The Yukon is a neighbourhood joint in Parkdale worthy of fleeing wherever it is you live now. It boasts a large window into the space with the bar's name endearingly hand-painted onto the glass.
In the tradition of most low-key hole-in-the-walls, The Yukon is long, narrow and unforgivably dark. A few warm bulbs illuminate just enough for you to spot a friend, or ogle a well-dressed stranger's outfit, or to admire the ceilings.
High, carved meticulously and bronzed, it makes the place feel like a grandfather's library turned extremely tasteful watering hole.
The shelves behind the DJ, overflowing with records, add to the near-domestic intimacy of the atmosphere. There's enough space by the front and back to wallflower or converse, but that's about it.
If you happen to be there on a quieter night with a big group, there are tables that can accommodate. The Yukon is small. Not to a fault, but close. This is an ideal venue for a first date; it lacks pretension without losing taste. It's pure class without the flash.
There's nothing amateur or unpolished about The Yukon, but something about it definitely recalls house party at a friend's fancy digs, rather than being at an actual establishment.
It's that intimate. The DJ chooses his material whimsically; the music is nothing if not eclectic.
A group of girls lip sync perfectly to Destiny's Child's "Bills, Bills Bills". Someone snaps their fingers in tune with The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go". The entire place answers when A Tribe Called Quest asks "Can I Kick It?"
There are many reasons to drink out; the adventure of places, people and sights unknown. But would it be so nonsensical to deem the familiarity revelatory? There isn't always gratification in what's new. What The Yukon has to offer will never get old.