If you're like me, you could just sit there all day long ogling over this plate-spanning stack of flapjacks, griddled golden and just seconds away from being slicked with butter and maple syrup. These sublime pancakes were my breakfast on Sunday morning, the perfect pick-me-up after a night of crippling debauchery.
We Believe Local Journalism is Critical to the Life of a City
Engaging with our readers is essential to Westword's mission. Make a financial contribution or sign up for a newsletter, and help us keep telling Denver's stories with no paywalls.
Support Our Journalism
The pristine set of pink acrylic nails propping up the plate? An added bonus. If you can name the server whose hands delivered my pancakes, you eat here way too often. Either way, I'll settle for the right answer to a simple question: Where am I eating?