on the corner of 2nd Avenue and Blanchard Street in a fetching 1900's brick building lined with a row of tall, multi-lit windows, The Coterie Room is, essentially just that, a room, but one that exhibits restrained grandeur and is seeping with understated elegance. Evocative of The Palm Court at the Fairmont Olympic, though not as tony by any means, the softly-lit, ivory-colored dining room features a titanic crystal chandelier suspended in the exact center of the lovely box-beam, tin-covered ceiling. As an auxiliary focal point, on the south wall adjacent to the bar, is a lush wall composed entire of living plants, a subtle nod to the standard greenery one would expect to find in the grand lobby of any classic luxury hotel.

Again, we perched ourselves at the end of the bar, though this time the bar was wrapped in zinc instead of leather. As we settled in to our seats, it just so happened that a scion of one of the Emerald City's premier clothier houses was paying his respects to the charming, petite and heavily inked bartender.

My friend, having lived in France for some time is quite versed in the French tongue and, of course, French wine. From the adorable bartender, my friend selected a glass of Le petit vin d'Avril, a fragrant, light, and fun red wine with a frivolous touch of fruitiness. I deferred to her expertise and had a glass of the same; it was the perfect choice for such a night. To help bolster our alcohol consumption ability, I ordered us a trio of cod fritters that arrived freshly fried and strewn beneath thin stripes of creole remoulade. Oh, so scrumptious!

As we nibbled on our savory notions, we struck up a conversation with a gentlemen sitting next to us who was visiting from San Francisco. He seemed to be rather versed in both spirits and finer food and quite congenial as well. Shortly after introductions, he amicably offered to share his steamed mussels generously laden with housemade chorizo and sweet peppers, and the absolute best duck leg confit I've ever experienced in my thirty-two years!

And, as we were discussing the next venue to visit on our enchanted night, if was as if by magic, our wine glasses seem to have refilled themselves. Uncanny how just one more drink somehow seems to turn into several more! (Truth be told, a nod and a wink is all it takes to prompt a well-polished bartender to pour another round.) Wine wasn't the only thing a sly smile was able to conjure up, for shortly after our refill our adept bartender brought out a candlelit cinnamon fritter under a layer of caramel apple sauce. And, as if on cue, our new acquaintance from San Francisco began singing a rendition of Stevie Wonder's "Happy Birthday." "And I'm sure you would agree/It couldn't fit more perfectly/Than to have a world party on the day you came to be..."

We just couldn't let the celebration end there, so we wandered over to the Market, winding our way through alleys and side streets and down a nearly hidden switchback staircase until we reached our final destination: Zig Zag. One of the Emerald City's foremost cocktail dens. My friend and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to exhibit this beloved gem with someone from another cocktail-centric city.

As we set foot through the door we were greeted with a series of embraces from the hostess, one of the bartenders and several bar patrons, before being ushered into a wide, comfy booth that fit the trio of us perfectly. To continue the French-leaning evening I ordered a Champs-Élysées for my first beverage. My friend, another glass of wine, and the San Franciscan, who was still hungry, the house gumbo that featured smoked alligator andouille sausage and assorted seafood.

In between drinks, I roamed the around the rose-lit room and chatted with several friends I knew, leaving my friend in the hands, or arms rather, of the San Franciscan. I knew I didn't have to worry about her falling into trouble, so to speak, she's old enough to look out for herself, the night being her birthday after all and placing another year underneath her belt. While on my social rounds, I was able to arrange for another round of birthday drinks offered to the table, and again for another candlelit dessert to appear, which prompted us all into singing "Happy Birthday" a second time, but this time with an even bigger cast.

By the time we left the bar, we gained one more in our entourage and the four of us made our way back to where the evening began, near the Rob Roy, where my friend had parked her car. As the San Franciscan did his best to convince my friend to keep the evening going, even throwing in a good-night-kiss, the newcomer did his best to attempt to keep me from interfering. I told him, "Oh don't be afraid, I'm not interfering; that's not the right lid for that pot."