It's grrrrreat! Pounce on Ballard's Tigertail

There's an island bar in southern Thailand that I hope still exists. Unlike the other bars on Phi Phi island, this place served no Mai Tais, attracted few backpackers and had no DJ. While the music was loud, it wasn't so loud that you couldn't strike up a heated political conversation with an old farang or a young transvestite -- and their food and drink offerings amounted to little more than cold beer and hot peanuts. I fear that it was destroyed by the 2004 tsunami, but the bar lives on in my memory. I like to imagine that its patrons are still talking about the Clinton/Lewinsky affair.

Ballard's Tigertail Bar & Restaurant sits on an island of its own -- the same obscure, partially residential strip of Northwest 65th Street that's home to the Tin Hat and Molly Maguire's -- and like that Thai bar, it felt like home from the minute I walked in the door. It may be appointed in Asian swank -- teakwood barstools, purple curtains, a bamboo-finish bar top, soft golden lighting -- but it's a Seattleite through and through. Old-school punk, surf and garage plays on the PA, but at a volume that permits conversation. The crowd is nouveau Ballard rockabilly mixed with crusty old-timers. And the first thing your eyes alight on as you walk through the door -- indeed, the focal point of the entire joint -- is a glass-doored refrigerator filled with exotic beers.

You can get your $2 PBRs and $4 local draughts at Tigertail, but I strongly recommend that you first investigate the possibilities that fridge has to offer. Sure, you could get a Singha (the Budweiser of Bangkok), a Kirin or a Tsing Tao, or you could venture into less familiar territory by sampling the Signature Rogue Ales brewed by Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto. Or you could order up a Hitachino Nest Beer from Kiuchi Brewery, each one a limited-run work of art. (My advice to you: Get down there right now and try Kiuchi's Commemorative, a mellifluous winter ale flavored with vanilla beans, orange peel and coriander. Once it's gone, it's gone.)

The beers pair neatly with the kitchen's selection of small plates, created by chef Stacie Pike. So far, I've tried the delicata squash potstickers, the green-tea-and-citrus chicken satay with sticky rice, and the braised beef short rib potsickers, and everything was thoroughly delectable. On future visits, I hope to try the Chinese braised pork belly, the green salad with blood oranges, the sake-steamed Manila clams and the "sweet, spicy and salty mixed nuts" -- which I have high hopes for, largely for sentimental reasons.

Now, about that crowd of hipsters and fishermen: I don't think it would be there at all if not for the great-hearted manner of Tigertail's owners, former Fallout Records proprietor Tim Hayes and Sunset Tavern co-owner Carl Carlson. Hayes still has the indie record store owner's gift for holding forth on matters cultural, philosophical and skate-o-logical, and he has an innate sense of when to talk to you and when to let you drink. And when I discovered that Carlson and I had connections in the roller-derby world, he generously allowed me to name a drink he's been working on, a nectarlike concoction made with bourbon and elderberry liquor. Just ask him for a "Derby Widow," or ask for a sip of mine.

There's much more to Tigertail that's worth your while. I've not mentioned the bar's sake list, which takes up an entire page of the menu; their Ginger Lemon Drop, made with Yazi ginger-infused vodka ("We go through five bottles of this a week," says Carlson); the wall of trippy Daniel Johnston artwork; or the Saigon 66, a champagne cocktail made with lemongrass simple syrup. You'll have to forgive me for talking mostly about the things that remind me of that lost Thai bar: the stellar beer list, the availability of spicy nuts and a friendly clientele that's probably debating the lingering fallout from the Clinton/Lewinsky thing even now.

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