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Out on the back patio, a woman coughing theatrically over a cigarette —while sitting next to an open fire pit—explained the history. "At first it was Casa Naranja, and it was nice," she says. "They had sangria and hammocks in the back. Then Bungalo Bar kept the hammocks, but it was a magnet for dirtbags." With The Rambler (4205 N Mississippi Ave., 459-4059, ramblerbar.com), the little Mississippi-neighborhood house bar is nice again. The hammocks and hanging chairs and strange CDC-quarantine- style plastic are gone from the backyard, in favor of an outdoor flat-screen TV tuned to sports, and a tasteful stained-wood battery of picnic tables.
There is an admirably large bocce pit to the side, and within the domestic-feeling bungalow, the pool table is pristine red felt and the bar serves a kegged cocktail named for Doc Brown, plus a host of $8 to $10 variations on the Manhattan, Old Fashioned and vodka fruit punch. The food is upscale Tex-Mex, including a $14 frito pie made with brisket chili, and a $13 burger stuffed with more proteins than a vegan bodybuilder's medicine cabinet: ground brisket topped with pulled pork topped with bacon relish topped with an egg (with additional bacon optional).
The egg is one step too far, but it's hard to fault the ambition. Really, the feeling at the Rambler is as if members of the never-ending frat party at Bungalo Bar—evidenced by OLCC violations, noise complaints and license suspensions—all grew up and bought houses with cushy chairs and big-screen TVs. While I finished my burger, a back table erupted with a noise previously unheard by humankind—someone had a picture of a puppy on their phone. "They're like 22," says the 30ish blonde ordering at the bar, with no small amount of sympathy. "They still think everything is exciting." I left with the strong feeling that the bar was not made for me. But it was made nonetheless very well.
Willamette Week