MY PROJECT TO EAT AT EVERY EATING ESTABLISHMENT ON COLFAX, FROM GRANT TO COLORADO BLVD IN GEOGRAPHICAL ORDER, MINUS THE CHAINS.

Monday, April 26, 2010

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 In 1933 prohibition was repealed and a pound of hamburger cost 11 cents.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. 

Wolfe's Barbeque on Urbanspoon

Monday, April 19, 2010

CityGrille: Nite and Day


I have been to CityGrille (321 E. Colfax) before, only once, with my friend Dylan, who I went with tonight. "Denver's Best Burger". That doesn't mean a whole lot to me, as I don't eat burgers with any regularity, and frankly, all the burgers I eat are good. It does come on ciabatta bun, not even round, at least mine wasn't. It was somewhat ovoid and the burger seemed that shape as well, so, you know, bigger, and hence tastier and more worth it. We went on a Monday, which is Burger Madness Nite. They also have Crab Cake Nite, Spaghetti Nite, some kind of Steak Nite. They're into that kinda thing, "Nites", which my friend Perry rails against as being too gimmicky, too "cliche bar", and perhaps too Denver (especially when it's spelled "Nite"). 

It's right there in the heart of Capitol Hill Colfax, all walks of life. I ride my bike and am reminded that there are no places to lock up a bike on this block, save the narrow and feeble looking metal poles that support the gargantuan and extraneous awning (it doesn't rain here) advertising the restaurant. So I walk another block and lock up to a parking meter in front of the cathedral. It's windy again. 

On the way up we get asked for change and I give my usual response "sorry man I don't have any cash" which as per usual is a lie. The guy kind of follows us up to the entrance under the  awning, asks us how our night is, and I get a different kind of feeling from him, like he's more like me or more like my peers in some way, just a guy in his 20's who needs some money for whatever reason. There was more than just a spark of recognition and intelligence, and I felt some guilt when I realized that I am the kind of person who would give money to an intelligent-seeming person before a "typical Captiol Hill bum". But enough about my issues. 

Walking up to the awning I see Dylan has arrived and he and Kristin are shooting the shit. Two other people are leaning on the wall smoking, and the guy who needs a little help asks them for a cigarette and one of them gives him his whole pack. He says "really, the whole pack?" and it's cool and he's happy and there's laughter and I think about the irony for a second, the exchange of a cigarette, no, a pack of cigarettes(!), how that makes people happy but it doesn't really help. 

Inside is busy, like really busy, really crammed with people. For some reason the second room is closed so there are tables jam-packed with people eating their burgers. I already know I'm here for Burger Madness Nite, which is a burger with choice of side and either PBR, Bud, or Coors Light (why not Bud Lite or Coors?). For god knows what reason I get a Bud. Dylan asks why. Why would I get a Bud over PBR? He thought PBR was the hipster choice, he wonders if things have changed and maybe he should have ordered a Bud. All of those beers are absolutely terrible to me, so it doesn't really matter. 

The waitress is Eee-ficient. They have to be. They wear uniforms of black tees and short shorts. We mean nothing to them. The beer comes and I sip and recoil. Worse than expected. I sip Dylan's and I can now attest that PBR is better than Bud. Bud is sweet-ish and grainy and the recollection of recently watching Beer Wars (watch it!) is making it taste even worse. 

The burger comes. Medium with cheddar, coleslaw on the side. Yellow mustard, no ketchup. And grilled onions! Oh my. I think onions are a really useful food, but anyone who knows me knows I hate them raw. 86 onions. But sauteed they are sweet and oily and more roasted garlic-like. I get another beer to wash it down (PBR this time) but now my beer experience is ruined and I should've just shelled out for the Fat Tire. But oh well. 

This place is frantic. It's not a place to savor food, which is too bad because the ciabatta bun and yellow mustard and grilled onions and burger are so tasty. My main beef with this place?: I'm in a room, maybe 15 x 20, and there are six tvs. This is not, ostensibly, a sports bar. Yet there are six tvs, three of them on the same wall, the wall I am facing. And they are all playing the same thing. Yes it's sports. Yes it's the Nuggets. Three television sets, facing the same way, playing the same thing. It's disconcerting and distracting. I can't figure it out. Why play the same thing? The three other tvs are all playing different things, and I'm kind of jealous of Dylan's seat, because he can't possibly know what it's like to feel what I am feeling. 

When we leave I look eastward down Colfax to make sure my bike is still there, a reflex. It's fallen over, or blown over, awkwardly clinging to the pole by it's u-lock. 

Citygrille on Urbanspoon

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Shish Kabob Grill: In the beginning. . .


First, a disclaimer. When I envisioned my project a year ago, it was . . .
Shish Kabob to Bastien's and everything in between that lies on Colfax! Alas, upon closer inspection, Shish Kabob does not actually have a Colfax address. Well doesn't this undermine the integrity of my project you ask? Fuck it I say. It's on the damn corner. It's got a window and a sign on Colfax, and that's good enough for me. Sure, the actual address is 1503 Grant St. but everyone knows that Shish Kabob is on Colfax. 

We go for dinner, post-work, the perfect little walking distance across the capitol lawn, windy as all hell. We are greeted by the electronic doorbell that has to sound at least three times per every one person who enters the door, and the sweet faint smell of Middle Eastern food. What is it? I ask. Lebanese? Moroccan? Greek? In the US we just call it Middle Eastern and everybody knows what you mean. Hummus. Or hummos. Or hommos. Tabbouleh. Shawerma. And gyros. The reason I was really excited for Shish Kabob Grill to be my very first stop on my tour of Colfax eateries (besides the fact that it sounds a lot more appetizing than $1.25 Scoop Chinese): I've never had a gyro. 

So of course I know that's what I'm going to order. I get the gyro plate as opposed to the traditional pita enclosed handheld, because I don't feel like bread or fries at the moment (and I know eatcolfax won't have a dearth of french fries). My plate of golden sweet spicy yellow rice topped with. . . with meat, meat that is steamy and moist and, and, well quite frankly looks like seitan wings. I kid you not. All you reading this might not get the reference, but dammit if that meat doesn't look like fried wheat gluten. And it is a bit spongy, but oh so tasty and clearly comes from an animal. What is this meat? I ask Kristin. It's beef and lamb, together as one. Wow. How does that happen? Well we're not sure but we think it involves squishing and packing and grinding and somehow the meat ends up on a vertical spit and is very slowly roasted, shaved off and folded into my rice. Yeah. 

Okay enough about the meat. On my way to the immaculately clean if a little heavily disinfected bathroom, past the case of unidentifiable orange beverages and baklava ready to go, past the cook line occupied by one patient and sly looking lady in hijab, I walked through what appeared to be the office of the establishment: a small metal desk complete with pictures of the family, covered in piles of credit card receipts, next to a filing cabinet no doubt filled with said receipts and some work visa info. This office of no walls, the anti-cubicle, in the middle of the restaurant. Owner man going through the paperwork, writing things down with a pencil. No computer. 

Sitting back down at our table, next to a window on which was hanging one of those flashing open signs. You know, O. P. E. N. OPEN. It was getting dark and the sky was gray and the blue and red lights from the sign reflecting on the table reminded me of a lonely Christmas Eve in New York City, at some two bit greasy spoon circa 1950. A woman walked by outside, a woman tall and heavyset with a long bulky coat and oversized hat pulled down around her face, strands of hair blowing across her face, a little poodle in tow. Clearly they had both seen better days. Kristin said she sees that woman at the corner of Colfax and Grant often, and isn't that a ubiquitous fixture, old woman on a corner with a dog, almost Parisian in a way if you squint. 

All this time we've been drinking Moroccan mint tea poured from a big metal tea pot into tiny clear glass mugs. Sugar on the side. I say that I wish we could travel to the Middle East and be invited into peoples' homes, drinking cup after cup of tea, getting high off tea.

As we get up to leave Kristin knocks my togo box and some rice falls onto the just-vacuumed floor. We smile and look like stupid tourists and profusely apologize to our waiter, who actually looks a little devastated. Day one, week one, of eatcolfax, success. 

Shish Kabob Grill on Urbanspoon

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

What is this?







Colfaxavenue.com says that Colfax (US Highway 40) is the longest commercial street in the USA, running from Strasburg to Golden. I have never heard of Strasburg and I do not intend to go there in search of food or to get a tattoo or buy liquor. Colfaxavenue.com does not have a section on eateries. Denverrestaurants.us comes up with zero matches to my query when I entered Colfax. 

A google search of bars on Colfax is another matter. About.com tells me about a Colfax pub crawl –10 bars in one night!—the first of which listed is the now defunct Red Room, a place where for one pessimistic afternoon I was forced to imagine my job as its manager. I stole a pint glass when I was there, and my moralistic co-worker saw me, so you know, that made me feel even crappier. I even have a very distant memory of djing at the Red Room, or perhaps just wanting to dj there. But I digress, as the space-void that is the Red Room will not be on my eatery list.

What am I going to do? I am going to eat at every eating establishment on Colfax, in geographical order, from Sherman to Colorado Blvd, minus the chains. If it’s a bar it must also serve food, so for example Lost Lake will be out as pretzels don’t really constitute food. 

Why am I doing this? Because I have lived on Colfax for 2 and a half years and I don’t know it at all. On the rare occasion I walk down it from home to work, I have my mask on, my walls up, my gaze stony and closed. But I’m fascinated, especially lately. I keep noticing new things, that is, things I have never noticed before. Hardly anything on Colfax is new. I'd like to get to know the oldies but goodies before Colfax turns into another Belmar. I am a food critic in that I eat food and I’m a critical thinker, but that’s as far as it’s gone. I’m not doing this to judge, I’m doing it for the experience. I am going to eat and drink and write and talk and generally just have one experience a week that I wouldn’t normally have if I weren’t doing this. And I’m going to share it with anyone and everyone who cares in the way that thousands, millions of other people do: on a blog.