In this windowless underground bunker, time is erased as bartender supreme Morgenthaler (away from his usual post behind the bar at Clyde Common, located upstairs) lovingly stirs drinks we secretly desire, in near-pitch darkness. Schlocky cocktail pariahs rise again with newfound glory: espresso martinis croon velvety odes to Stumptown cold extract and Kahlúa; amaretto sours luxuriate under towering piles of ice cubes and sticky-wonderful brandied cherries. Everything you want in your bomb shelter can be found here: succulent bivalves, happy xylophone music, nooks adorned with mini burlesque triptychs, and bygone cocktails to die for.