1927 SW Jefferson St., 503-228-7010, goosehollowinn.com. 11 am-midnight Saturday-Thursday, 11 am-1 am Friday.
Fifty years ago, a guy named Bud Clark started a bar in a shitty working-class neighborhood of Portland named after a fight over some birds. There was no particular reason to believe that the bike-riding beardo bar owner—famous mostly for "exposing himself to art" in a dorm-hall poster—with would win a 1984 fight for Portland mayor. Except, that is, for one thing: Bud Clark is and was very charming, and so is his bar. The Goose, whose motto declares it "dedicated to extremes of opinion," has a very good Reuben proclaimed the best in the world, cheap beer calculated to the quarter so that 20 ounces of RPM is $5.25 but 20 ounces of Widmer Hef is a mere $5, gin-and-tonics made with excellent local Aria by default for $6, and a $6.75 "house-special concoction for the land of rain and beer" that is a weirdly tasty mixture of Widmer Hef and orange Emergen-C powder. The menu entreats customers, prudently, to "designate a driver, take a cab, or ride MAX when enjoying a session with libations"—a strategy that must have paid off, because at least half the customers in the bar have been enjoying sessions with libations for more than 20 years here. Before the Goose, it's safe to say there was no Goose Hollow.
Bar story: Goose Hollow is the reason you're allowed to sing karaoke, or dance, or even sing along to the jukebox in any bar in Portland. It was illegal in the early '70s until Clark told a regular customer, Rep. Steve Kafoury, that the law forbade him to dance and sing in the bar. So Kafoury changed the law, then danced and sang.