“Seas of Amber, Skies of Gold”
Posted on June 30, 2008
Behind the Green Door
Posted on June 28, 2008
At this one place, you open the door and there’s a long wooden bar. It’s a bar like in a tavern: blushed mahogany wrapping around, a tidy service area behind, about three-and-a-half foot high, tall enough to either stand or zenly chill at a barstool. Casey’s Irish Tavern it ain’t—no spirits or pints of stout—but there is plenty of green. Cannabis leaves adorn the countertop, chiseled in the wood, and the pictures on the walls are of men like Jefferson, Marley, and Lennon: a veritable toker’s hall of fame. The budtender wears a pressed black shirt. He’s tall, trim, has conservative hair, sideburns edged at tight right angles. He might be a game show host someday, or a senator, or sell used cars. He’s chatting with a sorority girl who’s come in for her weekly medicinals. My eyes fall onto the tasting menu—a calligraphic sonata to the cannabisly inclined. Prices are tendered by the eighth, the ounce, or by the bowl. I nod at the budtender who ditches Buffy and stands over his tip jar. “What can I getcha?” “A periodic table for your menu.” He snickers and shepherds a fat apothecary jar off of a wooden sideboard; it’s filled with soft, green, popcorn-sized nugs. “Try this one,” he says. I check the label and it reads Purple Urkle. “Kind of a chill after work strain. Relaxing like a glass of vino, perfect for taking the edge off. It’s part of our ‘Double Happy Hour’—just two bucks a bowl.”
Where am I? A psychedelic brownstone-turned-coffeeshop near the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam? A vapor lounge on Burrard Street in Vancouver’s downtown core? If you think I could afford either, kindly pass whatever you’re smoking. No, I’m in LA, somewhere between Beverly Hills and the hood, hiding in an anonymous storefront with security cameras watchful over a worn green door. Welcome to twenty-first century speakeasies, although these are bars of a different ilk. The aesthetic, even so, remains dive. No flash, just ring a bell, and if you have the wares or wiles, into the light you’ll go. In my case, I had a letter from Dr. Feelgood. It was nice knowing there was one club in town where I could go and Kim Kardashian couldn’t. Read more
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“Holla atcha boy…”
Posted on June 24, 2008
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