Tami's Burger Haven, Boner Arigato Mr. Roboto

Tami's Burger Haven

5380 West 44th Avenue Mountain View, CO 80212
 

Oh Tami, the haven of your hamburgers is a rare exception in this dog eat anus world of the great burger debate.  I think anyone would agree that Tami's is a "no frills allowed" kind of place, nothing more than a room filled with its orginal 50s-era hard on your ass booths and walk-up counter, but to me it symbolizes so much more. Tami understands the concept of getting exactly what you pay for. I spent many years searching the ends of the earth, (meaning amazon and bed bath and beyond and eventually asking a friend, but to me that is dramatic and painful enough) searching for a reasonably priced yet perfectly brewing, coffee maker, which obviously DOES NOT EXIST in the electric form.  Why was this arduous journey so excruciating you ask? Because motherfuckers add so much unnecesary shit like timers and grinders and ball stretchers, which I need not and want not and therefore cannot find the rationale to purchase.  Then the great Oz introduced me to the chemex.  Even thought it takes 10 times as long to make and cannot be done with a mere push of a button, I do not care as not a day goes by that I don't appreciate every motherfucking cup. It is what it should be and does what it should do and doesn't ask me any fucking questions or try to wake me up or take my off my pants.  Its perfection lies in its simplicity, a glass container that makes perfect coffee for me every single day. 

One might say that Tami's is the burger making version of this, a fast and delicious burger sans shenanigans.  Tami does not waste one minute of her time or your time trying to out burger the burger with duck confit or babyback ribs or fois gras (and while I mock them now I would murder you for any one of those right this minute so feel free to tell me to eat shit and die.) Anyway, Tamtam sticks to the classic and simultaneously arrogant 6 inch burger, which my tiny mouth cannot even comprehend. (Etiquette Sidenote for the ladies, I would recommend that you refrain from mentioning to a gentleman caller that as a lady, you have a tiny mouth and therefore cannot open wide enough to eat tall sandwiches etc., as he will never forgive you for unknowingly telling him his peen is teen.) 

   

The only slight possible concern you might have would be the location, which is surrounded by what appears to be a haven for methmaking. But the fact that no other businesses in the area have managed to weather the lean years like li'l Tami and that I assume the fields across the street are filled each night with RVs making shitloads of meth should not deter you.  Just drive swiftly to your parking spot and run inside as fast as your legs will take you, I guarantee you will be invigorated by your brush with death or at least with gross and the 6 inches of hot beef injection will be worth it.

Holy Balls! Los Carboncitos just Mexicame all over me.

Los Carboncitos

722 Sheridan Blvd., Lakewood, CO 80214

Finally! After 10 long and arduous years of soul searching and bucket listing and apocalypse waiting and finally getting around to reading 100 Years of Solitude that everyone has been all it is so good you should read it and me being all don't you know how much I hate Gabriel Garcia Marquez and people being all how would I know and me being all didn't I tell you that I had to read El Colonel No Tiene Quien Le Escribe in Spanish class in high School and that book made me realize that yes, I can memorize words in another language but can I actually put them together in a sentence or understand paragraph structures let alone pages after pages of actual literature NO!?!?!  I AM AN ACADEMIC FRAUD! And after staring at the first quiz of the first few chapters of the book for 20 minutes and thinking I don't know a goddamn word on this page except for the part that says nombre, I got up out of my chair, threw my test away and walked out the door telling myself I would never return, well maybe at my 50 year  reunion and people would ask me, whatever happened to you and I would say, it was Gabriel Garcia Marquez but that was high school and I very much enjoyed living under the roof of  people who paid for food and shelter and so I returned, head in my hands, beaten and I swore I would never read the words of that man again. He who taught me I know nothing. But that was before 20 years of television and unlearning everything I once knew and going from never ever ever forgetting a face to barely remembering what mine once looked like, when it was fresh and sans crows feet and age and regret and remorse and my own quest through the depths of hell and purgatory and eventually the heaven that is the Huarache at Los Carboncitos is complete. Although my guide was less a Virgil and more a friend who accidentally forgot to mention this place in the last 10 years of conversing on a weekly basis about how I cannot find a decent mexican restaurant in the DENVER? And finally she said to me, oh, wait have you been there? I eat there all the time. It is definitely the best. Oh, by far. I cannot believe I haven't mentioned this before.

Apparently, this is a chain of three, but I can only vouch for the 7th and Sheridan location and as I remember my experience with all of my body and soul and my plate filled with so many meats, I think of how sometimes, in order to appreciate some delicioso mexican food, we must face our greatest fears.


the end motherfuckers.

H to the Izz-OH MY GOD WHERE IS OUR WAITRESS (Burger)

HBurger
1555 Blake Street, Denver

On paper, HBurger appears to have everything one might look for in a late Saturday afternoon burger and cocktail joint. The interior is nice and mod and it is situated in lodo so it feels as urban as you can in this city and it has fun cocktails like wild turkey and fresh strawberry lemonade (which is the most delightful way to combine my love of ladylikes and hard drinking). Unfortunately, this is all a facade.

I incorrectly assumed that having burger in the name, would stress the importance of the deliciousness of the meat that would be placed on my tongue.  And while the bun sufficient and the cheese, fine, there was one major issue that I could not quite get over.  It is the most simple and important aspect of the burger.

Without digressing too much, I will say that after years of debate on the topic of where to find the best burger in Denver I reached the conclusion that its subjectivity isn't based on the complexities that I previously thought but most simply each person's preference for how the beef patty is cooked.  This is a debate from which there can be no winner, like art, its subjectivity runs so deep we cannot logically conclude what makes a person's preference. I think Descartes was referecing this issue when he spoke of the impossibility of understanding another man's mind and what I would assume is the perspective from which he derives thought. And thus, I cannot say that any particular place is better than another, because my preference for a supple and bloody patty of perfection found at the Cricket is so different from someone who prefers My Brothers Bar, or even CityGrille.

I do however, think that we can all agree on the following. When a lady orders a burger rare to medium rare, but receives a burger that is overly well done, her reaction is often as follows:

Is it not the first rule of burgering to cook it to the patron's desired doneness? Why would you give me a well done burger if I asked for rare?  Do you not understand that if someone's response to "How would you like this cooked?" is anything other than - "who gives a fuck", then you should follow that direction? 

This review would have been very different if my burger had not been so crispy.  I would have left feeling positive even though our waitress was the worst of the worst.  A good burger, like superawesomedeliciously cooked beef makes me do things, and accept things that I would not normally tolerate. 

And yes, it is quite possible that the bearer of fault in this game of my despair was the waitress. 

She could not give a fuck.  About my table, about her co-workers, about life, and the pursuit of happiness. She got into an altercation of words with the hostess at one point and it did not look pretty. So, she was either having the shittiest day ever or she is one shitty person.  Either way, it did not bode well for HBurger.  I am sorry dear lady if you were having a bad day.  But honestly, I think if she had said something to us like, yo, I hate everyone today so I am probs not gonna be good just FYI - I might not have left with the same distaste in my mouth.  But she was never around, and I promise you we were looking. Oh and did I mention that for the majority of our visit we were one of three tables, all of which were in our sight so not being able to find her meant that she was not only avoiding us but her other tables as well. afAnd when we did finally see her, she was a total fucking bitch. Like we just showed up at her house in the middle of the night and woke her up and were all - I want an Otter Pop - WELL I WANT A CHEESEBUGER YO - GIMME A COBB SALAD BITCH - Fix me another drank ho!  Instead, I thought we were all quite polite and as my mother would say, very professional in our method of ordering food and drink.  So I think she probably was the culprit.  And I hope that whatever that was, that she was going through, doesn't happen again because that kind of unhappiness leaves a mark on your soul.

Ps- I am lucky that a friend of mine emailed me that video last week. As that is the only way to express a lady's contempt for an incorrectly cooked burger.

À Côté - My Will to Power

À Côté 
2245 West 30th Ave.


I like to think of À Côté  as Z Cuisine's  baby sister. A sassy, pain in the ass, punch you in the face kind of sister who is the most fun, but the kind of fun that inevitably leads to someone getting arrested. Until that moment where those cuffs hit your soft and delicate lady wrists, you are suffocating in freedom from an adrenaline that can only come from something illegal... a fun you have never known and will never relive.

Overwhelmed with passion and love and the warmth of the most romantic of ambiances, I am transported into another time and dimension as I walk through the door of À Côté. Without hesitation, I am compelled to throw caution and even my ladypants to the wind. I forget my responsibilities and stress and work and life and my brain is screaming I LOVE GLAMOUR and my life is perfect and how many minutes will it take me to suck down this Josephine (an incredibly subtle yet stiff little cocktail.)  Tonight the world is without problems.  Tonight I shall live in the glow of light and pate and beautifully cured meats that dissolve on my tongue which would totally give me a mouth boner if it wasn't already erect from the anticipation of my arrival.  It is impossible not to experience happiness in its most pure form, the kind that can only derive from dining in the perfect setting with your dearest friends. This is Denver's little Midnight in Paris, where you are smarter and prettier and more elegant than you have ever been and everyone around you is brilliant and no one makes mistakes or shares regret. For this one night, you have everything you have ever wanted and you want everything you could ever have and your ambition and heart know no boundaries and you know your purpose in life and you understand the meaning of everything.

Even though the food stands on its own as some of the best you can find in the city, it is only one component of this most incredible place, where you know your destiny and you are surrounded by perfection and there is no such thing as wrong and you just wanna fuck everyone's brains out. But you don't because you know that the moment you step outside of those doors and the dizzying joy that previously overwhelmed you fades, you might be kind of grossed out that you let it go that far. So instead, you keep your dignity on your person and soak in this moment. You appreciate what you have in life and think to yourself I can do anything. Why was I being such a pussy before I walked in here?

Because everything is beautiful at À Côté.

Root Down - And we all say.....Oh, well......I never.....Was there ever?

Root Down

1600 W. 33rd Avenue, Denver, CO 80211

Let's start with the positive. Theinterior is nice and would suffice and there is an incredible patio which makes the outdoor dining experience lovely for people of all ages and abilities. The food is great. Fuck that - the food is delicious.  I was there for dinner a few summers ago and it was wonderful. I had a great time. The table, the people the sun and fun and patioing. I brunched there a few weeks ago and it was a delight.  Apparently the chef/owner loves breakfast and it is obvious.  Mine was divine and I know that my friends were very happy with theirs as well.  I would say on a whole, the food is high quality and worth my time and money. 

I have one question for you Root Down (and Linger since you are the same owner and I know you hire from the same pool). 

Where in the depths of fauxhemian hipster circus hell camp do you find your wait staff?  In all my life (which has been incredibly long  - like dog years long) have I seen suchmistoffoleean  ne'er do wells wandering as they wonder and wondering as they wander around the goddamn restaurant without a care in the world and NOT getting me a bloody mary and not checking to see if my coffee needs a refill. In fact I was rather surprised when I did see my waiter, who (and I am not joking when I tell you this,) was doing some kind of ironic impression of an early 90s Keanu Reeves.  Who has time in his or her day to give a mother fuck about this?  How long does it take these kids to get themselves all gussied up in their little surrealist outfits each morning? And by surrealist, I don't mean it in the - oh these kids are like so totally weird there is no other possible overused word to describe it than surreal. No my sweet innocente. I mean it in the - my waiter, who was literally wearing the Dali mustache, topped off his look with a side-pony rat tail.

A MOTHERFUCKING SIDE PONY RAT TAIL!!!!

Who thought such words would ever cross our lips?

Not I.

Never.

This visual cacophony, much like the exposed sweaty armpits of those drag queens at Bump'n'Grind, made it difficult to swallow the food that sat gallantly before my face. And much like a sweaty drag queen brunch, what might sound adorably hilarious in theory turns out to be mega guh-ross on my table.

I don't care if I sound like a curmudgeon at this point. I have had enough of these kids with their newfangled ideas about whom is serving who?  And no matter what you say kid, I do not believe you that your natural voice sounds just like Snagglepuss.

Je pense que no BITCH.

Stop cavorting around with your grody little mustaches and your I am loved and cared for no matter what attitudes and get me my food before it gets cold. I have better things to do with my time than to care about the fact that you think you are the first person on the planet to discover Fellini films, or that you won the skipping olympics.  I have a job and a mortgage and life and crows feet and yes, sometimes at 10:00am on a beautiful Sunday morn I want a drink and I don't want any of your goddamn attitude thankyouverymuch.

And you thought I was just going to make a jillion Beastie Boys references.



Eating Out Tulsa - Juniper = Extreme Boner Killer

Even the photos suck

Juniper
324 E 3rd St.
Tulsa, Oklahomer

I am sorry Tulsa. I wanted you to have this, I really did.  Unfortunately, Juniper was el sucko.  I think there will be other restaurants that give you the satisfaction that you seek but it isn't Juniper.  

First, a question for Juniper.  Why do you have an open kitchen? That concept is so totally 90s and so loud and gag me. I don't need to see you sweat your balls off while you plate.  In fact, I would rather not have to see you.  Everyone knows you are back there, cooking, so you don't need to prove it to me. It is incredibly unappetizing and very distracting. In fact,  I would rather see the people I came with thank you very much.  Here's a tip, get off that vanity train and close up that kitchen so that I can have a nice meal with my family and not feel like my face is almost touching your sous chef.

Secondly, acoustics aren't an impossible science that no one will ever understand.  So fix it. Bring in a few rugs or shove some drapery in the ceiling.  But don't pretend that having to scream to the person sitting next to you is a normal method of communication.  Don't blame us because you don't understand how sound travels. Yelling and eating isn't glamorous.  My anger is increasing as I type this.  

Finally Juniper, I ask you this. When you read the words herbed gnocchi and market fresh vegetables on a menu what do you expect to see?  I was anticipating something along the lines of gnocchi lightly dusted with some kind of herby concoction plated with fresh and seasonal vegetables.  Doesn't that seem nice?  I thought it sounded like a nice dish and since people had been raving all over town about this place, I was looking forward to something fresh and simple, as the menu promised.

Simple was an understatement.  At first I thought my eyes had deceived me.  But after rubbing my eyes (Penny style) I could see that some asshole slopped a pile of deep fried gnocchi on my plate.  Nothing but brown gnocchi - NOT ONE SINGLE FUCKING VEGETABLE. If I had wanted to eat a plate of deep fried potatoes I would have ORDERED FUCKING FRENCH FRIES! How insulting to me and to the city of Tulsa.  You must think you are pretty goddamn special if you think you can get away with this and we won't notice.   Someone needs to slap your face with a bag of dicks!

And one more minor detail.  A few years ago, I had some friends over for a good old fashioned fish fry -and as you would imagine, one thing lead to another and we deep fried everything we could get our hands on.  A friend of mine came prepared with snickers and brownies and twinkies - and we fried the shit out of them.  And yes, initially - the first bite of each item was kind of amazing, but only because we were drunk enough not to care that everything had a fishy aftertaste because that is what happens when you deep fry sweets and fish in the same oil. But we were drunk and not pretending to be the fanciest restaurant in town.  Why do I bring this up?

BECAUSE THAT IS HOW MY GNOCCHI TASTED YOU LAZY MOTHERFUCKER.

To make a long story short here is my review of you Juniper.

YOU SUCK YOU LAZY FUCK.