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bartenders sporting vests.  sure, it’s a little cliche but there’s something to be said about a uniform. after all, there’s a sizable market for schoolgirl fetishes, but alas i digress. perhaps the draw of uniforms is the predictability in a world so full of fucked-up surprises. or maybe it’s become a way to combat the ever-growing frumpiness plaguing our society. either way, i’m all for it when it comes to dapper eye candy concocting tasty libations for me; such is the case at pourhouse, a gastown icon when it comes to classic cocktails.  but even beyond the vintage decor and those magical little glasses served from the bar handcrafted of reclaimed douglas fir is the perfect bite (or 5)-  it’s the gastropub stable of the scotch egg, a soft boiled egg swaddled in fennel sausage.  and if that wasn’t already enough, then BREAD IT and FRY IT.  i could definitely have eaten enough of those to send myself to the poorhouse, but at least i was left with something to write home about.

cocktail she wrote