The decor is Moorish-chic, maybe. That influence comes through the two women who own Star Bar. They are an interesting and beautiful blend of Pakistani, East Indian, Portuguese, French and I-can't-remember-what-else. Farrah and Shinahz come from a family of some wealth, are educated and have lived all over the world, and somehow have chosen Anacortes for home.
There are beautiful fabrics, natural wood, and handpainted ceramics decorating the long rooms. Farrah and Shinahz also commissioned hammered steel sculpture in star motif, made by our own Paul Thorne, a master blacksmith. There are cozy little sitting areas built into one side of the bar. Satin, brocade, and velvet cushions placed here and there with voile curtain work for semi-privacy.
You can wander in most any mid-afternoon and have it all to yourself. That's the time of day some of us feel a bit lagged. If you can't get a nap, I recommend a break here. Quiet refreshment.
There I was with my fresh pea and asparagus soup drizzled with truffle oil, and a glass of iced tea, just the other day. I could see kitchen staff going back and forth through the bar and in between the kitchen and the pantry getting ready for dinner.
Two nicely dressed women about middle age appeared and sat at the next table. I recognized them from Chamber of Commerce events. I don't think they saw me with the drapery in between us.
"I just don't know why he doesn't get it. I told him come pick me up in an hour and you think he could stay gone. Go to the Brown Lantern, find some friends and a beer, I said. I can call you when I'm done," said the first voice.
The second voice replied, "I don't even tell my husband I'm going. They're all the same that way. It's like some little voice tells them to come stomping in with big boots and ruin the moment."
And the first voice said, "Yeah, I was in the chair with my People magazine reading about Sandra Bullock's divorce. I'd taken my feet out of the bath and Tran had applied the lotion to my legs. He'd started that nice, slow massage up and down my calves and down to my toes. I was just starting to feel that three-day migraine starting to fade, when in walks Jerry asking if I've got a twenty because he doesn't want to use a credit card at the bar. And he looks down at me and Tran and he's shocked. Like, what does he think is going on and who invited him? He makes a remark about Pol Pot missing one and I'm so embarrassed and I can't move because I'm covered with that lotion from the knees down, my shoes are under the chair, and I'm, like, stunned. I don't know what to say.
"Come on," she continued,"It's not like I'd bought the guy dinner or anything. And his wife's right there doing a manicure on Patsy..."
"How much did you tip?"
"Oh, five dollars. I really felt bad."
I waved at the bartender and motioned to the currency I'd laid on the table. Quick exit through the dining room... It's probably better those women don't know anyone heard that.
