Bar Exam

The wildlife biologist is talking to the ATM repairman at the bar at
Bathtub Gin & Co. The ATM repairman’s hobby, it emerges, is scuba
diving in Puget Sound to count and tag sixgill sharks with the Seattle
Aquarium, where he used to be an octopus wrangler. He recounts the dive
in which he narrowly evaded a shark attack; you jab them just
behind the eye, he says, because if you jab them directly in the eye,
you could hurt them. It also emerges that breaking into an ATM is
simpler than you’d think—not that you won’t get caught, just that
it’s not that hard. The wildlife biologist and the ATM repairman happen
to be Belltown neighbors, and they know the barkeep. The barkeep’s
ladyfriend, come to find out, runs the bar and also manages the
Humphrey Apartments upstairs.

Bathtub Gin used to be the building’s boiler room, and then
it was someone’s apartment (he was quite a character, according to the
wildlife biologist, the ATM repairman, and the barkeep). The barkeep
and the ladyfriend were in there after the character’s departure, and
one said to the other, “This should be a bar!” The barkeep
installed the dark wood bar and the pressed tin ceiling, and a couple
months ago, Bathtub Gin was born.

You enter Bathtub Gin from the alley—its sign is a little
brass plaque. With that, and the name, the tin ceiling, the shabby
chandelier, and the craft cocktails, Bathtub Gin clearly falls
under the speakeasy-style trend (along with Tavern Law and Knee High
Stocking Co. in Seattle and a pandemic of other bars around the
country). But there’s no ceremony at the door, no secret lounge; the
barkeep wears a T-shirt. The brick walls and the squirrelly
space—the six-seat, low-ceilinged bar is wedged upstairs;
downstairs is a pair of small subterranean rooms with lamps and
couches—make Bathtub Gin feel like it’s exactly what it ought to
be.

Later on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, the Belltown crowd arrives,
loudly congratulating each other on finding a new place and shouting at
the barkeep, “Can I get a scotch, a G and T, and another scotch?” But
in the pre-party hours, the Seattle freeze is thoroughly thawed in the most beautiful way. That’s when you’ll find the wildlife
biologist and the ATM repairman, or maybe a woman and her two gay
boyfriends showing her new pink sneakers to an Englishman
intermittently reading a book. (On the shelf: dozens of volumes on
mixology and wine and beer, Alcoholics Anonymous, 4th Edition,
and Anaïs Nin’s Delta of Venus, among other things.) The
Shadowboxer, made with gin, calvados, maraschino, lemon, and egg
white, is particularly good, and the Bobby Love margarita is made
with house-peppered reposado tequila. All the listed cocktails are $9.
The pistachio nuts are free.