In the Venn diagram of arena proximity and enjoyable food and drinks, it’s tough to beat this Sichuan-ish hangout across the street from Seattle Center on Republican Street. Dumplings, rice cakes with bacon, Chongqing chicken, and crab curry fried rice are indisputably worth a trip even without a ticket to a game. Then throw in the cocktail list and a bar full of local beer and well-chosen wine. Come early to grab seats in the dining room, at the bar, or among the handful of outdoor tables.

Long before Seattle had a hockey team, this pizzeria on Roy Street offered the ideal before-game fix: wood-fired pizza, crusts bubbling and topped with smart seasonal combos (summer squash and pesto; prosciutto and onion), plus beer. Great beer. Owner Matt Storm even co-authors a brewery project, Fast Fashion, with limited releases available at the Masonry. Storm’s a vegetarian turned vegan, which means plant-based hockey fans eat uncommonly well here.

Nothing says prefunk like geoduck chowder. But in all seriousness, there’s something delightfully Northwest about polishing off some bivalves before rooting for a team that takes its name from a cephalopod. At the oyster company’s bar across from Seattle Center, a dozen perfectly shucked Kumamotos counts as game day food. Especially with an Aperol spritz or adeptly paired local pilsner. Taylor also offers up hot and cold shellfish-centered snacks, like smoked oyster dip, prawn cocktail, and spicy baked mussels. (The bar doesn’t take reservations, but does have some tables outside.)

This vaguely paleolithic-themed sandwich shop has its roots in the owners’ previous restaurant, Bitterroot BBQ, so smoked meat dishes are the star here, like the Taurus (braised brisket with cherry peppers and pepperjack cheese) and Predator (smoked chicken thigh with bacon and Swiss cheese). More surprisingly, they almost all come in vegetarian versions (tofu or jackfruit), too. More than a dozen taps spill out local brews and slushies (with or without booze) at the handful of indoor seats and many more tables on the fountain patio facing Mercer.

If your rowdiest friends took over a patio furniture showroom, the resulting setup might look something like Suzana Olmos’s outdoor bar, a 15-minute walk from Climate Pledge Arena. A network of shelters, Adirondack chairs, fire tables, umbrellas, heaters, paper lanterns, and string lights fill this walled-in lot, a secret garden watered by boozy slushies. An outdoor bar dispenses drinks, sandwiches, nachos, and “Korexican” fare. The space accommodates bigger, unwieldy groups particularly well, though is adults-only after 4pm. 

A low-slung beer hall slightly removed from Uptown’s other bars offers a ton of room and nicer-than-average bar food with German overtones. Here, a pretzel can be a bread bowl for clam chowder, the bottom layer of a charcuterie board, a sweet dessert, or the main event with mustard and house cheese sauce. A pregame beer or two will take the edge off that uphill walk to Climate Pledge Arena.

As straightforward sports bars go, this one pours 24 beers on tap (some local; all great) and keeps its food menu focused on what’s important: massive DIY nachos, hard shell tacos, and chili dogs on brioche buns. The bar has just the right amount of TVs, but is also ludicrously close to the arena entrance.

Descending into Moto’s underground Belltown digs feels like entering a pizza wizard’s arcade, with bright pink murals, a rainbow chandelier, and a couch shaped like the back of a retro car. The pizza matches the whimsy, with its thick, cheesy, Detroit-style crust and deep bench of toppings, including the Filipino flavors of the Beef Adobo and the Northwest-inspired Clam Chowdah. Vegan pizza, salads, and canned cocktails round out the offerings, and the soft-serve ice cream makes great company for the walk up to the arena.

Rochambeau’s fascinating and constantly changing menu of original cocktails reads like a liquor delivery truck crashed into a produce stand: scratch-made snap pea syrup, house-infused roasted corn tequila, and fresh red bell pepper juice. The food follows suit, with a few vegetable-driven small plates and a rotating Crispy Spanish Rice—so-called because it’s not technically a paella (a million pedants shed a tear of happiness). Twenty uncomfortable low-back metal stools at the L-shaped bar are the only seating option, but at least you won’t be late for the puck drop, since nobody wants to linger in those.