A Redhook Kind of Day or, Mudslinger Merriment!

   

 

 

 

This past Saturday was one of those special days, a brilliant sun hanging in a blue, cloudless sky, warming a greening landscape; it was that rarest of things: a Pacific Northwest spring afternoon—without the wet stuff. And my wife and I promised ourselves we’d wring every last bit of the day out before we that sun went down.

 

We parked a bit further south between Kenmore and Bothell than we usually do, which we’d regret to some degree during our return walk, but that’s another story, one that includes blisters and other such stuff to make you feel sorry for us…, but again, another story.

 

Our destination was Forecaster’s Pub at the Red Hook Brewery in Woodinville. It’s a frequent destination for us, but days like that make it special. Not surprisingly, we weren’t the only folks to think this. The place was packed.

 

En route, glancing at my wife I said, “Good; we’ll be getting there after one thirty—at least the lunch rush should be over.”

 

Hah, right! We waited forty-five minutes for our table. However, this was not the worst part of the day; in fact, it may have been the best. Even though Redhook didn’t open their patio for dining, they did open it for folks to wait—while “sampling” some of Redhook’s finest brews.

 

Smiling people were chatting, but at first the atmosphere was fairly muted. However, as folks became more comfortable, perhaps a result of the social-medicinal, barley and hops effect, the patio turned into a veritable social event independent of the diners inside, the speakers pouring out 70’s gems motivating some not even born at the time to bring out their best John Travolta moves.

 

In fact, an eclectic group of young folks sitting near us, we gathered they were teachers, were inspired to an impromptu change of plans. The lone female of the group stood and said, “I’m gonna go cancel our table; let’s just stay out here.”

 

We got our table soon after and could see the group from our seats. They were soon joined by others, several other knots of beer-sippers formed, and the party soared. We had fun watching them and slightly regretted we hadn’t stayed out there ourselves. 

 

After two fat Turkey Blasts, a crisp ESB, and a foamy Mudslinger—or two–we got up to leave and couldn’t help but notice that, now past three o’clock, waiting “dry” diners surrounded the place, and the patio was a still rockin’.

 

Thanks for the fun day, Redhook!   

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