List is the name of a new lounge/restaurant in Belltown. The name angles for, presumably, connotations of exclusivity rather than grocery shopping, though the menus say matter-of-factly “The Food List,” “The Wine List,” and “The Cocktail List.”
List used to be the lounge/restaurant the Apartment. The space is on the small side, and the '60s movie The Apartment would sometimes play on the flat-screen TV above the bar, but that was as apartmenty as it got. The Apartment was sleek and white: white squishy barstools from a marshmallow future, white upholstered booths, a blank slate for party-people to scrawl on. List is very mirrored, with the bar glowing red: Red makes people look good, and mirrors let them look at themselves. The entire back wall is mirrored, then mod-baroque wallpaper goes down the back hall, which also ends in a mirror. The improbably handsome host says people have come in and asked to be seated "back there," gesturing down the hall toward their own reflection.
The owners of List also own Barolo—similar look, larger Italian menu that has met with mixed reviews. A sampling of The Food List (octopus salad, eggplant parmigiana) was, if not destination-worthy, solidly above average, and at happy hour, it's all half-price. In front, a glass garage door can be rolled up in sunny weather for access to a tiny deck built around a stranded tree. Quitting time at List is bound to be bananas, if it's not already.
No one at List last Saturday night around nine o'clock was on a date, though List is the precise place for a certain kind of date—a date involving two much-better-than-average-looking people who would prefer to be on their date in Palm Springs or Miami. There are candles, the napkins are snowy white cloth, the soundtrack is pulsey. Bonus: It's not even expensive, with not-that-small small plates ranging from $6 to $14. What is expensive: three rococo red-glass chandeliers, made by Murano of Venice; and, in all likelihood, the foot-tall, precariously narrow reinterpretation of a flute that champagne cocktails are served in. The First Ave—Grey Goose, black raspberry, OJ, prosecco, $9—is a generous reinterpretation of the flavor of the street itself, given that it is not served in a paper bag.
The bartender is also implausibly beautiful, with conspicuous cheekbones and perfect brown hair. She smiles a camera-ready, very white smile while she pours shots. Going by List, brunette is the new blond; the girls' night out in the corner is all dark haired, and the trio of blondes that walks in immediately walks back out. Of the gentlemen customers, one contingent wears ball caps frontward and obsessively attends to phones, while another does the dress-shirt-with-unique-diagonal-pattern-and-flipped-contrasting-cuffs and watches everyone of possible interest like a collective hawk.
List, 2226 First Ave, 441-1000.