Down and Out in Denver

Your DOD boys did indeed go to the newly opened El Diablo last night, but they did so much else last night as well.  Read on…

Alastair was an early convert to Denver B-Cycle.  It took me longer, largely because I don’t mind walking everywhere.  But I just joined, and last night was to be my very first night using a B-Cycle.  I signed up Friday online and was told that while my membership card would not arrive for a little while (understandably) I could use the credit card that I’d registered with in order to take out a bike. It was not to be.  I inserted said card at the B-Cycle station at Boulder and 16th in the Highlands: not recognized, no membership.  As I waited on hold with B-Cycle headquarters I walked over the Highland Bridge to the station at 16th and Platte.  The nice gentleman on the other end of the phone told me there was a glitch in the system and that it wasn’t fixable right now.  However, I could sign up for a $5 one-day membership that he would reimburse to my credit card.  Done. Except that when I tried to take out a bike the system froze.  No luck.  Alastair advised me there was a station across the park at 16th and Little Raven.  There I finally met with success.  I sailed off down the Cherry Creek Trail (on the pedestrian side; I’m still getting acquainted with bicycling etiquette) to meet Alastair at Sketch Wine Bar for a glass of vinho verde, served up by the ever-friendly J.D.

Update: Denver B-Cycle called me on Monday and has straightened out the entire problem with the credit card.  Seems like they run a pretty tight ship!

Red Lights over the bar at El Diablo

Alastair had arrived at El Diablo before me and put our names on the waiting list before heading over to Sketch (located next door and also run by Jesse Morreale, who brought us Tambien, Mezcal, and La Rumba).  Midway through our second glass of wine at Sketch, we were approached by one of the hosts at El Diablo: had we put our names on the list?  Indeed we had.  Now that’s service! While the host and hostess were indeed very accommodating, the table service left a little to be desired.  Granted, it was their second night in action, but we waited a long time to have our order taken, and even longer to have it actually appear. While some of the waitstaff seemed to be wandering around aimlessly, ours was often nowhere to be found or rushed by our table without looking at us.  The food and drinks were tasty, though nothing remarkably special.  We started with chips y tres salsas and two very tall glasses of sangria.  The salsas were good, if a little runny, and the sangria — perhaps because so plentiful — was pretty watery and devoid of much fruit flavor. (The pricier sangria made with more fruit was unavailable last night.)  Our tacos — one order of carne asada y papas and one order of carnitas with salsa — were very tasty, though the tortillas had become hardened and brittle. And our very small sides of rice and beans — at $4.95 each — were overpriced and underwhelming.  It was opening weekend so Alastair and I agreed we’d give it another chance. The place is packed and the atmosphere is fun.  It’s dark and the tacky red lights worked well with the bad plasticized tabletops.  It reminded both of us of a place in the Mission in San Francisco called Velvet Cantina: hipster Mexican.

And we were off!  A night of karaoke awaited us at Armida’s, site of a wild night in early May that I documented here. This was actually our gal pal’s Whitney’s birthday party and she once again delivered some stellar performances, even joining Alastair for a rendition of Estelle and Kanye’s “American Boy.” Alastair took Estelle’s part, natch.  And they were not the only enthusiastic singers.  A gang of six thirty-something straight guys got up to deliver a somewhat too rousing rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Blaze of Glory.” One couldn’t help but wonder if they were mourning their own youth, gone in the aforementioned blaze. And there was even a lady fight!  Involving actual punches. One very drunken young woman (part of an entourage of mid-20s women in strappy dresses and large engagement rings; is this Denver?) took a swing at another young woman who had spent most of her awful rendition of Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” trying to show off her quads to the audience. Oh my. It was not pretty.

Stay tuned for Alastair’s report on our delicious (and boozy) Sunday brunch at Root Down…