Traditions Tavern has a certain feel, apropos of its name 'Tradition', kind of classic though not…read moreclassy. A dive, neighborhood hangout, a square space with a square bar with a square choice of beer. That itself is nothing special in the Northwest, where dives still survive as they are dying in other parts of the city, but Tradition stands out even among those in my opinion. The reason is rather visceral, and it will be hard to me to elucidate.
It's not the patrons although they're full of life; it's that sundry mix of sport-capped frat boys looking for betting tips, beer bellied canvassers cooling their leather loafers, club girls overdressed in between destinations, guy and his girl out of date night ideas, the lone barfly wailing about his crushing alimony, the dancers from Kahoots going-heavy-go-with-it in between sets, and gawking twenty-year olds awkwardly posing.
It's not the alcohol, that pedestrian selection of the old. You know bud, bud-lite, Miller all the stuff on football ads, corporate domestics and skunky imports. Or supermarket wine, or half poured shots and chasers, or inconsistently mixed drinks. Dive bar stuff. You come here for cheap not high quality.
It's not the pastimes. The well maintained pool tables and sticks, the darts, the other fun that offer activities other than wasting away on a bar stool.
It's not the jukebox that has all the usual stuff--Gerry Rafferty, Walter Egan, Fleetwood Mac, Tom Petty, Dire Straits, 70s stuff--Hotel California.
It's not the service although they're great. They are always on the beat and they seldom ignore your needs in favor of a clique of regulars, a sin too often found in holes of this type.
No. With these Traditions hits par. What makes it stand-out is something incorporeal, esoteric.
I used to come here more often in my younger days and the place hadn't changed. Though I am done with the bar scene in general, I like to stop here for a beer or two when I am feeling down, when the winter blues hit. There is something about the glow, the well-kept red tables and chair, the spacy bar, that somehow sooths me. Like it's the ideal dive, a neighborhood stop that acts as an analgesic, even as the ghost of friends past--people I drank here with, those still living and separated by time, and those I can't sup with tonight-- still wonders on its floor in my mind, I find a surprising comfort here that I don't anywhere else.
This may be idiosyncratic, I do have an emotional connection with place--pretty much my reason for Yelping--but if you are feeling a little down and need a place to hang for a few, drink cheap beer, and talk to some imperfect but lovable people, come here.
