McMenamins is the great Portland paradox: part cultural institution, part culinary war crime.

On the Glitter side: Where else can you drink a Hammerhead IPA inside a converted poorhouse, a former schoolhouse, or what I swear was once a janitor’s closet? McMenamins doesn’t just serve beer; it serves vibes. Murals that look like they were painted during a three-day acid trip, movie theaters with $5 pints, and hotels that creak like your grandma’s knees — it’s nostalgia, eccentricity, and community wrapped in one eccentric chain.

On the Grime side: The food. My god, the food. Burgers with the texture of a padded envelope. Fries that taste like existential dread. Service that moves at the speed of continental drift. You don’t go to McMenamins to eat — you go to absorb atmosphere and accept that your nachos will arrive cold but your soul will be warm.

So is it Glitter or Grime? The answer is both. McMenamins is Portland’s comfort blanket and its inside joke. You’ll complain about it on the drive home and still find yourself back at Kennedy School next month for another Cajun tots “experience.” That, dear friends, is what makes it ours.