The fact I’m about to share didn’t occur last week or last month.
It was one of those painful events that still stings me today, just as it did when I first found out about it.
For twelve years, I’ve been living in Beaverton, Oregon, one of the suburbs of Portland. Perhaps a year after moving here, I read about this place: a cigar lounge called “The Chamber at 9900.”
One day, with ample time for a cigar and the address in hand, I embarked on a journey to find this lounge.
Upon arriving, I noticed a hotel with a big sign simply displaying “9900.”
To my surprise, it was just a hotel—a plain, old-fashioned establishment painted in black and white. There was no mention of a cigar lounge anywhere.
Despite this, I was determined to explore and decided to step inside.
As I entered the hotel, my confusion grew. There was no indication of a cigar lounge within its walls. Disappointed, I returned home and for a while just forgot about it.
A few months later, during a conversation about cigars, the topic came up. A friend told me that the lounge was actually located upstairs from the reception floor. With this new information, I made a return to the hotel.
I "dodged" past the hotel receptionist and a few guests, taking the stairs to the left. After passing an intermediary floor with restrooms, I found the door with smoked glass and the words “The Chamber at 9900.” The familiar scent of a multitude of burning cigars confirmed that I had arrived at the right location.
Inside, on one side, I found a large bar stocked with an impressive selection of quality scotch and whiskey, along with a few beers on tap. Opposite the bar, three or four TVs displayed the usual sports events. Between these two walls, I saw classy and comfortable leather chairs, tables, and couches positioned towards the corners.
In one corner, near the entrance door, I noticed a glass display that showcased an ever-changing assortment of cigars.
This was a physical description of the lounge, but it was far more than that.
It was a sanctuary where cigar enthusiasts would gather. You could sink into one of those couches and observe the diverse groups and individuals who frequented this place.
It was a place to escape the outside world, though you could barely see it from the windows anyways...
There, I savored some of the best Manhattans I’ve ever tasted. The service was excellent, and the prices were reasonable.
You could even order dishes from the hotel restaurant downstairs.
What could be wrong with this place? It was secluded, affordable, classy but not snobbish, offered great drinks and food, and had excellent smoking options.
It was like a cigar speakeasy just a short drive from home.
Over the years, I visited it numerous times, meeting different waiters, barmen, and bargirls. I took out-of-town friends there and often went with a couple of my cigar-smoking friends. One of them was a Russian guy who had extensive knowledge of cigars and drinks, having worked as a barman for many years.
We would always make plans to meet there, have a few drinks, smoke a cigar, and talk about family, motorcycles, politics according to the amount of drinks...
One day, on a rather unfortunate day, I texted him inviting him to join me at the “Chamber.” In a typical Russian, nonchalant manner, he replied, “I heard they closed the cigar bar a month ago. Let’s go somewhere else and have a drink.”
I was devastated. I asked for more details, but he didn’t have much to offer. Apparently, the owner had passed away, and the family had no interest in continuing the business.
And just like that, my favorite place in my entire area had vanished.
I almost felt angry towards my friend for being the bearer of such terrible news.
It was surely a shock to many people, marking the end of an era.
Perhaps it’s more common these days due to the challenges faced by the tobacco industry.
A year later, I’m writing this, letting it out and hoping that the pain will get better.
R.I.P. Chamber. I’ll always miss you.
It was one of those painful events that still stings me today, just as it did when I first found out about it.
For twelve years, I’ve been living in Beaverton, Oregon, one of the suburbs of Portland. Perhaps a year after moving here, I read about this place: a cigar lounge called “The Chamber at 9900.”
One day, with ample time for a cigar and the address in hand, I embarked on a journey to find this lounge.
Upon arriving, I noticed a hotel with a big sign simply displaying “9900.”
To my surprise, it was just a hotel—a plain, old-fashioned establishment painted in black and white. There was no mention of a cigar lounge anywhere.
Despite this, I was determined to explore and decided to step inside.
As I entered the hotel, my confusion grew. There was no indication of a cigar lounge within its walls. Disappointed, I returned home and for a while just forgot about it.
A few months later, during a conversation about cigars, the topic came up. A friend told me that the lounge was actually located upstairs from the reception floor. With this new information, I made a return to the hotel.
I "dodged" past the hotel receptionist and a few guests, taking the stairs to the left. After passing an intermediary floor with restrooms, I found the door with smoked glass and the words “The Chamber at 9900.” The familiar scent of a multitude of burning cigars confirmed that I had arrived at the right location.
Inside, on one side, I found a large bar stocked with an impressive selection of quality scotch and whiskey, along with a few beers on tap. Opposite the bar, three or four TVs displayed the usual sports events. Between these two walls, I saw classy and comfortable leather chairs, tables, and couches positioned towards the corners.
In one corner, near the entrance door, I noticed a glass display that showcased an ever-changing assortment of cigars.
This was a physical description of the lounge, but it was far more than that.
It was a sanctuary where cigar enthusiasts would gather. You could sink into one of those couches and observe the diverse groups and individuals who frequented this place.
It was a place to escape the outside world, though you could barely see it from the windows anyways...
There, I savored some of the best Manhattans I’ve ever tasted. The service was excellent, and the prices were reasonable.
You could even order dishes from the hotel restaurant downstairs.
What could be wrong with this place? It was secluded, affordable, classy but not snobbish, offered great drinks and food, and had excellent smoking options.
It was like a cigar speakeasy just a short drive from home.
Over the years, I visited it numerous times, meeting different waiters, barmen, and bargirls. I took out-of-town friends there and often went with a couple of my cigar-smoking friends. One of them was a Russian guy who had extensive knowledge of cigars and drinks, having worked as a barman for many years.
We would always make plans to meet there, have a few drinks, smoke a cigar, and talk about family, motorcycles, politics according to the amount of drinks...
One day, on a rather unfortunate day, I texted him inviting him to join me at the “Chamber.” In a typical Russian, nonchalant manner, he replied, “I heard they closed the cigar bar a month ago. Let’s go somewhere else and have a drink.”
I was devastated. I asked for more details, but he didn’t have much to offer. Apparently, the owner had passed away, and the family had no interest in continuing the business.
And just like that, my favorite place in my entire area had vanished.
I almost felt angry towards my friend for being the bearer of such terrible news.
It was surely a shock to many people, marking the end of an era.
Perhaps it’s more common these days due to the challenges faced by the tobacco industry.
A year later, I’m writing this, letting it out and hoping that the pain will get better.
R.I.P. Chamber. I’ll always miss you.
