The Slow Boat Tavern: Home of good beer and The Old Man Provost.
The Slow Boat Tavern: Home of good beer and "The Old Man Provost." AG

The Slow Boat Tavern in Hillman City has been open for three weeks. It still smells of fresh paint, and its wooden bar and high-backed leather stools remain unblemished and perfectly smooth.

But somehow the Slow Boat, the vision of industry veteran Ken Provost, feels like it's been around for much longer. Discarded peanut shells line the floor, crunching and kicking up a fine dust under your feet. The tavern is dim and cozy, lit partly by the warm fuschia glow of a neon sign hanging high above the bar that states, in happy cursive, "Fuck Yelp."

The current menu at Slow Boat.
The current menu at Slow Boat. AG

Beer is paramount here, with 12 taps pouring limited-release beers from small-scale breweries. Right now you'll find a winter warmer from Bale Breaker, a potent barrel-aged imperial stout from Port Brewing , a funky, farmhouse saison from Logsdon, and a mild-but-complex oak-aged lager from Seattle's own Holy Mountain. There's also schooners of Rainier for $2.50, a few wines and ciders by the glass, and shots of vermouth and port. The list is hard to summarize—an eclectic mix that will appeal to a diverse array of people, but also feels idiosyncratic and deeply personal—just like the Slow Boat itself. If you stop in for a beer, you'll find it remarkably easy to accidentally pass four hours there.

On either side of the wooden Trappist crates that serve as bar shelves are an autographed Marshawn Lynch jersey ("SUP KEN. YOUR HOMIE, Marshawn Lynch") and a bicycle lifted to the ceiling via a rope-and-pulley system. Arcade games fill Slow Boat's loft, including an X Files pinball machine and, much to my delight, tabletop Tetris. If you get hungry, you can bring in your own food (I predict many plates of roasted chicken from nearby Big Chickie will be consumed here) or order a bowl of instant ramen for $5.

Whatever you do, don't bother bringing cash, as the Slow Boat only accepts plastic. If you leave a cash tip, know that it will not end up in the bartender's pocket, but instead on the ceiling, gleefully thrown up there with a thumbtack and a few quarters to give the bills—ones, fives, or twenties—ballast.

On a recent late afternoon, a manager at the Darigold plant a few miles north on Rainier stopped in after work for one glass of a strong, dark German lager called eisbock to pass the time before he got on his express bus to Rainier Beach.

"Fourteen minutes," he said as he took his first sip. "I think I can get er' done."

Hand-painted letters on the Slow Boat's front window declare it the “Home of the Old Man Provost,” a nod to both Provost, the owner, and his signature drink involving two shots of espresso dropped into a glass of Rainier. According to the bartender, the beer gets frothy, almost like a latte.

"I don't know that it's delicious," he said. "But sometimes it's exactly what you need."