Our break for lunch today is at the Lucky Devil Lounge, a Portland-area strip club known as much for its atmosphere and food as for its occasional nudity. It has burnt-velvet wallpaper, copper tabletops, a poker table, and looks just like a dimly lit wild west saloon.
I'm chowing down on an amazingly good $3 pulled pork sandwich, Natalie is working on a plate of mac-and-cheese that looks like it came from a fancy restaurant, and we're splitting a red-pepper hummus plate. The one dancer working right now is only onstage for one song out of ten, and isn't the stereotypical bleached-blonde fake-boobed monster. The music is good, isn't deafening, and is packed with some classic lounge music mixed with obscure modern tracks from smaller artists. It definitely feels more like a cool local hangout than a "gentlemen's club".
Neither of us really digs strip clubs; they usually feel depressing, and we avoid them like the plague. But we had heard so much about how Portland clubs were completely different, and the Lucky Devil lived up to the hype. And of course, Natalie is awesome for hearing my lunch suggestion and not immediately smacking me.