TIGER BAR: Not quite grrrreat! IMAGE: Baker Poulshock

The last time I went to Tiger Bar (317 NW Broadway, 467-4111), it echoed with old-school rap and bristled with fringe Portland DJs and MCs—the small but diverse patronage that had found a home there. On this visit, a decidedly less diverse double date of meaty dudes and wayward ex-cheerleaders pound out “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” on Guitar Hero (displayed on a TV that’s twice the size of my bed), although the game is mostly drowned out by the Counting Crows’ “A Long December” overhead. The dark and narrow bar, now owned and operated by the folks who brought you Dante’s and Devil’s Point—sorta the anti-McMenamins, really—has certainly received a face-lift, adding multiple flat-screen TVs, high booths and an expanded pan-Asian menu. I order the Tiger Punch ($8.75), a sour pink girly drink the size of a cartoon fish bowl and decorated with both an umbrella and a plastic monkey. When I get self-conscious, the tightly fitted young woman behind the bar (“Shizzle,” according to my receipt) says the Tiger Punch really isn’t that girly, instead disparaging another common concoction as “pretty much the vagina of drinks.” Just then a second barkeep skips the epic finale of the Counting Crows song in favor of a much heavier jam. “Aw, that’s a good song,” Shizzle laments. I liked it too, but I don’t say so. A half-dozen professionals with loosened ties enter loudly and I settle out my tab.