As our menu suggests, our bar is inspired by the traditional soda fountain and the soda jerks who ran them. That means we’ve concocted our own line of housemade sodas, made with natural ingredients to cure what ails you, whether you’re tummy aches or whether your free radicals are getting a bit too aggressive.

Needless to say, we also have a soft spot for the soda jerks who evolved into the pharma-bartenders who mixed, muddled, shook and stirred into their signature soda recipes the bitters, fruits and spirits that encouraged us to collectively celebrate our health, even as we  drank to it.

You’ve probably already tried at least one of our specialty sodas as is, or even one of the cocktails we’ve built around them, including our Five Flower (Flora Fizz), Honey Grapefruit (Paloma), Lemongrass Tonic (Tom Collins) Sarsaparilla (Sin in Sioux City) sodas.

But if you haven’t seen us in a while, our talented team of soda jerks went and dreamt up a couple of keepers.

Everybody likes Lemonade, but one thing that trumps it is a fine Rhubarb Lemonade, which we make by simmering together chopped rhubarb, orange blossom water, red wine vinegar and the rinds and juices from freshly squeezed lemons. Add a shot of vodka and you’ve got what we’re calling a Barb Daly, like a John Daly, but better, and far superior still to the temperate Arnold Palmer that spawned it all.

If you’re not in the mood for that, how about something orange and fizzy? Our Tangerine soda, like the Pink Lemonade, is a concoction of natural ingredients, all of which is boiled, simmered, steeped and into a simple syrup comprised primarily of tangerine, lime and lemon juices.

But what can you do, really, with an orange drink? Add a shot of vodka? Perhaps. A shot of whiskey. Probably not. We’re choosing instead to use it as the base for our re-imagined egg flip, our frothy, Pisco Soury Tangerine Dream.

Feeling down? Feeling blue? Come see our pharma-bartenders, tells them your symptoms and see if we can’t lift your spirits and lower your blood pressure, whether you skip the booze or not.

The myths that coil and curl around the King are many.

But there are a few things about Elvis Aaron Presley we know to be true: he loved gospel music, he loved his momma and he was hip to bacon long before we collectively propelled it to its present and inescapable ubiquity.

And of all the dishes Elvis loved most—a fact that is widely cited and undisputed—his favorite has to have have been the Fried Bacon-and-Peanut-Butter-Banana sandwich.

Some legends are remembered in song. Others are reborn as statues. Others, still, are immortalized in food.

And since we’re neither singers nor sculptors, we present to you the Elvis Sighting, a Frankenstein of a breakfast sando, comprised of sliced bananas and two crispy bacon strips sandwiched between two thick slices of French Toast and crowned with a dollop of hand-mashed banana mouse.

And lest you think we’ve forgotten, yes, we rain upon it a generous drizzling of our prized peanut butter maple syrup (all of it wrapped up like a present and pictured, here, with our “Put a Fried Bird On It” fried chicken option, because, well, why not?).

So when you’re feeling hungry, come pay tribute to the mover and the shaker who brought the world to its knees, and who may or may not have used a Colt 45 as the prototypical remote control.

OG sous chef and (as you can tell by the photo) musician, Erica (nee, Dunham) Norris, will soon be leaving us to live abroad. Earlier this year, she completed our employee questionnaire. These are her answers. Auf Wiedersehen, Erica! We’ll miss you!

Erica Norris hails most recently from Portland, Oregon, but she’s lived all over the world. She joined The Original in 2009 as a prep cook, before working her way up to saute cook. She is now a sous chef.

When not working, I spend my time: mostly on music and audio production, reading fancy books on cooking and audio engineering. Oh, and watching my husband play Skyrim. I do not understand the newfangled videogame systems. 

“If I weren’t ALIVE, I would be a ZOMBIE, because I WANT TO INHERIT THE EARTH.”

The genre of music that would score my life would be: It would start out with some great epic classical pieces (Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5, Prokofiev’s “Alexander Nevsky”), fading into Neil Diamond’s “Coming To America” (because it’s a great upbeat song about coming to America, or something), then some Johnny Cash and Louis Clark (it’s the kind of music I grew up on), followed by an obligatory pause in good music (New Kids On The Block). Then it would be one big mash-up track of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Immortal, Burzum, Lustmord, Brian Eno, Rammstein, Nine Inch Nails, Cat Power, 16 Horsepower, Front242, and Skinny Puppy.

Dogs or cats: I like both, but my husband and I have one cat whose name is Balrog, and she more than makes up for having a dog as well. She likes to stick her head in cups and eat plastic.

My favorite season is: Summer, because I am a total pansy when it comes to weather below 70 degrees, and I don’t like wearing 30 layers of shirts, sweaters, gloves, scarves; it’s too much and I hate buying clothes.

Of all Original dishes, my favorite is: (appetizer) cheese-curd stuffed pretzel bites with the honey mustard and bacon ketchup—great pub grub food; (addicted to) our Oregon salad—because beets, chevre, and hazelnuts work so well together; (entree) our BBQ Chicken with braised greens; (dessert) I’d eat whatever our pastry chefs threw at me, because it would be that good.

Library, cinema or music club: Libraries are too quiet. Cinema, too many people for my comfort in the same room. Music club would probably be my first choice, because I love music and I don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to!

Beatles or Stones: No.

Automobile, bike, bus or foot: I have been blessed by being born with two feet, so I used them as frequently as possible, and best of all, it is free.

Toilet paper (over or under): under. Yes, I am particular on this.

My secret talent is: I can play a song on the piano after listening to it and/or tell you what key it is in.

My first words were: “No.” I was such a talkative baby (not really).

I was named after: my great grandmother, who was German, and her name was Erika.

I put on hotdogs: Make it a Chicago dog.

The last book I read was: Ferran Adria’s The Family Meal. I love this book!

My favorite Portland spot is: My music studio.

If I were to make a bumper sticker, it would read: The closer you get, the slower I’ll drive.

We know you miss that Highland Oak Happy Hour Burger on those old Happy Hour menus. That’s why we’ve brought it back.

And let us tell you something else. Because we want you to know we that we mean what we say, we’ve brought back the Original Happy Hour Cocktail, too. And to show you we’re serious, we’re tripling down on it.

That’s right, baby. Our everchanging Daily Punch is always good, but you mean much more to us than just that. That’s why each and every Happy Hour, you can choose from three discounted specialty cocktails, including our tequila-driven Paloma, our Hemingway (like a Mojito, but real different, too) and the vodka-based Barb Daly (like a more inspired John Daly, which, itself, is really just an Arnold Palmer with booze).

And because we know how much home means to you, you can always join us each and every Wednesday night, where you can belly up to the bar and let Jessica, our Queen of Cocktails (and yours) guide you through the intricate world of locally made craft spirits. On our Homegrown Wednesdays, she’ll take something old and make it new again, just for you.

So forgive us. Let us make it all up to you. Come on in and let us make you a nice drink. Join us, because just look at you. You need to eat. You look like you could use some Poutine and some Scotch Eggs. Let us make you a towering, half-pound, grass-fed cheese burger.

Our new Happy Hour menu is our way of telling you everything’s gonna be alright.

Because it’s gonna be.

Boiled eggs have long been a pub favorite, but when you boil that egg hard, peel it, dig out its yolk, confit that yolk, bundle that yolk in a sphere of housemade pork sausage, then roll it all in some breading and drop it in the deep fryer?

Well, now you’re speaking a foodie’s language.

Once our Scotch Eggs have been rescued from their bath of boiling oil, we artfully place them upon the pooling edge of a saucy pimento cheddar cheese bed, and crown it all with a small baby arugula salad lightly tossed with our housemade lemon vinaigrette.

Yum.

So upon whom shall we gloriously heap our praise?

We’re not sure. The Scotch Egg’s history is sort of a mystery.  No one knows from where it came. Many say that it must’ve first been made by Scottish farmers who ate them as snacks during their days in the fields. Other say it was invented by a Victorian-era British grocer, which sold them to day London day trippers. The jury remains out, hung and probably at the pub.

And because this is a pub favorite—there’s pretty nothing that pairs with a dark ale quite like an egg does—order up pair of these wonderful little eggs, and why not order up another ale to sip while you tell your tablemates everything you know and don’t know about the tangy, porky, piping hot Scotch Egg.

Handmade Cocktails. Locally Distilled Craft Spirits. Every Wednesday Night.

Poor Wednesday. It is, hands down, the day our poets and blues shouters most often neglect, and the one time they do remember it, this is what we get: Wednesday’s child…full of woe.

Must it be, though?

After all, Wednesday does have its charms. It’s halfway to Saturday, so when you leave the office every Wednesday evening, you know that you’ve already smote three heads of the 5-headed snake that makes up your work week, which many people see as a cause enough célèbre to get a jump on the weekend.

We, too, think that poor Wednesday doesn’t get the love it deserves. That’s why we we’re Christening it with some of the city’s finest locally distilled spirits.

Behold: Homegrown Wednesdays.

Tired of your usual (vodka sodas, Jack ‘n’ Cokes and Martinis that are nothing more than bruised and battered vodkas served up in a stinger)?

Then why not try an Oregroni, which is both a neologism and a homegrown homage to the classic Negroni cocktail, meaning the spirits we stir in with the Campari—the gin and the vermouth—are  distilled right here in Portland.

And the Oregroni just a sample of what you can expect every Wednesday night. Just ask our Wednesday night bartender, Jessica Braasch, what her whims are, and trust her to help you rediscover the old drinks you’ve long forgotten with new and inventive spirits made in your own backyard.

So join us on Wednesdays, skip your usual, and treat yourself to something handcrafted and homegrown, because your local distillers need your love as much as Wednesday does.

Don’t be alarmed. Any chef worth his or her Danscos will tell you that what’s inside the the head is the tastiest part of a shrimp.

Most likely invented in New Orleans in the early 20th century, the shrimp cocktail had long been a favorite summer barbecue food, but seemed to lose its luster in that century’s waning years.

But just like about everything else these days, it’s waxing its way back to backyard grills and supper club menus everywhere.

And while do leave on the heads of these Gulf of Mexico prawns, we do de-shell their bodies before charring them on the grill and propping them all up on a small stalk of grilled Romaine lettuce.

Of course, you can’t have a shrimp cocktail without the cocktail, and our cocktail sauce, served in a little glass boat, is a keeper, made with tomatoes, parsley, finely minced onions, celery and fennel and seasoned with freshly grated horseradish.

So, once you’ve eaten their meaty centers, what do you do with the heads?

You could (if you’re brave) just pop them in your mouth and eat them, crunchy bits and all. Many before you have.

But most simply pluck up the head by its antennae and suck out the tasty bits inside.

That’ll impress your date. Just don’t go overboard and try to impress him or her by eating the tail. That would be gauche, and you might come off as a little desperate.

But eat that head, and whomever it is you are trying to impress will be bound by the spell of your very own cool that you’ve most certainly cast over them.

Lisa Doshier

When not working, I spend my time: cooking for friends or thrift shopping.

“If I weren’t cooking, I would be serving, because I love restaurant life.”

The genre of music that would score my life would be: classic, sappy honky tonk, waiting for my dog to come home.

Dogs or cats: cats!

My favorite season is: fall. Pretty colors.

Of all Original dishes, my favorite is: that wonderful peanut butter chocolate bar…OMFG!!!

Library, cinema or music club: cinema.

Beatles or Stones: Beatles.

Automobile, bike, bus or foot: do I have to choose?

Toilet paper (over or under): over.

My secret talent is: I can two-step pretty well.

My first words were: I dunno.

I was named after: my mom’s friend with my middle name.

I put on hotdogs: mustard only.

The last book I read was: Chuck Palahniuk’s Diary.

My favorite Portland spot is: Goodwill!

If I were to make a bumper sticker, it would read: I break for bacon.

The question I would most like answered is: When’s our next company party?

Nowadays, any independent brewer can’t help but produce at least one out-of-the ordinary, robust, signature IPA.

But the boys who run the Double Mountain Brewery in nearby Hood River go a step further, tickling the pinks of beer enthusiasts everywhere, by taking a traditional Irish Red Ale and hopping it enough to turn it into an India Red Ale.

Moderately malted with caramel notes, this rich cloudy, rusted amber brew, one of the first beers DBM produced, is generously hopped for a red ale, but not as aggressively as a typical PACNW IPA.

In fact, the beer is kind of like a satyr—although whether the goatier parts represent England or Ireland we’ll leave up to you, depending on which isle you favor most.

And it’s an all-around pub beer, meaning it goes well Cheeseburgers, Fish ‘n’ Chips, Scotch Eggs or just about anything salty and crunchy.

If you haven’t yet tried one, do, because we’ll rotate out the IRA once its keg runs dry.