The Place: Dot's, 2521 SE Clinton St.
What Prompted the Visit: Drinking the heat away, mostly nude, in a dark, air conditioned living room with lovely wife, Kitty. Yes, that image would be much more troubling if you had any idea what I look like mostly nude. Also, I spent most of the weekend watching the first season of Mad Men and they drink a lot in that series. So, I entered the week with something like a hangover by proxy.
The Room: God, I love Dot's. I love Dot's even more when I'm hungover. The dark interior is a fine refuge from the light of day and when you combine their fine bloody with a rueben, there is just about nothing that could go wrong for at least two hours. Dot's has a fine kitsch vibe and the staff is easy on the ol' peepers. Really, aside from the odd, constant antiseptic smell that seems to pervade the place, there is very little not to like. Though, I wish to god they would start taking cards. After a few of their bloody mary's it gets far too hard to concentrate on the ATM.
The Bloody: The secret to Dot's bloody is the shot of Black Butte Porter that they slosh into the mix. This continues to be one of the best cures in town. It has a good tang, and a whole bunch of dark, bottom-end savor with a bit of effervescence from the porter. It's also perfectly spicy. I really like that it's simply garnished with a pepperacini and a couple of olives. I mean, who really wants that fucking huge celery stalk all up in your grill? And again, as I mentioned before, paired with Dot's rueben this bloody becomes a part of a balanced, nutritious hangover "breakfast."
Effect: Strangely, I felt a bit like Don Drapper, manning up after a night of boozing—ready to tantalize the masses with some catchy advertising phrase. Which reminds me, I better get to work on that Pet Barack ad campain before the convention starts