Uptown Brother's Brewery: NKOTB

My first backtrack! I have to admit, it was an exciting part of this project, allowing myself to go back down the avenue and check out something fresh, a frisky newborn neighbor venturesome enough to be a resident of Colfax. And a brewery no less. This place, I knew, would produce a story. 
Enter two beer nerds. We are discriminating experts of the hops/barley/malt/yeast/water liquid pentagram and we are thirsty. I know, this is supposed to be about food, and I'll get there. But damn, with 16 taps and 50 bottle options, this ain't your average eatery. We plop down at the corner of the bar, absolutely the best seats in any house, and the man who makes the night greets us and hands us the simple 8 and a half by 11, just-printed-in-the-office beer list. Unfortunately, their beers aren't ready yet (these things take time!), but their selection of other ambrosial libations left nothing to desire. 
Enter the beertender. I didn't coin that term but I'm damn sure gonna use it. Because let me tell you, there is a difference. A beaming face and booming voice in the richest panhandle-Texan drawl clearly saw in us two hops-loving kindred spirits. We peruse the taps, tempting, but I've had them all before, well almost. He gives me a taster or two (it is a brewery after all, it's all about the tasters). The bottle list is unavoidably and unabashedly where it's at. I scan the list and look for the untasted (there's more than a few) and settle on a Wells Bombadier. Well, they're out of that, or it hasn't been delivered yet, they've only been open for a week, distributors not paying attention and whatnot. Fair enough. The next mysterious name on the list is Krusovice Cerne, a Schwarzbier from Prague, est. 1891, yes I'll have that. Beertender man expresses he hasn't tried it yet so I offer him a taster, how cool! "A little draggin' on the back end" he intones. This is an aspect of the service industry of which I long for more, the tender and tendee sharing a passion and curiosity for the product being peddled. This is what makes me return to a place, it's so much more than the food or drink, it's the engagement. 
  Ah, time to lay a food layer on top of the beer. The food menu is large, I mean literally it takes two hands to hold it and it's only 1 page, front and back. Southern food, soul food. I'm with a foodie (and I'm paying) so I declare open season, whatever you want! Let's try it! My eyes rest on fried pickle spears or thunder thighs (and those would be different from wings how?) but we settle on fried green tomatoes: cornmeal crusted, smoked gouda, pan fried spicy pecans, crumbled bleu cheese, baby field greens, chipotle mayonnaise, green tomato chow chow. Well! Waiting for this appetizer I look around, it's certainly not empty, with a decent mixed-crowd. I see dreads, dykes, old dudes, industry types, not a tie to be seen. Just my kind of place. Oh, and there also happens to be 17 televisions. I know what you're thinking, that I would have turned my nose up at first entrance, but to be honest, when I have something as distracting as unique imported beer and damn fine conversation with a full-blooded Texan entertainer behind the bar, the tvs aren't so bad. They add. . .light. The tv closest to me was on the NASA channel, did you know there was such a thing? It showed 6 smiling astronauts or possibly cosmonauts all packed closely together to fit inside the screen, passing along a tiny microphone and no doubt professing their love for their families and their countries (I couldn't actually hear it). While all short-haired I could see it sticking up as if gelled and their jowly middle-aged cheeks and chins were clearly enjoying the effects of anti-gravity. Oh the life. 

The fried green tomatoes arrive. Beautiful! 

But. . .so often fried food just tastes like everything else they throw in the fryer, in this case, popcorn shrimp. And so it was. So much for the enticing additives. We nibble and it's time for more ambiance analysis. They haven't really changed the place a bit, haven't sunk a dime into the decor. It's still a red room, with a backbar giving off a neon watermelon glow that's reminiscent of Lo-Do. There's a side room off the bar, apart from the main area, that's as poorly used now as it's ever been. Seven four-tops and three tvs and the electronic jukebox in that dunce-cap corner of a room.  If I had been seated there I would expect some kind of compensation, honestly. Pool tables, people! Come for the beers, stay for the billiards and the beertender belting out Justin Moore. And the plethora of tvs. There's an upstairs loft sort of area that for now houses more unused four-tops but will soon be home to their two 5-barrel tanks. It's a small operation it seems, the owner is a retired logger with a knack for home-brewing. Logger? Oh no, hahaha, that would be "law-yer", I'm still learning Texan. Off to the bathroom, camera in tow. It's bigger than it needs to be, cavernous really, which is actually how I would describe the restaurant space as a whole. But here's the zinger:

Perfection has it's price, and it turns out that price is free tampons. Back to the bar, time for more beer. I get a Schneider Aventinus, Christopher a Moylands Hopsicle. Beertender, okay his name is Kale, says about my beer: "ma wife and I, we pour that in champagne glasses and drink it on the patio!" Laughter ensues. I was actually just bemoaning the fact they don't have proper snifters for their imports. If I'd wanted a pint glass I'd have ordered a Great Divide. But hey, it's Denver, it's a new bar, and really, doesn't it all just taste the same no matter the glassware? Not so says Reidel, but that's for another blog. The Aventinus is a wheat doppelbock and is the best beer I've had in months. It's complex and dark and soft and rich and the slight bitterness at the end just encourages more sips. 

The dinner hour is upon us, let's delve into this menu. So many choices! We definitely want to branch out from burgers, they serve one of my favorite styles of food after all. Some tempting options include a pimento cheese sandwich on brioche, a "12 bite" hot dog wrapped in bacon, a pulled pork shoulder sandwich, chicken mac 'n cheese, jambalaya. I order the chicken pot pie (I find pie crust goes well with a wheat beer) but Kale informs me they're out. Strike 2. I settle on the pulled pork sandwich with a side of mashed potatoes and coleslaw, and Christopher gets the shrimp and grits, sautéed kale with apple wood smoked bacon, and mac 'n cheese! Nummy! If I meditate on that list I can practically taste it in my mouth. Kale warns us it'll probably take 45 minutes (!). "It's just a huge hoopla is what it is", he explains about the kitchen. Ahh, the endless sibling rivalry between front and back of house. While we wait, a couple comes in and sits at the bar next to us. 

Them: We haven't been here since it's changed! (from Red Room)

Kale: You haven't?! Well do y'all shoot Jäger? 

What a talented and multi-faceted bartender, I think to myself. He can tell at first glance that we are the beer-drinking types, and they the Jäger-shooting types. The food comes out (it was more like an appropriate 20 minutes, but thanks for the warning Kale). It looks amazing, much like the appetizer, but again, after a sampling of everything, I can tell the cooks do not hail from the deep south. My pulled pork sandwich, with bbq sauce only on the side, is DRY, and it's not merely from lack of being drenched in sauce. Same for the coleslaw, which isn't really coleslaw but just chopped up green cabbage and green onion. No other color, no red cabbage or orange carrot and definitely not mayo-moist. The mashed Yukons are deeply golden, almost yammy, but taste like garlicky salted paste. Christopher has similar complaints about his meal, but I will say the presentation of the shrimp-on-grits was stunning. The strangest component was the kale, which was about 90% white beans and 10% kale. Starchy beans were not a welcome addition. 

Thankfully we’d had delicious wet beers to saturate our arid food.  At this point the topic has turned to the Renaissance Festival, and Kale declares “the couth level is negative!” Wow. Something else I’ve never done, attend that bastion of anachronistic hedonism complete with giant turkey legs.  He offers one last sweet morsel of hospitality, a free shot for us. Jäger? Nooo, but how about that bottle of Buffalo Trace we’ve both been eyeing? Oh sure! Two shots neat in rocks glasses to cap off the night, hot I might add.  As if bourbon didn’t burn my throat enough, these shots have been stewing in the bottle for a week now, atop a shelf that looks real purdy all lit up like that but you have to be careful when you light a backbar. Strike 3? Nah, I'm drunk enough not to care too much.  Oh the quirks of a new business, any business really. It’s okay, I’ll definitely be back.

                                  2 hot shots. 

P.S. Can someone explain to me the inanity of requiring a birth date before entering a brewery's website?