Everyone, it seems, misses everything about Bump & Grind: the barely-dragged-themselves-out-of-bed queen servers of the weekend Petticoat Bruncheon, with their battery-operated, neighing horse-cock socks; the Mexican Benedict Arnold and Eric Eggs Estrada; the filthy coloring books. Though I'd been (and even brought my mother) to Bump & Grind on a number of occasions before it closed at the tail end of 2009, I guess I never understood how much of a landmark it really was.
Until I arrive at Park & Co., Park Burger's fancy older brother, which opened in the Grind's old space this July.
On my walk from the closest parking spot — three blocks away — I pass two women talking on the corner of 17th and Penn, one of them mid- "And the servers had names like Dixie Normous!" story about the dirty diner's greatness. Once inside, while waiting for my first bottle of Session Lager, I can't help but overhear a woman next to me yelling into her cell phone over the din of late-dinner drunkenness:
"Park & Co.!"
(Where?)
"Park & Co.!"
(Where's that?)
"The old Bump & Grind!"
(Oh! I miss that place.)
"Me, too!"
It is, perhaps, both a blessing and a curse to open an upscale burger bar in the former home of a Denver institution. The blessing comes in the form of easy location identification, widespread curiosity over what's become of what used to be, and an almost Freudian fondness for a physical space with such strong, positive associations. Come to think of it, the blessing is also the curse: to miss Bump & Grind too much is to miss what's right here, right now.
And right here, right now is a place to get drunk where there wasn't one before. I intend to take full advantage.
First: food. Sustenance. For staying power, I order the Frenchy Burger (with ham and Brie on top), as well as The Works (French fries with cheese sauce, bacon, scallions and ranch) and a homemade soft pretzel to share: seventeen dollars of totally awesome. From there, it's a couple more $3.50 bottles of Session, two $5 shots of 100 percent agave Espolón blanco (the house tequila), and a series of $8 Mosovia's Mules — Park & Co.'s take on the Denver Donkey (Moscow Mule), with extra ginger all around (SKYY Ginger and Domaine de Canton in addition to the usual recipe). Served in custom-engraved copper cups so new the edges threaten to cut my lips were I to get all sauced and stop paying attention, Mosovia's passion for all things ginger wallops my tastebuds as a bit of overkill, though it depends on which bartendress does the mixing (thanks, Maria).
I'd arrived expecting to find a burger joint selling beer — think Illegal Pete's, only without burritos. What I discover strikes me as a mix between Steuben's and the Squeaky Bean. Which is to say, a hip, contemporary space with glass garage-door windows, low lighting and classic cocktails, not to mention single-page menus and quirky presentation styles. Although one of Colfax's most notorious transients ("Chicago") is flexing and posing in his cutoff Orange County Choppers vest under a streetlight outside and the front windows of Park & Co. still have (or have recently acquired) noticeably etched tagging, this brand of tony chic for the creative class is what's à la mode all over Denver — from Highland to LoHi to Baker and back. So be it.
I still sorta miss Bump & Grind, but with a belly full of booze, I'm pretty happy to be right here, right now.
