By Gretchen Kurtz
By Mark Antonation
By Cafe Society
By Kristin Pazulski
By Chris Utterback
By Cafe Society
By Jamie Swinnerton
By Jamie Swinnerton
In honor of a visit from someone who will soon fill the post of Italian Representative to the Institute of Drinking Studies -- should he actually get hired here in Denver after more than one representative burst into his interview to make drinking plans for the coming weekend -- we pulled together the Institute's Executive Council for a prolonged session of food and drink gluttony at Sushi Den (1487 South Pearl Street). As everyone in this city knows, Sushi Den is always busy; fortunately, our notoriety had not yet spread so far as to preclude our securing a reservation. (I have little doubt that Sushi Den's management has since rectified this oversight, and next time we'll be relegated to the masses waiting on the street.)
We started at the bar, where we celebrated the future Italian Representative's news that he's decided to take the plunge, procure a ring from a gumball machine or a pig's nose and ask his girlfriend, the Valkyrie (so named because she's ten feet tall, blond and from Iceland or some other northern European country) to marry him. We toasted their impending nuptials over strong vodka tonics, then moved on to our table.
In light of this romantic development, it wasn't surprising that our conversation soon turned to the immaturity of several representatives in their dealings with the opposite sex. One of our colleagues has been dating an attractive person of the contrary gender, and things have been moving rather slow -- clearly because he's failed to take advantage of the wisdom of our group. Perhaps this is because our emotional evolution is so stunted that the best example of a man tearing up that we could remember was "the time the Terminator cried," as the Jewish Representative opined. Or maybe it's just that we've never progressed beyond junior high, so we always end up asking people if they "like like" someone. Certainly no CIA operative could rival our interrogation expertise in divining whether someone has gotten to third base yet -- and if not, why not. The subject of scrutiny often becomes so flustered that he blunders into answers like "I kinda kissed her." This is like being kinda pregnant. Or maybe we're just too simple. JP's advice to one guy who had to postpone a date was to say, "I'm getting drunk with my friends. I'll see you later." But, really, is there a better explanation for missing a date, meeting, dentist's appointment, baby shower or wedding ceremony?
Speaking of wedding ceremonies, after we each consumed ten pounds of sushi and several of those giant Kirin beers, we started planning the future Italian Representative's big day. Since the wedding will be in Amsterdam, there should be ample opportunities for Institute members to get arrested, pick up a permanent souvenir or be forced into exile. I don't know if they play golf in the Netherlands; if not, the bachelor's party will probably involve a trip to the red-light district. It should be one hell of a party -- although after our planning session, it may be tough to secure an invitation.
Since the Sushi Den always bustles with business, our juvenile-delinquent behavior was almost drowned out by the din. For this reason, as well as the great buzz that results from consuming enough seafood to feed a shark, the Institute recommends Sushi Den for all your social needs. It's a great place to plan your retirement or your wedding -- or create an unplanned, sake-facilitated baby.