Much as I might enjoy them, man cannot live on caramel corn and kartofelpuffer alone. So while I was experiencing springtime in the Rockies, I stopped by another Georgetown favorite, the Raven Hill Mining Company, for a quick lunch.
Like T-shirt shops on the boardwalk and shacks selling coconut boats on the beach, every tourist town has to have a Raven Hill: a simple, friendly, non-threatening family restaurant where everyone from Grandpa to Junior to your weird foreign-exchange student can find something to eat. It's just a single dining room with a bar to one side, but owner/operators Ken Gustafson and Gwen Writer have managed to jam this small space full of enough lace curtains, old-timey photographs, recycled signage and hardware-turned-decor to fill three restaurants twice its size. Supposedly, this makes the place quaint and romantic (according to its page on the Georgetown website, at least), but I felt like I was sitting down to lunch in the House of a Thousand Grandmas.
That said, the menu is broad — everything from buffalo prime rib and catch-of-the-day fish (a somewhat disturbing thought) to burritos, French dip sandwiches and barbecued chicken — and the food is good. The margaritas are decent, and there's a simple wine list (of which the host seemed a bit too proud). And on slow days, the help is happy to discuss local history, gossip and the weather, as well as offer suggestions on where to find just about anything in a town that, at first glance, seems to offer almost nothing beyond turquoise jewelry, off-season Christmas ornaments and great candy.
For me, it was enough to find a good plate of steak and eggs and a couple of cold Coronas, served quickly by a staff that recognizes it's really there to cater to a crowd slightly more twee and cutesy than yours truly.
