Cherry Mules in Seattle
Despite its outdoorsy, mountain-climbing persona, Seattle has an upscale edge. It is, after all, the corporate birthplace of tech giants, airplane makers, and commercial coffeehouses of dubious quality.
There are a handful of hotels catering to that highbrow crowd—chiefly, The Fairmont Olympic Hotel in downtown Seattle. Not everyone can afford to stay at the Fairmont Olympic, but many can afford the happy hour in its lobby and lounge.
On a late summer evening, I settled in the lobby next to one of the Corinthian columns that line the interior. A closer look at the column revealed it was made of wood, a cheeky marriage of European stateliness and Pacific Northwest forest. A few tables over, a hotel manager brought a bottle of prosecco to a table where a young woman sat with her parents. The manager poured the wine, and they started to plan a wedding that would take place in the hotel’s airy indoor courtyard.
I scanned the menu and settled on the Rainier cherry mule, made with cherry-infused vodka. Rainier cherries are one of Washington’s most beloved fruits, a yellow cherry with a pink blush. It has a fragrant sweetness, almost as though the cherry blossom itself had hidden a little love letter in the fruit’s flesh. Rainier cherries were developed in 1952 by researchers at Washington State University, who crossed the Bing and Van cherry varietals. The cherries usually appear in local farmer’s markets in July, an indication that the Pacific Northwest summer is in full swing.
The Rainier cherry mule was fizzy and delicately sweet. It was a deep red at the bottom of the highball glass that faded into a pink blush. Two brandied Bing cherries rested atop the drink on a spear.
When the waitress asked if I wanted to order happy-hour food, I hesitated before asking for totchos, the beautiful fusion of tater-tots and nachos. They felt incongruous in this ritzy lounge, but this was righteous bar food: the hotel’s way of saying hey, we cater to barflies and businessmen alike. The fried potato cakes rested on a generous helping of braised short-rib with a spoonful of guacamole. I also ordered a bowl of dirty olives: fried Castelvetrano olives with blue cheese and toasted hazelnuts. The result was an umami-bomb of briny, earthy flavor.
I washed down the last few olives with sips of the Rainier cherry mule. I finished off the brandied Bing cherries, paid my incredibly reasonable bill, and walked toward the hotel doors (which are always held open for you). I passed an older gentleman in a suit nursing a drink and taking a surreptitious snooze. I imagined he was waiting for his wife, getting ready upstairs in one of the posh rooms, fishing around in her makeup bag for a set of diamond earrings for the night out.