Wolfe's BBQ: Some History With My Pig

My friend Michelle and her two boys, Charlie and Henry, met me at work and we drove over to Wolfe's (333 E. Colfax). Driving three blocks in rush hour traffic (we had a reason) did afford us a moment for Michelle to reminisce about living on Logan and Colfax, in a time before any hint of gentrification, when you could "fish" for bums by dropping change from your third story window and then hit them with water balloons. Good wholesome Colfax fun circa 1988.  Michelle called it "the armpit of Denver."

Some things have changed, and some have not. It happens to be 4/20, and as we are just 3 blocks from the dispersed haze at the capitol building, we pass many a hungry and bleary-eyed pot smoker, walking back up the hill in search of whatever, or in search of nothing. Cargo pants and tie dye and sweaty armpits and smoky breath and strollers. Yeah I said strollers. This is Denver 2010, and people do bring their progeny to the 4/20 rally. It's a family affair. 

Inside Wolfe's our senses are relieved and delighted. Smells like smoked meat, looks like a classic. It's an old-timey bbq diner with faded yellow walls and red checkered table cloths, old photos and pencil drawings and framed postcards of Ye Olde Denver adorning the walls.  Louis Wolfe tells us the photo we all like was taken in 1933, it's an aerial view of about 50 square blocks including the capitol building and Colfax Avenue and the area I spend a good portion of life. I squint trying to see cars or horses or cowboys. In 1933 prohibition was repealed and a pound of hamburger cost 11 cents. The photo and those facts make it seem like good times, but it was also the worst year of the Great Depression.

I sidle up to the counter and get the Ribs Plate, spicy, which comes with two sides, coleslaw and baked beans in my case, and a diet coke. D'oh! I immediately regret my diet coke choice, I'm sensitive to caffeine in the later hours of the day, but hey, this is eatcolfax: no regrets! Henry plays with the straw in his rootbeer and I can't help but think of how good rootbeer goes with bbq. We wait a while, this is truly a one man operation with Louis taking orders and cooking and serving and explaining photographs and charming the clientele. He's a busy guy. The Wolfe's Barbeque website http://wolfesbbq.samsbiz.com/, has three headers: Home, Menus, and Kind Words, the latter section showing a photo of the recognition-on-papyrus from the Colorado Senate given on the 20th anniversary of Wolfe's. They recognize Louis for providing "meaty nourishment". I really like that phrase. Nourishment can mean different things and come from different sources and I think that using the adjective "meaty" to describe it here is necessary and perfect. 

Just as my ribs are necessary and perfect. Not slouching from the bones or drenched in sauce perfect, but tender and sticky and chewy and very nourishingly meaty perfect. What more can I say? I don't eat ribs very often, in fact I'm pretty sure I never had any until my early 20's (that's right mom) so it's kind of a new thing for me, picking up a piece of pork and gnawing at it til I reach the bone. The beans are beans. The coleslaw is some of the best I've ever had, more vinegar than mayo, peppery, almost quenching to the ribs' leathery tenderness. A whole wheat roll with butter, because we like our bread. It's a very American meal. I think about saving some for Kristin but before I know it I'm once again a member of the clean plate club. The only thing absent is the moist toilette, which I am lamenting. Something about ripping open a little pack with a metallic inside, the chemical/medicinal smell that reminds me of a camp first aid kit, the cool wetness that magically cleans me up. Alas, I go for the lick and napkin, then a proper wash in the bathroom. Charlie is wearing some of his ribs on his cheeks and looks extremely satisfied. We all are.