We recently enjoyed sun beers (a term coined by the wife of the Redneck Liaison) at Serioz (200 Quebec Boulevard) in Lowry, on one of those perfect days where sundresses strolled everywhere and our seats got enough sun to keep us comfortable. The new Texan Representative to the Institute of Drinking Studies and his wife arrived just as our pizza did. Serioz is big on fairly eclectic pies, and if you add crushed pepper, you'll need to increase your alcohol intake exponentially. The more experienced of us supplemented our beers with Crown and Coke to ease the pain, but the Texan opted for wine; apparently Texas is so evolved that pizza's natural companion, beer, has been supplanted by wine in that state. He ordered something called a "pinot," eliciting snickers and subtle manliness-oriented jokes, like our wondering if it was possible for him to extend his wrist against gravity. Then he added insult to injury by actually sniffing his wine before downing it.
I'm sorry, but the only job your nose should be doing in a bar is checking the various tumblers of Coke to see which one has the most Crown Royal in it. We were seriously considering revoking the Texan's Institute membership until, against his better judgment, he put away two bottles of "pinot" in short order. It was a wonderful reaffirmation of the Institute's equal-opportunity policies.
Not that the whole day was idyllic. Despite the constant battle I've been waging against people who wear spandex bike uniforms even though they aren't professional bikers, you continue to see Denverites sporting Lance Armstrong-inspired outfits. Personally, I consider these people at least as dangerous as Scientologists. And two of these cult members, in the brazen fashion typical of their kind, rode up and parked their sweaty, bulging bodies right next to us (probably after a grueling ride from their new loft two blocks away). We did not approve of their appearance, nor did we approve of their attitude that they should be served rapidly because they were on a strict training regimen. Still, I hoped they would finish their mineral water and tofu quickly so I wouldn't have to look at their paunches and other sagging body parts.
In spite of the continued presence of unregulated, inappropriate spandex here in Denver, the Institute is very excited for this year's sun-beer season. With good food, tap Guinness, strong Crown and Cokes and "pinot" for your token Texan, Serioz is just the place to celebrate the season. And while there's no real dress code here -- as is proper for any patio -- on behalf of all humanity, we ask that you leave the spandex behind. Neither Lance Armstrong nor L. Ron Hubbard would approve of your spandex-clad butt getting overserved on a beautiful day.
