By Jamie Swinnerton
By Mark Antonation
By Lori Midson
By Jonathan Shikes
By Amber Taufen
By Cafe Society
By Juliet Wittman
By Jonathan Shikes
The room looked like a totally different place that morning, cleared of the drinking mess of the night before and awash in sunlight streaming through the south-facing front windows. We poured ourselves steaming-hot mugs of rich Novo coffee from the self-serve station and nabbed a booth amid the families and sober friends that once again constituted the patronage. Thankfully, service was faster in the morning — because we needed food to come fast.
My go-to order at the Denver Biscuit Company is the Franklin, a veritable heart attack on a plate, with crisply fried chicken and strips of smoky bacon stacked on top of a fluffy, housemade buttermilk biscuit, gooey cheddar melted over the meats, and thick sausage gravy poured over the whole thing. Nothing kicks a hangover faster, though that's probably because all the blood in my body rushes to my stomach in order to deal with the block of cholesterol I've just ingested. Still, I changed it up that morning and ordered the chicken pot pie version, which smothered that same biscuit in a lighter, buttery gravy studded with peas and carrots and shredded chicken. Salted liberally, it did the trick — and I felt slightly less heart-diseased after I finished.
A friend skipped the gravy altogether and went with the Schooner, a biscuit sandwich stuffed with a chunk of breaded, fried, tender catfish, lubricated with a tangy homemade tartar sauce, along with lettuce and tomato. It was satisfying, but I would have preferred it alongside an order of smothered sweet-potato fries: sweet orange strips topped with more savory sausage gravy. The shrimp and grits, a seasonal special, was less appealing: Though I liked the creamy grits on top of the biscuit, nothing popped; the dish needed a stronger flavor element, like peppery hot sauce. The last thing I want to eat after a night of drinking is bland mush.
Still, we'd successfully vanquished our hangovers. And as we sat picking at the remnants of our huge breakfasts, our eyes drifted over to Connect Four, tempting us to settle in at the Atomic Cowboy and enjoy all its incarnations, once again letting day turn into night.