New bar charges into Satellite's old home

Just blocks away from Pony, another equine-themed tavern has opened its doors.
Occupying the space once filled by Seattle University's community favorite Satellite, Unicorn is the latest addition to the fleet of bars in the Pike-Pine corridor. And despite its name and unlike its equine-themed counterpart, it's not a gay bar.


Let's repeat: Unicorn is not a gay bar, despite its Web site whose homepage can be clicked an infinite number of times to generate an infinite number of cartoon unicorns on-screen. If anything, Unicorn is a welcome addition to the Hill as its décor, patrons and employees all prove that classifying bars as either "gay" or "straight" is a passé practice.


Unicorn's gayness comes only from the fact that everyone inside the bar always seems to be pretty happy, or at the very least quite content with their choice of drinking locale for the evening.


Unicorn's decoration is endearingly overblown. The mantle above the bar is lined with animal heads; your drinking on any given night will always be overseen by a yak, two gazelles, a gorilla, a deer and a zebra. As if the exotic taxidermy wasn't enough, the walls are pinstriped red-and-white and black-and-white, and the whole establishment is low-lit and hazy. The alleged theme of the bar is "French Carnival," but if you don't go in knowing that, it's hard to tell what you're looking for.


"[Unicorn] is super awesome, and it's super cute, but they need more carnival stuff," said Angela Everling, a 20-something hipster who attended Friday's opening festivities. "They promised us French Carnival, and I'm not seeing French Carnival with their stripes and heads."


Opening weekend, Unicorn was the most happening place on the Hill, with people waiting outside for 25 minutes at the peak of its evening rush for their chance at riding the magical pony. But most of the crowd came only from hype; even with six employees working the bar, the drinks still came out disappointingly weak, and it took most people five to 10 minutes to shuffle up to the counter to order a drink.


"The service could use some work," remarked John Ballinger, another opening night attendee. "Also, I want to know, why does my whiskey taste like water?"


Ballinger's complaint is a valid one; the worst part of Unicorn is their mixed drinks. At $4.50 a piece, their gin and tonics are almost all tonic and their whiskey sours taste like lemonade and do nothing to nurse a proper evening buzz. Fortunately, they offer consistency with $2 Rainier and PBR tallboys, but those without a taste for beer will find themselves underwhelmed by Unicorn's alcohol.


The most striking feature about Unicorn is the way its joyful, kitschy ambience encourages people to be silly and open with each other. After the opening rush, attendance dropped to a comfortable midcapacity occupancy, and the noisy, frenzied shouting matches gave way to casual, dinner-volume conversations between close friends and strangers.


At one point during my first visit, I overheard one of the owner's wives talking loudly to a friend about how a past lover suffered from an intense case of erectile dysfunction. On my second trip, one of the attendees started a conversation with an acquaintance about her nipple piercings, discussing the healing process in striking and uncomfortable detail.


Unicorn isn't prim and proper, nor is it cliquish or unbearably hip. Sure, it has already become a mainstay in the weekend hipster bar crawl, but it also caters to drag queens, businesspeople and dance floor-ready divas because it's a bar that stresses the fun of drinking socially.


Best of all, Unicorn is a dream come true for one of its three owners, Adam Heimstadt. Once an aspiring fashion designer, Heimstadt now runs a custom furniture company in addition to manning the bar at Unicorn—which explains the bar's exuberant flair.


Opening weekend wasn't just a mob of hipsterism and hype; it was also a house-warming party for Heimstadt thrown by all his friends.


"I'm very happy, very proud his dream is coming true," said Jim Karnitz, a long-time friend of Heimstadt. "He's doing what he loves, and that's the best thing."

Matthew may be reached at copy@su-spectator.com