Whiskey isn't my drink of choice, but it was the night I walked into Argyll Whisky Beer. Sure, it had been that kind of day. But I was also in that kind of place, with lights resembling gas lanterns, plaid carpeting and gray walls that took on a bluish tinge as night fell.
Across the sprawling restaurant, past the open kitchen and communal table with its sturdy, upholstered-back stools, a crowd filled the bar, drinking beer, watching games and celebrating the start of the weekend with the gusto of Thursday-night revelers. Beyond them, in the wraparound atrium with views of 17th Avenue and Downing Street, people laughed and ate charcuterie against a blurry backdrop of red brake lights and white headlights. Those rooms, gutted and redone to remove any resemblance to Las Margaritas, which had previously occupied the space, felt lively and fun and very much like Denver. But in the back dining room, the quietest and most well-appointed of Argyll's spaces, I felt a world away -- which is where you sometimes want restaurants to take you.
See also: Behind the Scenes at Argyll Whisky Beer