Back when I first moved to Portland, I was really only familiar with the West side. It’s where my work was, it was the bustling metropolis half where I figured all in the interesting and cool stuff was, and I never really need to cross the Willamette until I got a job in Southeast. Soon after we moved nearby chasing better rent and livability than the suburban hell of Beaverton could offer.

Back then, I was confused and disappointed by the lack of bars with late hours and wondered where Portlands reputation as a drinking town came from. Unless that was limited to beer geeks with thick glasses, beards and flannel, I hadn’t seen a single bar open past 10pm in marked contrast to the local watering holes I was used to even in the suburbs of Atlantic City.

I’m bellied-up to the bar at Holman’s, a recent revived institution of the Laurelhurst neighborhood in Southeast. Posters proudly proclaim their new operating hours- Noon to 2:30am, Monday through Friday. Saturday and Sunday they open at 8 to snag the weekend brunch crowd, but still stay open till 2:30 in the morning to welcome the folks that don’t need a special meal to justify day drinking (or night, for that matter.)

What am I having? A martini. The classic. The eternal. The classy. The basic. Dry and dirty, stirred, served in a coupe glass with a vermouth wash (I should have specified that I like the vermouth left in. If I want vermouth-scented gin, I’ll ask for it- but I’m not gonna be That Guy who causes problems in local bars.)

I had a martini yesterday too, in another bar across town. This bar, an upscaled dive bar trying to take in the 5pm “drinks and party” crowd, apologized for not serving my martini with a big ice cube and prepared it in a rocks/lowball glass.

The cocktail was fine, but because of the glass I had to drink it quickly. Accident? Intent? Gender politics? The Blood of the Lamb? Who knows why a bartender would serve a martini unasked for in an unorthodox glass?

What has me wondering today, in a filling bar that I may soon abandon for home (where the booze is paid for and pants are optional) is cocktails themselves and why I enjoy (as my sister called it) “classical drinking.”