St. Patrick’s Day is my favorite holiday, and this year I’m going to start things off right. So bright and early next Wednesday morning, you’ll find me tucked into a cozy booth at the Squealin’ Pig Irish Pub, holding tight to a glass mug and sipping an Irish Coffee ($5.25)…
I hate mass-market American “beer.” And not just for the obvious reason — that it’s the root of all evil. We all know that just about every college kid in America is controlled by brain waves transmitted via television commercials that feature the Coors Light Twins or the Miller Lite…
Imagine that you’re a restaurateur who’s just been handed a million dollars. A little more than that, actually, but for the sake of nice, round numbers, I’ll call it a million. You’ve got a big, fat check in your hand, ink still wet on all those zeros. What do you…
I found a lot to love at M&D’s Cafe (see review), but one thing that didn’t wow me? The cornbread. And since cornbread (or, failing that, slices of spongy white Wonder bread) is an integral part of the barbecue experience, I was left feeling a bit cheated. M&D’s kitchen makes…
I always pictured John Wayne as a whiskey-straight-up kind of guy. But the Duke must have downed at least one margarita in his 72 years, because the sign hanging over the long wooden bar at the Minturn Saloon — which boasts the Minturn Mountain Margarita as its house cocktail –…
I want to set the record straight: I did not knuckle under to corporate pressure — at least not without trying to get a kickback at the same time. We headed to Chopper’s Sports Grill (80 South Madison Street) the other night to watch the Timberwolves continue their dominance of…
Matt checked the steel-bodied German dive watch clipped through the top buttonhole of his chef’s jacket. “Eleven minutes,” he said. “Total?” I asked, turning to make a bare-handed grab out of the salamander, the count “one-one-thousand-two” in my head as I set a searing hot platter on the stovetop rail…
Try as he might, man cannot live on risotto alone. And after this man had made three visits to Parisi (see review) in five days, it was starting to look suspicious. The wife — vastly overestimating the dubious sex appeal of a scrappy, long-haired, foul-mouthed restaurant critic — began suspecting…
Forget light and low-carb beers. “Ultra Wimp” and his beer-drinking pals have a better method for fighting fat: They run while they drink beer. Wimp and his buddies belong to the local branch of the Hash House Harriers, a global group of rule-breaking recreationists who combine running, orienteering, beer drinking…
I believe in ghosts. Not the spooky, haunted-house kind that live in basements, but benevolent beings who watch over us from beyond. And while I never got to meet Doug Fleischmann in the flesh, I could swear I felt the warmth of his spirit when I entered Luca d’Italia. Killed…
I’d been eating out with Glen again, which is almost never a good idea, and I think I felt the building housing Sonoda’s shudder with relief when the two of us finally showed the front door our backs. Although the servers had never rushed us, had never been anything other…
A dinner with Glen (see review) always unfolds with the same potential for highly public disaster as a live TV broadcast without the comfort of a five-second delay. He is an awful, vile creature, a man born without that essential internal volume control that allows civilized people to interact politely…
I like a bar where, after you sit down, the first thing the bartender does is stick out his hand and introduce himself. “We like to know our customers’ names,” says Anthony Ilacqua, as if that’s standard operating procedure at watering holes around town. It’s not, but at the Thin…
On the list of man’s highest accomplishments, the sports bar comes right after the creation of fireworks, dark beer and frozen cookie dough. But let’s face it: All great inventions begin with guys who have nothing better to do than figure out new ways to amuse themselves or make their…
When Jim Ilg and his crew were renovating the space that would become Java Moon, they found a safe sealed up inside one of the walls. It’s big — all black iron and tarnished silver with a swollen head mounted over a heavy, footed pedestal that makes it look like…
Forget race. Forget color, creed and sexual preference. Never mind religion or politics or any of that other socio-fascist demographic nonsense that some people use to put others into little boxes. In my world, there’s only one division: diner people and coffeehouse people. Personally, I am a diner person. So…
Like its agave-derivative namesake, Mezcal — the upscale Mexican cantina that opened on East Colfax last December — is getting slammed on a nightly basis. And rightly so. From its glowing Moroccan lamps and sunny walls painted with Sol Cerveza advertisements to such kitschy decorations as a chrome low-rider bike…
I am always amazed by the clarity of thought and flawless logic displayed by members of the Institute of Drinking Studies. In a recent post-Avalanche game wrap-up at the Pepsi Center’s Blue Sky Grill, we solved several of the world’s problems. As is too often the case, however, we could…
New York-style pizza is a tricky thing. In the places where it’s done properly — on the island of Manhattan, in one of the boroughs or, with rapidly declining rightness, in any of the cities that make up the outer estates of the Pizza Kingdom — it’s not even called…
Everyone on the bandwagon! We’re headin’ down to Atkinstown and don’t wanna leave nobody behind… Atkins is everywhere these days. The eponymous diet that Dr. Robert Atkins stumped for pretty much non-stop from the moment his first book on the subject was published (Dr. Atkins’ Diet Revolution, 1972) until his…
I loved Miami Vice, with its sexy yachts, fast cars and dangerous criminals. And since it went off the air in 1989, Friday nights have never been the same for me — I still miss Sonny Crockett. But life goes on. And if, like me, you prowl the streets of…
I was somewhat leery of meeting Bleary-Eyed Reader Matt K. at his favorite local bar, the Sundown Saloon (1136 Pearl Street, Boulder), because you’d think I’d have better things to do with my time than meet a complete stranger at a bar thirty miles away — things like picking the…
