There’s been rejoicing in the Westword hood this week over the news that the Minturn Saloon will reopen on February 17 in the storied space at 846 Broadway (just a block from this office) that had previously been home to the original Parlour restaurant, Basil Ristorante and the Parlour, version…
As I walked up to the bar at the Stockyard Inn, I heard a guy ask the bartender, “Do you have anything on special?” She smiled, put her tattooed arms on her hips, pushed out her chest and replied, “You’re lookin’ at it, sugar.” It was a scene straight out…
Patrick Lawler should be awarded the Nobel Prize for medicine. For those of you who live in a cellar or are purists who won’t watch anything on a TV smaller than 42 inches, Mr. Lawler is the gentleman who proved to the world that hangovers are caused by huge nails…
Greg Goldfogel, owner of Ristorante Amore, was on the phone, and we were talking about gnocchi. We were talking a lot about gnocchi, which might surprise someone not steeped to the neck in the lore and weird obsessions of the kitchen. Because, really, how much is there to say about…
I spent quite a bit of time on the blower last week with Greg Goldfogel from Ristorante Amore (see review), and although a good portion of our conversations centered on gnocchi, that wasn’t all we talked about. We discussed Amore’s expansion, which was in progress just on the other side…
The sign above the Thin Man’s bar warned: “Drunkenness prohibited.” That appealed to the rule-breaker in me, so…game on! I ordered the first thing I saw on the blackboard, the Crystal Snooker ($5.50), made with homemade cinnamon vodka and half sour mix, half ginger ale. This cocktail had definite potential…
There’s no doubt in my mind that God created beer. How else can you explain many of the world’s greatest accomplishments? Without beer, we wouldn’t have professional sports, much less overlapping schedules that allow us to watch the World Series and college football on the same day. Without beer, there…
Americans like to take credit for things — but culinarily, we’re screwed. Almost everything we eat, good or bad, comes from somewhere else. What’s worse, most of the great things we eat come from the Europeans (the French, in particular) and we’d much rather blame the Europeans (and the French,…
There’s this nugget of dubious wisdom espoused by a certain breed of foodies that holds that if it weren’t for the French (with Saint Julia as their envoy), the vast majority of Americans would still be eating canned corn, sliced ham steaks topped with pineapple rings and Dolly Madison fruit…
My friend Matt was bragging about what a fabulous bowler he is, crediting his Polish heritage for his prowess. Yeah, bowling was fine, I told him, but what about a more practical ethnic legacy, like a thorough knowledge of Polish vodka? Rising to the challenge, Matt insisted we go to…
Every once in a while you find yourself sitting on your couch at nine at night with a couple of guys, and you realize that you’re all too drunk to do much besides sit on a couch — but you can’t stay there any longer because the football game’s over…
One of the great things about living in Colorado is that no man, woman or child ever has to go to bed worrying about where to find good Mexican food. Nuclear terrorism, alien abduction, how the Broncos are going to fare in the playoffs — sure, those are real concerns…
Think you’ve got the worst service job in the world? Think again, my friend. In anticipation of the National Western Stock Show, which kicked off January 8 and runs through January 28, local Village Inn employees were given orders to wear plastic sheriff stars on their uniforms, bandannas around their…
Tyler Wiard, executive chef at Mel’s, learned of the fire at the salon next door when one of the line cooks called on the morning of December 20 and said, “Uh, I don’t think we’re working today.” When Wiard was finally able to get into the restaurant days later, it…
I never liked CHiPs, the cop show with Erik Estrada and that dumb blond guy. As you may recall, it featured high-speed chases, spectacular motorcycle crashes, spectacular California women and Estrada’s blinding smile, starring his impossibly large white teeth. Ever since the TV networks have moved on to more grisly…
Black Russian Stewart’s 1899 Saloon VFW Post #1 955 Bannock Street 303-571-5659 As we walked into Stewart’s, one of the many older men at the bar turned around and said, “The girls are here. What kind of music do you girls like?” I hoped this was a rhetorical question, since…
This time last year, I was taking complaint calls about my review of Max Burgerworks, which had opened a few months before at the corner of 15th and Lawrence streets. Because the principals involved in its founding were Greg Waldbaum and Gerard Rudofsky from Zaidy’s, Denver’s preeminent Jewish deli, Max’s…
Last Labor Day weekend, after spending several hours wandering around in the sun eating lukewarm shrimp cocktails and cheesecake on a stick at the Taste of Colorado, I stopped by Somethin’ Else, the place that Sean Kelly was putting into the very same spot where his last restaurant, Clair de…
Thanksgiving is a distant memory, Christmas is done, and the holiday season — in all its shlocky glitz and sweetness — is nearly over. All that’s left to do is bid a final farewell to the year gone by, to turn our backs on the little victories and larger defeats…
Forget the Fourth of July. New Year’s Eve is responsible for more explosive events than any other day of the year. On December 31, the best relationship can detonate under the must-have-the-most-meaningful-time-ever pressures; a simple drive to the mountains can burst in a collision with a junior-varsity drinker. Fortunately, you…
Sometimes just a small, evil influence can tip a night over to the Dark Side. And while the Dark Side may appear more powerful, a bar will not hesitate to throw Darth Vader — or anyone associated with him — out of the place at the drop of a hat…
When I was young, Christmas in the Sheehan household was a fairly predictable event. It began about 4 a.m., or whatever godawful hour my brother Brendan and I would drag our parents out of bed for our annual living-room reenactment of the battle of Thermopylae, with Mom and Dad playing…
