For some pathetic reason, every time I go to a great happy hour I encounter an unhappy old flame. So far, the only spot that’s escaped this curse is McCormick’s in the corner of the Oxford Hotel — and its happy-hour deal is so good that I’d be willing to…
Corporate America seems intent on demeaning society. I discovered this recently while paging through Cosmo to a) find out what a pig I am, b) see guy “sex secrets” revealed to women who must have been raised in a convent or closet, and c) reaffirm that women, despite their protestations…
It’s that bittersweet time of year when we must say goodbye to certain members of the Institute of Drinking Studies as they move on to greater responsibility, more disposable income and, with any luck, more time between binge-drinking bouts. While their departures sadden those of us who remain at the…
Exactly what the trendy (read: expensive) bars around the corner along Larimer Square needed: a front porch. The Front Porch is a beautiful yet comfortable sanctuary for twentysomethings, like your coolest friend’s parents’ basement, complete with PlayStation. I walked in and ordered a more grown-up toy, an extra-dry vodka martini…
Numerous traits separate the men from the guys. Men come up with sensitive gifts to present their dates, surreptitiously hoping to buy a night in their company. Guys look on such behavior as brown-nosing; a guy’s date is lucky if he shows up on time and dressed appropriately. Men drink…
I’ve never understood why certain food and drink specialties are available just once a year. Do I only crave Cadbury Creme Eggs at Easter? Do I only want candy corn around Halloween, candy canes at Christmas? Had McDonald’s kept its Shamrock Shake on the menu year-round, perhaps children today would…
On a midweek foray to the Atomic Cowboy (3235 East Colfax Avenue), I quickly ingratiated myself with one of the waitresses and got some background on the joint — because that’s the kind of Woodward-and-Bernstein journalist I am. “Why is it called the Atomic Cowboy?” I asked. “I don’t know,”…
Many years ago, I drank many margaritas at Juanita’s. So when noted restaurateur Frank Bonanno returned this corner space on 17th Avenue to its Mexican roots, transforming the old Rhino Room into Milagro Taco Bar, it seemed like my formative years had been miraculously resurrected. And what I found at…
It had been a long week, and by Friday, several members of the Institute of Drinking Studies were looking forward to what would prove a cataclysmic night in the Vortex. As if reading our collective mood, Mother Nature had crowded the western skies with ominous thunderheads by the time JP…
It had been a while since I’d last been dragged to a karaoke bar. It had been such a long while, in fact, that back then, I couldn’t even pass the excruciating time with a game that not-so-new trends now make possible. On a recent visit to Armida’s, for instance,…
Before we went to see the latest Star Wars installment last Sunday, we held our own geek convention at Benny’s Restaurant (301 East Seventh Avenue). For those unfortunate people forced to overhear our conversation, which degenerated into fisticuffs every two seconds, there’s probably little doubt that most of us played…
Which Colorado establishment sells the most Bacardi rum? I wouldn’t have guessed Samba Room, but when Tim Maness, executive chef and managing partner, told me that this Larimer Square establishment serves between 1,100 and 1,600 mojitos each week, the answer made sense. The bar also goes through ten pounds –…
The Institute of Drinking Studies would like to congratulate Westword on the best cover we’ve seen since we started dragging down the collective IQ of Denver. We’re referring, of course, to the May 19 issue featuring the backside of (we sure as hell hope) a young lady. This visual appealed…
Scientists at the Webb-Waring Institute for Cancer, Aging and Antioxidant Research know the secret, and it’s not blueberries. According to a bartender at the Recovery Room, this joint fills with Institute researchers in the afternoon; when I stopped in at night, I found an eclectic neighborhood crowd that had made…
It’s bad enough when a few members of the Institute of Drinking Studies get together — fewer than five representatives is known as a “troubling” — but when you have the executive council and fifteen potential members, things quickly get out of hand. This is known as a “disaster.” By…
When many non-smokers drink, they suddenly turn into smokers. Most of my friends are supposedly non-smokers, but after a few cocktails about half of them become “social” smokers — an ironic oxymoron, because I never feel particularly social toward someone blowing smoke in my face. Since I’m a solid non-smoker,…
The telltale signs are back: big, formal envelopes in mailboxes and big, blank stares on women carrying bridal magazines that have more pages than War and Peace. As every guy in a relationship more than two hours old can tell you, these signs indicate that the 2005 wedding season is…
Everyone knows about the drunk guy at the party who ends up with a lamp shade on his head. At the newly remodeled 1515 Restaurant, there’s already a fetching woman with a lamp shade on her head, as well as two absolutely perfect breasts just below — captured in a…
America took a step past the point of no return in 1968, when it began airing personal-hygiene product commercials on TV. Suddenly we were bombarded with televised cures for hemorrhoids, explosive diarrhea, feminine odor, infections of various etiologies, PMS (although I understand this is not a real phenomenon, and in…
I scream, you scream. Gelato and alcohol are two of my top-five foods, so I was thrilled when Gelazzi, a bar and gelato shop, opened in Larimer Square last November. The bright space, filled with modern Italian decor in vibrant colors, is delightful — almost as delightful as the Gelazzi…
From the thirteenth through the sixteenth century, the monarchs of England and Scotland held sway over their respective lands — but in the hill country between, the Border Reivers ruled. These tribal landlords shifted allegiances among a whirlwind of blackmail, robbery, kidnapping and murder. Perhaps cooler heads would have prevailed…
I’m not a pot smoker, but as I entered Dulcinea’s, I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to light up a fatty, tie-dye my clothing and start doing the Woodstock flower-child dance. As I deeply inhaled the hippie atmosphere, the guy next to me said, “I’ll be 25 in May, and…
