What PNK on the fourth floor of Pacific Place lacks in vowels it makes up for in throwbacky opulence: a groovy melange of ‘60s design and ’70s white leather and ’80s fiber optics that cast an otherworldly glow upon the circular bar. The glamsters descend in packs for office parties and bachelor throw downs (it’s rentable for private events by day), and the sprawling room accommodates with long sight lines and unmatched people-watching. Best, the food, though flawed, is real: global starters and munchables and dinner plates, including a surprisingly feisty lobster pad thai. A lettuce wrap holds moist shredded pork with cabbage and Mama Lil’s peppers; beef sliders, sweet and overcooked, recall Dick’s burgers. And while the cloying cocktail list seems oddly skewed not just to twentysomethings, but kindergartners—bubblegum vodka?—the place itself displays as unexpected a sense of self-assurance as those strategizing secretaries on Mad Men.