As T.S. Eliot, one-time American ex-pat and Prufrockian fanatic wrote in his poem Wait without Hope, “So the darkness shall be the light.” I’m drawn to this line like a moth to a window in Amsterdam—from the many dark places I’ve wandered into, thirsty, forlorn, a nomad of the night, slithering my way up to stand or sit at the bar only to have waited and waited and waited, only to wait more without any hope of getting a tasty beverage or even a sideways glance from the bartender. Instead, in that darkness, I’ve often found myself standing up and walking ashamedly back out the door I came in, still thirsty, now feeling rejected by a relationship I wanted but never had, my own patron walk of shame, never really knowing why I failed.
“Was it me? Am I the mistress tossed to the curb, sobbing with my black Chelsea boots in hand, waiting for a mixologist prince or princess to scoop me up in a carriage and drive me off to a beverage castle?” Well, maybe not an actual Beverage Castle (if you’ve ever been to Tampa you know what I mean)…
But here I am, a man in need of a drink. Yes, it’s happened too many times, the unintended in and out, and in fact it’s even happened here before, at a place called Dark Room in Seattle’s Greenwood neighborhood. But that was before—darker times, when the former co-owners were possibly trying to play it too cool. Now, Dark Room’s sole owner, Amy, never misses a beat. She’s always there to greet you, make sure you get a seat (with exception to the group of 20 that showed up without calling first—who does that?) and last but not least, she’ll make damn sure you get served a tasty beverage without needing to wax poetic. This is the new Dark Room, a reference to the photographer’s lair, something you modern day photoshopping nerds airbrushing digitized influencers might never have even seen before, a room dimly lit and fit for purpose, its purpose made famous by such films such as Rear Window, Pecker and of course, the all-time classic, One Hour Photo, starring gorilla-haired, beloved funnyman, Robin Williams as a psycho, obsessed photo technician.
But this isn’t a niche thriller film review—and while some dramatic effects are preserved here in the decor and cool Portland-esque vibe of the place, the only thing truly dramatic about Dark Room is its menu, where the food and drink come to life. Like a Polaroid developing in your hands, you’ll wait excited for anything that shows up next.
And what’s that? You have a Polaroid here? And it comes with a drink?
OK so the Polaroid drink is good, albeit a bit cheeky, and the rest of the menu does nothing less than shine a light in the darkness. The drinks are strong, the bartenders fun and knowledgeable—and even award-winning.
Oh and I forgot to mention the food—the food here, every dish personally prepared by Amy, is impeccable. Korean and Japanese-style cuisine inspired by her family (and her time working every station at BOKA in Hotel 100) hit the tables and are gone almost as soon as they arrive. I can attest, I’ve already fully fanboyed out on the Korean-style meatballs and you, like me, will want to walk through that door again and again to try it all.
I’m called back to this place late nights, a wanderer in the dark, because Amy, Ewan, Sarah, and the rest of the crew here have been so inviting—and while the place still seems pretty cool, nestled in its Greenwood outskirts North of 85th where longtime dive bar gems like the Baranof and Shanghai Room have lured in weekend warrior types for decades, there’s something much more approachable and classy about Dark Room that I love. It feels like an escape from the rest of the Trumptopian chaos outside, a haven that could just as easily be home to artists and sophisticates as it is to a couple looking for a date somewhere off the beaten path, away from the queue and more illustrious bars like nearby neighborhood favorite, Flint Creek.
I feel at home here, in my dark room, talking to friends at the bar, no longer without hope and instead, with a fantastically strong drink, the darkness now the light and, as T.S. Eliot continued in his search for something better, far from his home in Missouri, wandering somewhere in his beloved Regent’s Park at night, searching for solace and inspiration—the stillness the dancing.
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.
– T.S. Eliot, Wait without Hope
To learn more about Dark Room, visit https://darkroomseattle.com.