The Zephyr Lounge

I've always liked the idea of time travel. Go back in time and right wrongs (like that time I lost the 5th grade city-wide spelling bee on the word 'detract'; I spelled 'detracked', what am I, a mind reader? That garbage is still under protest ) go find out who shot Kennedy, or maybe even jump ahead a couple years to see if Mr. A's is still the friendliest lounge in Denver, or if the Cubs ever win the pennant. Alas, time travel has been thus far in history relegated to the movies and television, despite all the hard work done by Mr. Einstein in laying the whole thing out for us with his Theory of Relativity. Think of The Theory of Relativity as Einstein saying, 'Look, time travel is possible, and here are some numbers and letters that prove it.' Nice tune, Al, but the common dude can't dance to it. Time travel is indeed possible - I experienced it for myself the other night at The Zephyr Lounge - and I'm going to tell you what color the velvet drapes are. The best part: You too can travel through time, if you are ok with only being able to go back to the year 1981. Here are five things you should know for your trip:

1. There are colored lights involved. You are bathed in blue light upon entering the vestibule at The Zephyr Lounge, your first sign that something is amiss. Passing through the vestibule, my intrepid party and I felt a strong pull, one that was telling us to belly up to the bar. I could have sworn there was a hint of High Karate in the air, though that could have been Jeff's deo. We followed our noses to the bar, probably about 10 seats long, and immediately swung around to survey the landscape. The patrons all appeared to be fairly worn out and easily pushing 50. Which brings me to the second thing you should know,

2. The people stuck in 1981 are old. Several of the hairstyles could very well have been found at a backyard barbecue at Archie Bunker's house. Glasses were big (is that in style again? I could be out of the loop) Five or six members of a band were jammed together at one end of the bar, and had people dancing in the aisles. Literally, as there really wasn't enough room for much of a dance floor. The gray hairs and odd floral-print shirts of the band, not to mention the caliber of music, indicated that this was a weekend hobby for most of the members. Regardless of the fact that the crowd loved the mix of oldies garbage,

3. The music sucks. Maybe we were there on a bad night, as I don't want to anger any of the Kim Carnes or Eddie Rabbitt fans out there, but my God. When you are packing for 1981, make sure you throw some ear plugs in with a change of underwears, just in case. The only thing I loved about the band was the fact that there were so many members (and the barroom was so small) that they blocked the entrance to the bathrooms, and at several points right in the middle of a song, some guy straight off of That's Incredible! would be fighting his way through the band trying to get to the john. And speaking of God, he was sitting opposite the band in his own booth. That brings me to item number 4,

4. You'll find God at The Zephyr. Not necessarily find him, but he'll be there... a fancy statue and some God related decor, wall hangings and such, anyways. I found the God corner to be a nice touch - something slightly disturbing while being oddly comforting at the same time. Which brings me to the final thing you should know,

5. The hospitality is fantastic. The Zephyr did a fine job of making those of us from not around 1981 feel comfortable. For starters, to save confusion, every bottle, can, and decanter in the place had a price tag on it, very clearly illustrating the cost of getting hammered in 1981. Quite useful! Worth mentioning as a sidebar is that one of the offerings that I enjoyed was Hamms in a can. It was a good accompaniment to time travel, as it tasted like it was from the 80's. More amenities: Need a smoke? Despite smokers probably being relegated to the newly refurbished (for 1981, this probably means that they just laid down some green Astroturf that isn't pock marked with cigarette burns) patio area, for all the puffers out there The Zephyr provides an old-school smokes dispenser with a sign announcing 'Yes it works!'. And finally, if you have one too many well-labeled beverages and find yourself in need of a place to crash, The Zephyr can help you out with that as well. That's right, head outside past the newly refurbished patio and you'll find yourself at The Zephyr's very own motor lodge. What more could a guy ask for? Fantasy suites. You'll have to see it to believe it.

In the end, the secret to time travel wasn't a fancy contraption, a worm hole, Einstein’s letters and numbers, or driving 88 miles-per-hour (though that would certainly get you there quicker, probably even faster if you did it in a late model Camaro), it just took a short trip down Colfax and knowing which street corner to stop at.

The Zephyr Lounge is located at 11940 E. Colfax in Aurora. If you see the blue lights and purple velvet drapes, you’ll know you’re there.

Dive-Off Part 2: The Breakfast Queen

I had butterflies of anticipation. Was The Breakfast Queen feeling the same? Was The Queen ready to fight back? The sign on the door told me no: it sweetly asked its patrons to have patience while waiting for a table, as The Breakfast Queen is a small family joint and everyone deserves their turn, and why don't you hold hands and sing Kumbaya while you wait. Ok, I made that last part up, but you get the gist. Those aren't exactly fightin' words. But as I took The Queen in, I started to get an inkling that the first ever dive-off wasn't going to be a TKO to the Breakfast King in round 1. Gumball machine in the hallway where we waited for a table, specifically put there to taunt my son? Check. Throng of local yokel patrons, from the young and surly to the old and innocuous? Check. Crappy wood paneling? Check, though much was covered up by the wall of mirrors that I assume were utilized to lessen the feeling of claustrophobia brought on by The Queen's lack of elbow room (the total table count = 15). Don't trust your patrons enough to accept credit cards? Blow to The Breakfast King's kidneys. Motley Crue on the radio? Dr. Feelgood indeed.

This was shaping up as a pretty good battle, but there one problem that became apparent by the end of the meal: It's hard to call The Breakfast Queen a dive. The food is nice - my breakfast burrito was certainly better than the bomb I got at The King (not to mention the burrito). The service is fantastic. Our waitress hugged some of the regulars as they left, and even succeeded in making us, a party of two first timers and one unruly kid, feel like we were frequent diners. It's not overly shabby - heck, even the carpet is presentable. There is really nothing to raise an eyebrow at, other than perhaps the array of posters of the Greek Isles that line the back hallway, making you think for a moment that you were walking into an office of the Greek Board of Tourism. If I didn't know any better, I was back home in Iowa at the local small town diner, where everyone knows everyone else and you keep coming back for the good company as much as you do for the food. In the end it was a tough call, but the first ever dive-off has to go to The Breakfast King by virtue of DQ. While I am not thrilled in ending a dive-off this way, I have no regrets about spending part of my morning at The Breakfast Queen. It's a fine breakfast option, dive or not.

The Breakfast Queen #2 (no relation to Breakfast Queen #1) sits unassumingly at 3454 South Broadway in Englewood. 

Get Ready for a Dive-Off! Breakfast King vs. Breakfast Queen

The world is crazy for competition. Think about it - everywhere you turn there is some kind of competition thrown at you for entertainment purposes. From the mundane (bingo), to the absurd (a video game called Deca Sports 2 for the Wii will let you compete in synchronized swimming), to those so ridiculous I cannot help but pay attention to (The World Beard and Moustache Championship; I'm partial to the Freestyle categories myself), there is something out there to suit everyone's palate.

In order to keep up with the zeitgeist, I've decided to start up my own meaningless competition - The Dive-Off. There lots of dives out there, and distinguishing them is oftentimes challenging, so the idea is to drop them into a head-to-head match of bowel twisting and verbal abuse, and see which dive comes out the other side with its shuffle board intact.

What better starting point than The Breakfast King versus The Breakfast Queen? Two Denver institutions touting breakfast food with similar diner-style settings allows a pretty fair comparison, not that being fair is in any way paramount. The King obviously feels a bit superior to other joints, calling itself The Breakfast King and all. I'd certainly be ticked off were I a breakfast restaurant. This thing is getting hot, so let's get rolling! The Queen being outranked, I decided to hit The Breakfast King first.



136. That's how many items I counted on the menu at The Breakfast King. 136 - and that's not counting the multiple varieties of a single item, such as the omelette with cheese, or ham, or ham and cheese... and despite the name, its not all breakfast food. Anything from liver and onions to a bowl of cereal can be had. The maddening number of choices on the menu fits right in with the atmosphere of the place. It's as much bus station at rush hour as it is diner. When I arrived with my family in tow, the front door was blocked by people in line at the cash register. Once we navigated past that, we had to squeeze by a large group waiting for a table, slide around the gumball machine, and then twist our way through a maze of booths to get to where we ended up sitting. At one point, while trying to return to our booth from outside, I turned right instead of left at the gumball machine. I ended up at the lunch counter and eventually had to wander through the kitchen to find my seat. There are literally booths, tables, and chairs occupying every square inch of tattered carpet. Just about all of them were occupied with locals, half of which looked like they just rolled out of bed.

The Breakfast King has sat on its corner of Santa Fe and Mississippi since 1975, and the lady working the register told me that most of the people working there had been around since the beginning. Our waitress was certainly no exception - she looked like she had been continually adding makeup to her face every morning for the last 30 years, resulting in something that looked like the EPA might ask to have cleaned up along with the old Gates rubber factory across the street. Indeed, when my wife spilled water down the waitress' leg, she responded by doing a little jig - that's seasoning. The decor apparently hadn't changed much since the beginning either, between the crappy wood paneling and the brown and orange glass light fixtures that looked like they'd been picked up at a garage sale. There was a sign posted advertising Wifi that seemed a bit out of place. My hope was that someone had stolen the sign from a local Starbucks and put it up as a joke.

I settled on the chorizo breakfast burrito off the breakfast specials board and a cup of coffee, which saved me 15 minutes of wading through the menu. Does that make 137 items? Regardless, it was a pretty pedestrian breakfast burrito overall. It consisted of unseasoned eggs wrapped in a tasteless tortilla, covered in tasteless cheese, boring hash potatoes (potatoes on top of the burrito is a variation I've not seen before, and did not necessarily enjoy) and average green chile. And the coffee was rubbish as well. I may have been better off had I taken the time to peruse the menu aside from just counting items for my own enjoyment.

One of the highlights of traveling for me is having the opportunity to hang out at the airport. The hectic buzz of it all, the crowds of people all with an unknown destination and story, I find extraordinarily interesting. I think that's why I enjoy The Breakfast King so much. It's got a similar buzz about it, and the fact that you can get a gigantic plate of food for cheap gets you in the door. The Breakfast Queen has a tough act to follow.

Stay tuned kids - The Breakfast Queen is getting oiled up and ready to rebut.

The Breakfast King holds court at 300 W. Mississippi in south Denver.

High Tech!

Men and women ages 24-35 approve of the fancy map of the Denver dive bar world that I just added to the bottom of the blog.

Barry's on Broadway

I stopped in to Barry's on Broadway the other night to check things out. While it is far too well kept up and organized to be a dive bar per se, it does have some redeeming qualities.

The first thing I laid eyes on upon entering was a naked female mannequin behind the bar. Interesting. It almost succeeded in sending me back out to Broadway. Scanning the crowd trying to ascertain the type of establishment, I gained some comfort in seeing a docile looking mixed bunch - the greasy guy who looked like he had been there drinking for 12 hours, a girl dressed in a pirate shirt (I gave her the appropriate 'Argh!'), and some 20-somethings carousing. The lack of stripper poles, chain link, or strobe lights also eased my mind a bit.

Most of the lighting is supplied by overly gaudy glass chandeliers, a touch of class that I found humorous in the bar setting. Finally, the men's restroom sported trough urinals, one of my favorite john accoutrements. Two-man capacity at 5 pm, three-man at midnight.

Barry's isn't the diveiest of dives, so if you are looking for someplace that makes you feel like you are in danger, go elsewhere. It is interesting enough to drop in for a beverage, though.

Barry's on Broadway is located at 58 Broadway in Denver.