Long before Seattle was swallowed by Amazon and the conveniences necessary to placate its overachieving workforce, like high-end tasting menu restaurants, it was the nexus of grunge music, also known as the soundtrack to life for slackers. In the mid-1980s — when Nirvana did not yet smell like teen spirit, and flannel was just the logging industry’s preferred middle layer — there was a community of part-time artists and musicians who survived on Seattle’s cheap rents and cheaper food.
It was during this time that I moved to Seattle from the college town of Olympia, Washington, at the age of 24. I settled in the artist-friendly Capitol Hill neighborhood where I continued the indie music fanzine I’d started, Sub Pop, wrote a monthly music column for the Rocket magazine, and put together mixtapes of up-and-coming local artists. Upon discovering bands like Soundgarden and Green River (who later split to form Mudhoney and Pearl Jam), I gathered funds to release their records.
The MTV generation began to embrace the raw-edged music by Soundgarden, Mudhoney, and Nirvana, and by 1988, Sub Pop had transitioned to a full-time business, with a real office at the Terminal Sales Building downtown at First and Virginia. It was a lo-fi revolution, with cheap, rough recordings that captured the spirit of the scene, one whose existence relied on a certain cultural ecosystem: Grunge flourished here in part because its artists weren’t stressed about cost of living — and that included finding their next meal, as a wealth of inexpensive food options had settled into the same affordable nooks of the city.
It was with bellies full of fragrant tom kha gai, pho, enchiladas, and $1 pizza slices that Seattle’s youth transformed the world of American rock. But of course, as the music scene grew and changed, so did the city. Mea culpa: It is no secret that the success of Sub Pop Records — the label I founded — had a lot to do with putting a media focus on Seattle, thereby attracting goateed, latte-swilling caravans from across the country. (I am so very sorry.)
It is the ultimate irony that the marginal, self-deprecating “loser” musicians whose art poked fun at corporate America would initiate the crushing tech and coffee juggernaut that is now squeezing out creatives and mom-and-pop entrepreneurs. Along with the unrelenting gentrification and impossible rent and real estate hikes, many of Seattle’s cultural landmarks are now also at risk: Our treasured Showbox theater — home to decades of emerging artists — is currently up for demolition, and countless small record stores, bars, and restaurants are being forced to close up shop. If the day ever comes that a bulldozer shows up outside Dick’s Drive-In on Broadway (see below), expect to find half the city armed with pitchforks — myself included.
The ’90s version of Seattle that the world so loves to romanticize looked very little like the sleek Amazon and Starbuckstopia of today. We’re happy for the Corson Building and Sitka & Spruce, but we can’t forget the important role lower-end restaurants have always had in supporting a vibrant creative class. I reached out to members of the original grunge scene to join me in remembering the humble cafes, bars, and restaurants — some still here, many others long gone — that kept a generation of starving artists fed, and celebrate them for their crucial part in Seattle’s rock history.
Cyclops (1990- )
When I moved to Belltown’s SCUD artist’s co-op in 1991, the late-night all-ages hangout Free Mars Cafe had just reopened as the Cyclops Middle Eastern restaurant. We shared a wall with the place (well, and some rats), and god, that poor restaurant — there’d be a band like Ben McMillan’s screaming Gruntruck rehearsing 15 feet away at full blast. It was sad to see the Cyclops waiters try to drown them out with their stereo system, but they persisted. Acoustics aside, they had a great regular menu of hummus, baba ghanoush, salads, and pasta with more ambitious specials for dinner. Cyclops was very often empty in daylight hours, but slowly developed regulars as creative types from around the world began to gather in Seattle. Two other notable Belltown hangouts were Mama’s Mexican Kitchen (Kurt Cobain’s alleged favorite) and the Dog House, a 24-hour restaurant which featured very cheap but very substantial food for pre- or post-hangovers.
— Steve Fisk, musician, producer (Soundgarden, Nirvana)
Dick’s Drive-In (1955- ) (Broadway location)
Throughout the mid-’80s, I DJed an indie rock radio show called Sub Pop USA. The Seattle community radio station KCMU — now KEXP — was gaining traction, and I was working alongside a consortium of DJs who would become Seattle scene makers: Kim Thayil of Soundgarden, Mark Arm of Mudhoney, photographer Charles Peterson, Jon Poneman of Sub Pop. Another soon-to-be-prominent figure was Nasty Nes, who hosted the hip-hop specialty show Rap Attack. This is where Seattleites first heard 1988’s “Posse on Broadway,” the popular single by local rap artist Sir Mix-a-Lot, who immortalized the city’s top cheap eats destination:
Dick’s is the place where the cool hang out
The swass like to play and the rich flaunt clout
Opened in 1955, the Broadway location of Dick’s Drive-In was a favorite with music fans because of its hours (open til 2 every night!), and because it was a quick drive from popular venues like the Showbox, Ditto, Rock Candy, the Vogue, Moe’s, Squid Row, Re-Bar, the Off Ramp, and the Comet Tavern. Hordes would descend for a late-night pit stop just before the bars and clubs closed. Hand-cut fries with tartar sauce were the cheapest way to fill up after a night of crowd surfing. (If you were feeling flush, the shakes and burgers were also appreciated.) Dick’s is still revered, as evidenced by the packed house every Saturday night.
— Bruce Pavitt, Sub Pop Records co-founder
The Dahlia Lounge (1989- )
The true birthplace of grunge was the Sub Pop offices at the Terminal Sales building. There were a handful of restaurants nearby — Steve’s Broiler, the Garlic Tree, the Poor Italian Cafe — and many a brilliant marketing ploy emerged from those resulting lunchtime carb comas. But the original Dahlia Lounge (the first and most famous restaurant from iconic Seattle chef Tom Douglas) was the special place where we’d take visiting dignitaries bearing expense accounts. It was small, feisty, and hip, a natural destination for people who were over the stuffiness that had made fine dining in Seattle unexciting.
— Jon Poneman, Sub Pop Records co-founder
Ayutthaya (1985- )
In the late ’80s, Thai food was still relatively new to Seattle. Ayutthaya on Capitol Hill was a regular lunch spot for the Muzak-era grunge crowd (ironically, many of the early grunge scensters worked at the company known for its instrumental elevator music). We came for tom kha gai — the spicy soup with coconut milk, lemongrass, lime leaves, galangal, and other ingredients never before tasted by many of us soggy Seattleites. The first time Tad Doyle, the grunge legend behind the band Tad, tried the soup, he bit into a piece of galangal and yelled, “What is this, a piece of bark!?”
— Chris Pugh, guitarist/vocalist Swallow, Young Pioneers
El Gallito (1983- )
I recently circled back to visit El Gallito, the family-run Mexican diner that opened at 20th and Madison in 1983. Bands used to come here for cheap fuel, and thankfully, they still do. The teenage boy who used to serve chips and homemade salsa back in the ’80s is now running the place, and when he heard that I used to live on the chicken-and-cheese enchiladas here, he nodded in appreciation. “This used to be a bad neighborhood, but we survived,” he said. The area has indeed changed, but thankfully the homemade salsa, with tomatoes, cilantro, and green onions, remains the same.
— Bruce Pavitt, Sub Pop Records co-founder
Linda’s Tavern (1994- )
Linda’s Tavern opened as a true tavern selling only beer in 1994. In 1999 we put in a kitchen and offered a classic diner menu which has barely changed since. We also began serving brunch in 1999, and at first, our friends and guests didn’t quite catch on to our vision of Linda’s being the perfect place for a hangover brunch, but over the next couple years it sure did — with the local music crowd especially — and it’s been jamming ever since. It’s not just a spot to eat but to see friends, listen to great music (we’ve always had regular DJs and an award-winning jukebox), and have a boozy kind of brunch.
— Linda Derschang, CEO and founder of The Derschang Group, Linda’s Tavern co-founder
Piecora’s (1982-2014)
In 1985, I moved into an apartment near 18th and Madison, and proceeded to start organizing what was to become the Sub Pop record label — namely, answering machine, roll of stamps, typewriter. The address, which hugged the fault line between bohemian Capitol Hill and the edgier Central District, had few food options, but one standout was Piecora’s, a New York-style pizza joint located at 14th and East Madison Street. It served local craft beers (Redhook) and excellent, hand-tossed pizza that was light and crispy. My personal fave was the Sweet Italian, with garlic, sweet peppers, and sausage. Many folks in the emergent grunge community worked there, including Mike McCready of Pearl Jam and the late Mia Zapata of the Gits. Piecora’s was an artist-friendly hangout that for many years had little competition in the neighborhood. Sadly, after feeding the scene for 32 years, its owners sold the building to developers in 2014.
— Bruce Pavitt, Sub Pop Records co-founder
The Off Ramp (1986-1999)
There were times when struggling music fans had to choose between a good meal and the cost of a show. The simplest solution was to go to The Off Ramp, drink strong craft beer, and then stay for Hash After the Bash, the famed late-night 50-cent scrambled eggs-and-hash browns breakfast. This intimate rock dive was a favorite of many of the local bands like Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Nirvana, and Alice in Chains. The biggest night I can remember was when actor Matt Dillon showed up to check out the scene and hang out with a newly formed band named Mookie Blaylock — which would later become known as Pearl Jam — while they were prepping to work together in Cameron Crowe’s seminal grunge flick Singles.
— Bruce Pavitt, Sub Pop Records co-founder
Two Bells Tavern (1943-2017)
When my bandmates/housemates and I weren’t spending our lean years doing all-you-can-eat pizza or Chinese buffets, we were likely splurging on burgers, beer, pool, and video games at some tavern or another. In the early 1980s it was Two Bells Tavern in downtown Seattle’s Belltown neighborhood, and it would remain a favorite for almost 40 years. Situated in the Fourth Avenue corridor, at Bell Street between Blanchard and Battery, Two Bells was conveniently located along the bus route that took me to and from work at the Daybreak Star Indian Cultural Center. Later, during the early to mid-’90s, the tavern found itself sandwiched between three recording studios: House of Leisure, Bad Animals, and Studio X, where many colleagues and Soundgarden worked.
Two Bells didn’t provide entertainment in the form of games — tabletop, video, or other — but instead had an amazing jukebox with records by Hank Williams and Loretta Lynn next to those of Jimi Hendrix and the Sex Pistols. The bartenders included members of local bands and indie record labels, whose cassette “DJing” served as the soundtrack when the jukebox wasn’t engaged. Eventually, the bar was sold, and sold again. The jukebox was removed at some point. The demographics changed slightly over the years, but maintained an alternative, arty customer base. Later it also became a gallery of sorts, and would feature the work of various local artists with rotating exhibits every month or so. Eventually a wall between the original space and its neighbor was removed, doubling the size of the bar and allowing for musical performances and poetry readings. The menu expanded too, and with it the addition of hard liquor. In short, all of our entertainment needs were met.
Cool music, paintings, company, and conversation were enjoyed after work, in between tracking guitars, or at the end of the day’s session. We’d run across the street for a bite — burgers, sausages, potato salad, beans, daily soup and sandwich specials — and a quaff — pitchers pints, shots — and return before the taped guitar solo went cold, then tracking another take and returning to Two Bells before my pint became warm. Ah, the lean years were also the halcyon days.
— Kim Thayil, guitarist, Soundgarden
Pho Bac (1982- )
From ’85 to ’88, I worked at the infamous Muzak corporation, manufacturing background music tapes for restaurants, along with a number of local musicians. Every few hours, we’d have a break, and we’d often spend it listening to new demos from up-and-comers like Nirvana and Mudhoney. For lunch, we went to China First on the Ave, because it was the cheapest deal we knew of. However, after a year of the same spot, we decided to ask a Vietnamese coworker if there was a place she would recommend. Pho Bac, she said. When it opened inside a boat-shaped building, complete with porthole-shaped windows, on 14th and Jackson in 1982, Pho Bac was the first pho restaurant in Seattle. It served one thing and one thing only: beef noodle soup, offered small or large. (Always get the large.) That kind of minimalism seemed just so punk rock to me at the time, and after one trip our group – which included Mark Arm (Mudhoney), Ron Nine (Room Nine, Love Battery), Chris Pugh (Swallow), Tad Doyle (Tad), and other hungry rockers — became pho devotees. The business relocated to the building next door a few years ago, but still serves the same excellent pho alongside an expanded menu of other Vietnamese dishes. But for us, the pho was enough.
— Bruce Pavitt, Sub Pop Records co-founder
DeLuxe Bar & Grill (1962- )
I grew up going to the DeLuxe Bar & Grill in the ’70s. My dad owned the Harvard Exit arthouse movie theater (located down the street), and so even though we were kids, the DeLuxe owners let my brothers and I hang around. It was a real neighborhood spot, and I think one of the only places on Broadway then where you could get good food — huge baked potatoes, burgers, and actual steaks — along with hard liquor. The clientele was a great mix of ’70s and ’80s Capitol Hill: hippie holdovers, drag queens, Harvard Exit moviegoers, students and teachers from Cornish, early punks, and late-stage drunks.
By the late ’80s it was a great place to drink with a fake ID and get a cheap dinner, since they had insane early and late happy hour deals that even we could afford. They were one of the first bars to pour local microbrews, which I think were sold for $1 a pint during happy hour. Lots of music scene people lived nearby, like Ron Nine (Room Nine, Love Battery), Kim Warnick (Fastbacks), and Ken Stringfellow (Posies). So the DeLuxe was convenient for before or after the parties that always seemed to be happening on that block.
Also, the DeLuxe always had a large gay clientele, despite its not being an explicitly gay place. As the AIDS crisis grew in the mid-’80s, the scene in the bar area changed from being mostly rambunctious and flirty to somber. There was a lot of anger and recklessness in those days, but for a lot of people, the DeLuxe was a sort of peaceful safe haven, an alternative church to St. Mark’s three blocks away. Those safe havens have always been essential to freaks of all stripes, and we were lucky to have a lot of them in Seattle in the early punk and grunge years.
— Nils Bernstein, Sub Pop’s publicist from 1991-1997 and owner of the record store “Rebellious Jukebox”
Bruce Pavitt is an author, music historian, DJ, and the co-founder of Seattle’s Sub Pop record label.
Charles Peterson is a Washington-based photographer, known for his work documenting the early days of grunge music in the Pacific Northwest.
Suzi Pratt is a photographer based in Seattle, Washington.
Edited by Lesley Suter