This week’s special Portland Mercury Drinking Issue is a response to the recent changes in the city of Portland. You know which changes I’m talking about.
And while these changes bring good things along with the bad, we wanted to take a moment to celebrate an element of Portland culture that has been an integral part of the city for decades—lifetimes, even. It’s a part of the city that’s highly resistant to change, but not quite immune. It’s a part of the city that doesn’t draw attention to itself, yet is perhaps our finest emblem of fellowship. It’s a part of the city that’s woven integrally into the fabric of thousands of Portlanders’ day-to-day lives, giving us comfort in exchange for small amounts of cash. It’s where acquaintances become neighbors, where neighbors become friends, where all are created equal under the neon glimmer of the promotional beer sign.
The Dive Bar.
The cozy, down-home corner bar is just as much a part of our communities as coffee shops, churches, food co-ops, and dog parks. The local dive is modestly appointed and lacks any notion of pretense; it requires neither membership fee nor tithe; it does not ask you to dress up or dress down; it sells you refreshment, sustenance, and society for a very modest price.
Portland’s lost a bunch of dive bars recently. A few were absolute shitholes that deserved to disappear, but most were victims of circumstance and change. It felt like the right time for the Portland Mercury to put together this very special Portland Dive Bar Preservation Society issue. For it, we’ve profiled 13 classic dive bars to create a cross-section (and not a “best of” list—lord knows there are enough of those) of places where modesty and homespun charm are the order of the day, and where bullshit, like a bad drinker, gets chucked out on its ass.