10 NW 12th Ave
Portland, OR 97209
Snuggled to the west side of a building overshadowed by Powell’s Bookstore, this little gem of a place is not quite as little as one would think. Henry’s Tavern have a extensive selections of beers on tap. One by one, they are all lined up in two rectangle spaces in a surrounded bar, never repeating itself despite some option’s popularity. Altogether, over a hundred are locked and loaded — ready to be fired upon a wide variety of glasses.
To settle for a Budweiser in this place would be high treason, even though that’s also offered on tap. It would be a tragedy to journey all this way to this pub, only to sample the most common of beer that you can get from your local lonely bar.
The charm of this tavern is added by some delicious modern technology. Appreciating your beer would be difficult if you are forced to quickly quaff the brew before it get nigh spoiled by the warmth of dozens of jolly drunks in the area. Henry’s decided to provide a way to counteract this sin of rushing through the latest masterpiece by offering a “frozen drink rail.”
This is your refrigerator writ in a very long strip around the bar, layered with frozen humidity on top, like an old fashioned fridge without a dehumidifier. Laying your fresh beer onto this platform gives the beer precious moments to remain tight, cold, and ready to go down smoothly (or harshly if that is your forte) directly to your overworked liver.
I chose to poison the liver with Celis White Ale, while my friend pulls out the jackhammer, pounding a wide variety of stouts in a quest for the mana of the goddess (along with that cute waitress’ phone number.)
Friend, you say? Why yes — he is an old college friend, who also went on to seize a career on the road. We bumped into each other (or rather he chose to brought his presence to my attention.) Having not seen him for over a decade, I was quite leery of whom he may be, but as my overworked brain kicked into the proper gears, and restored some deep dark memories from the tape archives, I realized that he was my father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former roommate.
Actually, no. He was also a lab assistant at RIT, and a slave for a former roommate and a very good friend of mine.
The entire night we spent quaffing toxic brews, the tales flew high and wide, and it was a jolly night by all. A perfect place, and a perfect reason. Henry’s Tavern is such a place.
