As when visiting a competent medical professional, you’ll want to make an appointment. Though unlike an actual doctor’s office, a visit to this pillbox-size cocktail haunt means things are going very right. The appointment (a.k.a. reservation) setup lets a Mount Rushmore–caliber bartender crew lavish unfussy attention and impeccable drinks on occupants of the scant 12 seats. Each cocktail is an intelligent marvel, like a Sazerac made with a blend of four different mezcals. The spirit list deserves its own PhD program, but the pre-batched classic cocktails are a fast, balanced, and ice-cold way to maximize the final few minutes of your reservation.

On a Belltown strip known for nightclubs and parking lot fights, tiny Roquette is an elegant oasis of sleek lines and palm tree murals. Zig Zag alum Erik Hakkinen’s little lounge focuses on rare European spirits, especially French ones—and extra-especially variants on Chartreuse. This place is about the details: the specific glassware, the flawless garnishes, the overall dedication to artistry. Craft cocktails here are inventive and also very strong. Despite the sophisticated vibe, a knowledgeable staff keeps it chatty and light. 

There are cocktail nerds, and then there’s Brian Claudio Smith. His bar, named for cocktail journalist Charles Henry Baker Jr., transcends the concept of “neighborhood bar” thanks to a wall of obscure bottles that serious collectors dream about. Menus are themed after beloved films, but you gotta guess which: e.g., the Shooter’s Gold Jacket, a recent ode to Happy Gilmore, with cognac, bison grass vodka, and citrusy Mari Gold amaro accented by chamomile liqueur, dandelion syrup, and lemon.

With its lush patio, fresh lilies, pressed tin, and a truly massive amaro collection, Herb and Bitter was already an exquisite stop for a cocktail. But new bar manager Benjamin Wright brings some brilliant, fascinating weirdness to the menu. Drinks like the Shrimp Cocktail #2 (shrimp-infused gin, acid-adjusted cucumber juice, bay leaf liqueur, Cocchi Rosa, absinthe, and a prawn garnish) are refreshingly bizarre and bizarrely refreshing.

Sometimes described as “if Meow Wolf were a bar,” Stampede has a set design that’s Vegas-level, plus a menu to back up the glitz. The Seduce and Destroy is a prime
example of the envelope-pushing going on here: calamansi citrus gin, Thatcher’s peach liqueur, mustard-cayenne honey, lemon, egg white, and rosewater. The seasonal menu always includes five or six super innovative mocktails, too.

Bar Crawl: Around the corner, Stampede’s sibling Dreamland Bar and Diner offers a similarly fantastical experience and one of the town’s great drag brunches.

Owner Karuna Long has Canlis problems: how to balance a beloved legacy with evolving tastes. Drinks like the Duff and Blathers, a pepper-spiked manhattan riff, made this circa-2007 bar a landmark back in Seattle’s primordial craft cocktail era. They stand the test of time, especially beside other classics rebooted in unexpected ways (a Martinez, say, with red wine reduction and bitter melon maraschino). Cambodian takeout dishes born of the 2020 shutdown live on in the food menu. All this happy coexistence makes for a chill neighborhood haunt that still surprises after all these years.

This enduring spot just marked 120 years in operation, though it hasn’t been called Hattie’s Hat the whole time. (It was once a fine dining restaurant!) But much of the interior, including the grand mahogany Brunswick bar, is original to 1904. This hard-drinkin’ diner/dive has historically served Salmon Bay’s bluer collars, and although Ballard Avenue has gotten a lot cheugier lately, all scenes coexist peacefully here.

The U District might seem unrecognizable to folks who hung around in previous decades. But the more it gets built up, the more precious its longtime basement pub becomes. The College Inn—a little dark, cozy yet surprisingly spacious—has pool tables and dartboards. But more than that, it has a vibe. It’s the kind of place that makes undergrads feel sophisticated and old folks feel unburdened. There’s no better bar in Seattle for a meaningful conversation with a friend or stranger.

The city’s best-loved architectural facade, the Arctic Club Building, hides one of its most beautiful lounges: right in the hotel lobby, in plain sight. Taking a seat in its clubby art deco environs makes you feel like a character in a Fitzgerald novel. Cocktails are mostly classic but will suddenly veer fabulous, like the Marie Antoinette: gin, St-Germain, bubbles, and lemon, garnished with a generous hunk of pound cake.

This sacred Georgetown dive opened in 1950, before I-5 was built, when Fourth Avenue South was dotted with roadhouses. Today, it’s more sports bar than honky-tonk, but now, as then, Marco Polo serves stiff drinks and perfectly correct chicken and jojos, made with an old-school Broaster. It’s a precious relic of Old Seattle.

This bar is inside the Gum Wall, within salmon-throwing distance of the Pike Place Fish Market, but locals know that Il Bistro’s no tourist trap. This red-lit cellar bar is sexy as hell, with a thoughtful craft cocktail list, a locally unmatched scotch collection, and often live jazz. Plus, Il Bistro’s heritage as the bar where the legendary Murray Stenson found his stride makes it an indelibly Seattle place.

A Bowie reference, naturally, for a joint co-owned by KEXP DJ John Richards, who also helped curate a 6,000-large record collection that stretches to the ceiling. Request a vinyl selection (until 7pm daily), but stay for complex cocktails listed with ABV, including 0.03 percent NA ones. Earnestness overrides music snobbery at the vegan hang, where a menu message insists “You Are Not Alone” and coasters proclaim “We’re happy you’re here.”

One of the country’s first women’s sports bars prioritizes female athletes on the screen, and nontraditional barflies in its seats. Rough and Tumble subverts other paradigms, too; it’s big and light, the nonalcoholic drink list is ample, and the notion that women’s sports won’t draw crowds is officially dead. But some sports bar benchmarks haven’t changed: the nachos are great.

When the George and Dragon opened in 1995, the Sounders were a relatively obscure minor league club. Major League Soccer was just getting started in America. And the Reign were still nearly two decades away. It’s not an understatement to say that the English pub has been the epicenter of Seattle’s robust soccer culture since day one. Sure, nowadays you can flip on Fox to watch the Euro Cup. But the truth that the George and Dragon understands is that it’s a lot more fun with pints and mates.

This lovely “Russian drinking parlor” feels like Grandma’s house in the woods, with its splashy floral wallpaper and live-edge wooden bar top. Korochka’s cocktail list is imbued with Slavic botanicals like horseradish vodka and pine liqueur, alongside NA options like birch juice and kvass, served in the prettiest vintage glassware. Nothing like sipping a beet-infused vodka cocktail with a steamy bowl of pelmeni before you.

A Hanoi-distilled gin powers the rosy hoa hồng cocktail, flavored with botanicals foraged in Vietnam’s highlands. Condensed milk sweetens an espresso martini
made with phin-brewed coffee. It’s hard to believe such a dim and transportive hideaway exists atop a Phở Bắc location on a drab block near Westlake Avenue, but Quynh and Yenvy Pham’s tiny cocktail bar channels the spirit and spirits of Vietnam and has a hell of a fun time doing it. The sisters’ restaurant background is evident in the bar snacks, from a crabby cheese dip to a Cup Noodles portion of pho.

It’s hard to remember the days when we wrote off rum as a spring break drink. In Seattle, that’s largely thanks to Rumba, with its unreal list of 735 distilled cane spirits. The staff can discuss the differences between a smoky French Guiana distillate and something crisp and sippable from Nicaragua. Or just make you a mean piña colada. Educating the world on a spirit with significant colonial ties is complicated, but Rumba excels at the nuance; its hidden bar-within-a-bar, Inside Passage, ditched tiki tropes in favor of a Northwest escapist spectacle that’s completely its own thing.

The (very) little sister bar to Sicilian pastaria La Medusa can hold six people comfortably. It’s a bijou bottle shop where you can catch up with your bestie over a drink, some arancini, and a panna cotta. The amari list here is no joke; a huge chalkboard over the bar displays the long libretto of bottles, both for sipping and for sale.

Seattle borrows liberally from France and Spain’s all-day cafe culture, but our version usually just devolves into a coworking space that suggests badging in more than hanging out. Not L’Oursin’s new sibling bar, with its mismatched chairs, French Guns N’ Roses posters, and pileup decor—red, teal, yellow neon. It serves up leisurely espresso or carajillos and croque madames by day, but every drink on the cocktail list offers a small adventure. One that often involves sherry. Snacks are somehow both simple and over-the-top, like a bowl of potato chips layered with thin-sliced jamon.

Yes, we live in a robust and vibrant wine region. But slip through the doors of David Butler’s wine bar and you’ve decamped to France. Large blackboard menus list vins blanc and rouge; pure anecdotal evidence suggests most visitors don’t arrive knowing a santenay blanc from a chiroubles. The gifted staff is ready with as much—or as little—context as you need to find just the right glass. Food hovers in that happy place between snack and full-on meal, every last steak tartare and poisson en papillote perfectly Parisian.

In a neighborhood with limited nightlife, this landmark wine bar fills myriad roles. Babies doze in carriers while parents drink Gorgiste gamay on tap. Kid-free parties catch up over orange wine, charcuterie, and a salad that could hold its own at a destination bistro. It’s cliche to describe a bar as a neighborhood’s living room (though Bottlehouse’s leafy outdoor space is definitely the neighborhood’s patio). Instead let’s acknowledge the endless warm hospitality and savvy wine program that gathers bottles from Cyprus to the Columbia Gorge and presents them by the half-pour, glass, or bottle for maximum flexibility.

The nautical motif isn’t obnoxious—a fish mounted on the wall here, a 28-foot Owens pleasure craft from 1960 repurposed into a bar there. But canned beer (and cider) is the real theme. A cooler behind that bar holds an impeccable selection of 99 cans. Boatloads, if you will. Not to worry, there are also drafts (six), cocktails (extra-good classics), maybe even the occasional Jell-O shot if that’s where your night is headed. Can Bar opened in 2018 but already feels like a place that’s absorbed decades of its patrons’ joys and tribulations.

Bar Snacks: Can Bar coats its smoked wings in Alabama white sauce, a southern staple that’s rare in these parts.

RIP Brouwer’s. The classic beer bar is a dwindling species in a world of spartan brewery taprooms and taking your kids to the patio at Chuck’s Hop Shop. The Pine Box is one of a few places in Seattle that still feels like a proper bar, but also a confluence of incredible breweries. And if this place is contemplating its own mortality, that’s only because it’s located inside a grandiose 1920s-era funeral home.

Everyone loves a secret bar, and, in a city with at least a dozen, Revelry Room gets high marks for its inspired drinks and unpretentious setting. In the alley behind Easy Street Records, the muraled lounge is giving early-’70s Soul Train, and the beverage menu makes a point to spotlight Black-owned distilleries, wineries, and breweries. Catch DJs spinning vinyl of all genres.

Can slushy drinks be cerebral? This hideaway near Climate Pledge Arena takes its cues from its Capitol Hill sibling, La Dive, serving champagne shots via a chambong and slushies made with ingredients like aquavit, apricot, and orgeat—garnished like bespoke creations rather than the product of a swirling machine equally at home in a 7-Eleven. Otherwise, Rich Rich is all about cocktails and, later in the night, DJ sets. The covert entrance is the best thing you’re likely to find lurking beyond a row of dumpsters.