Gotham Building Tavern Re-opening

On Thursday, I checked out the grand re-opening of the Gotham Building Tavern (2240 N. Interstate Ave.), which has been around for a while but just recently came under new ownership. Reviewers of the Gotham Building Tavern always take at least a moment to put down their fork and comment on the place's notable interior design. Phrases like "giant Jenga set" and "Postmodern lincoln logs" get tossed around. I was struck more forcefully, however, by Susan, the neighbor and friend of chef/owner Barry Powelson. If it's legit to talk about architecture in a food review, why can't we talk about people?

"You're from a blog?" Susan asked. "We love you!" She joked about her upcoming face-lift and asked how old I was. I told her 51, and I swear she believed me for a second. Susan then introduced me to Barry's younger sister Sherry, who is "so good with names." Sherry explained her strategy: "What I do is to remember some object related to the name," she said. "My name is spelled just like the wine, so that's what I always tell people." I asked her what object she used to remember my name, Adrian. "Avery," she said, "just like the folders!" Sherry is from Tualatin, and she and her husband just bought matching scooters to celebrate their 20-somethingth anniversary.

Finally, I was introduced to Barry, the owner and head chef of Gotham. He talked about wanting to serve high-quality, uncomplicated pub fare in the tavern, and the samples provided at the party bear this out: Tender ribs, doughy calamari, crab cakes. When Barry saw I had a camera he throws some tequila in a pan, and it flames up about 4 feet. It was a dangerous move for a man so heavily mustachioed as Barry. "I got another shot in a magazine once like this," Barry said. The shot turned out great, but the free drinks made me drunk and stupid and I lost my camera later that night.

I met Mercury food writer Allison Hallet, who's posted her recap here. I met someone who lied about being a reporter for Just Out. I also met a waitress whose name I forget, a holdover from when the Hebberoy's owned the Gotham. She definitely knew something about that whole affair, but I couldn't pry anything from her about the fall of the ripe empire and the tragedy of its founders Michael and Naomi Hebberoy. At one point she came over to the table I was sitting at. "I don't want to complain," she said with a grimace, "but we aren't getting tipped for shit."

And that was what I liked about the Gotham's re-opening: that a waitress could come up to you and dish about the other customers. It was like going to a party to which you were tangentially invited by a friend. They said to come for the free booze and food, but you stayed for the drunken conversation and a brief entree into the lives of people that have nothing to do with you. If I could offer some advice to Barry: Hire Sherry as a full-time greeter and keep the cocktails free.