While it doesn’t really compete with endearing ratholes like Blue Moon or Tim’s Tavern for Diviest Seattle Bar, (irrelevant note: autocorrect tried to tell me that I meant “divinest.” …Is that even a word?) I just *know* that Roanoke has about six grey-bearded regulars who have been meeting there for thirty years to talk about fishing and Republican politics; the rest of us are just invaders of their cozy little barely-Capitol-Hill home.
During the 2015-16 Seahawks season, my dad and I hit up Roanoke for about half the games we watched together. I was always the youngest patron, and usually the only female. It was sort of a welcome break from the see-and-be-seen scene that trendy Seattle neighbourhoods can inflict upon goer-outers. We’d order a super cheap pitcher of Rainier and a couple of salads (or a Bloody Mary and eggs, depending upon the time of game), and hooped and hollered with all the other Hawk-loving ruffians.
Scrubby atmosphere, football, and food – the makings of a great father-daughter date.
Although I think baseball is about as exciting as watching paint dry – and the Mariners are about as predictable as autumnal grey skies in this great city – Roanoke does not discriminate when it comes to the sports it airs. So…when it’s the season…if that’s your thing…there ya go! Keep an eye out for Dawgs games, and basketball too. Just don’t mention the Sonics. No need to twist the knife.