Even in caffeine-addled Seattle, Starbucks has trouble luring people in during the evenings. (Something about a caramel macchiato just doesn't sound appetizing come dinnertime.) So it's hard to blame the coffee giant for testing out its latest innovation here — selling booze. For the past two weeks, the Olive Way location has been offering beer and wine alongside its regular menu after 4 p.m., as part of a pilot project that could go national if it's successful. The renovation, which reportedly cost $552,000, has generated significant attention both inside and outside the city, not least of all because it could mean the first mass-market bar-cafe of its kind in the U.S. And I have to say, after first stepping in to see what all the fuss was about, I was impressed by what I saw: What was once known in the neighborhood as a thinly-veiled former Boston Market had been transformed into a warm, urban oasis, complete with reclaimed-wood trimmings and chalkboard-style menus advertising the new brew.

But if Starbucks is staking its future on the success of the Seattle experiment, as the national media seems to suggest, they might want to take another look at what they're offering. All of the excitement over the store's potential has overlooked one important fact that's hard to miss once you actually walk in: The booze just isn't very good. Particularly in a city that takes its microbrews seriously, the selection seems offensively out-of-touch. Only bottles are available, no draft, deterring anyone with even a passing interest in beer from stopping by. And if you're hoping to stave off the rainy weather with a nice porter, you're sorely out of luck: The three options on the list are all medium-light, medium-bodied, designed for mass appeal. (The chance to partner up with a local brewery for a nice coffee stout seems to have been passed up.)

While the chain touts its regional selections, the first beer on the list, Peroni Nastro Azzuro, is decidedly un-American — essentially the Amstel Light of Italy. The domestic selections are better, but not by much: Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale Ale is a fine beer, available in almost any grocery store, but at any real bar your eyes would sail right past it in search of something more interesting. The Pyramid Haywire Hefeweizen is just a sad reminder of the company's recent sale to Canadian-based Labatt. Shockingly, the list doesn't include an IPA, arguably the region's signature beer.

The wine list is stronger, though the roster of four whites and four reds feels carefully calculated. Starbucks deserves points for offering only one chardonnay, the necessary evil that often crowds out better white wines at most bars and restaurants. There's a Barnard Griffin fume blanc from the Columbia Valley, sure to be a favorite among those looking for something lighter, and a local organic wine: Snoqualmie's Naked Riesling. The Maso Canali pinot grigio from Italy is an odd choice, however, considering nearby Oregon is becoming known for that same grape.

The red wines are serviceable enough, but again, not very exciting. There's a local cabernet from Chateau St. Michelle and an Oregon pinot from Erath. The merlot from Washington-based the House of Independent Producers is the surprise hit among the bunch. The list ventures abroad again with the Argentinean Alamos malbec, a decent pairing with the giant fireplace that now dominates the seating area.

Of course, the new incarnation's sleek interior bears little resemblance to your corner tavern (no neon beer signs here), though there are some loungey elements, like the Edison light bulbs and small round tables ill-suited for holding anything more than a couple of glasses. There is also an actual bar to the side of the counter, where you can pull up an artful industrial-style stool to order a drink. There won't be many wine geeks or beer aficionados doing that, if only for the lackluster offerings, but they probably never would have, anyway. It's also not very easy to imagine rowdy groups assembling here to knock back Peronis over the hush of people tapping away at their laptops. Because for all its hype, the new Starbucks isn't so different from the old Starbucks: a nice enough place to check your e-mail with a glass in hand, but not much more. And in any town with a population large enough to support a store like this one, there's likely a far superior watering hole somewhere down the street.

Allecia Vermillion is a writer based in Seattle and the editor of the Seattlest.

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