How Far Would You Go For…

How Far Would You Go For…

Okay, so after the totally less-than-smashing success of my last attempt at getting all you grubniks more involved in the day-to-day business of this blog thingamajig (my ill-fated “What’s your favorite taste of Colorado” question, posed just ahead of this year’s Best of Denver issue in a thinly-veiled and desperate attempt at getting some new restaurant ideas), I swore that I was done with this whole vox populi, word-on-the-street experiment in dining democracy. I figured that if a simple question like the one I posed was too much for more than a handful of you to respond to, then I would just drop it, forget these periodic fishing trips for new flavors, and get back to doing what I do best: cursing, ranting, making dick jokes and regaling you with long, rambling, often pointless stories about zombies and pancakes.

But here’s the thing: I don’t like to fail. I’m uncomfortable with the thought of abandoning this dialog, even if it sometimes seems as though I’m talking to myself. And I don’t ever give up. So I’ve decided that it’s time to try again.

Why? Because I am a glutton for punishment. Because my daddy always taught me that you ought to get back up on the horse that threw you. Because I am bound and determined to make this you-talk/me-talk blog nonsense work even if I know that only about seven people in all of Denver are actually reading this right now. And if the last six months or so of gunking up the interweb with my random ravings about tacos and barbecue have taught me anything, it’s that blogging is like street-walking. There are a lot of boys and girls out there offering themselves up as product. The competition is fierce. And if you want to stand out, you’ve got to do one of three things: be the prettiest girl on the block, the cheapest girl on the block, or the one providing a service that no one else does.

So fine. I know I’m not pretty. And though I’ve essentially been giving it away since the day I started this gig, apparently free just isn’t cheap enough. But what I can proffer is a service: to wit, my investigative skills and nose for freak cuisine.

Thus, I make you this proposal. Tell me what it is you love, what it is you need like breath, and I will tell you where to find it. Are you missing some regional specialty from your hometown? Some taste from the past or from far away? I will track it down. Alternately, maybe you’re just wondering where you can find the best pie, the best sea-urchin roe or a pig’s head for soup. Just put those ten little sausages to the keyboard, pal, and tell me your heart’s desire. I’ll do my best to answer the call. – Jason Sheehan

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