How did I get here? How can I stagger the slope back in the opposite direction? I never used to question the PBR in my fridge. I never stopped to think about where my money was going. A night out generally started in, with cheap beer cans flowing as freely as the laughter filling the room and card games passing the time until the crew was sufficiently buzzed enough that each was confident he could keep his bar tab under twenty bucks for the night. Then, a quick shuffle from the house to Durango’s downtown and Main Avenue where a solid six blocks of bars awaited, each one holding the promise of a dream that never needed to last longer than one night or a rowdy band capable of keeping the floor going until last call.
Those were the glory days. The days of raw passion, before the days of pursuit.
Ah, that side. That other side. Now it seems to be a struggle to keep the passion going. Denver is as good a place as any to try it though, especially for someone lucky enough to (for the most part) work their own schedule. Gives me the opportunity to avail myself of the rich and rapidly growing craft culture of the city.
I see no problem with a top-heavy work week. It happens all the time, leaving me grim-faced and thirsty by lunch time on Thursday. Recently, early on a Thursday afternoon, I find myself sitting anxiously in the bar at Fado’s Irish Pub, sipping a good whisky I can’t seem to pronounce without sounding like a suburban-bred American (oh, the shame!) and trying to slam a plate of fish and chips before the 1:10 pm first pitch at Coors Field.
I make it inside the stadium just in time, after a quick panic that the new metal detectors will have a problem with my pocket knife, and meet up with my Dad outside section 129.
It doesn’t seem right to sit down and watch a baseball game without a beer in my hand. The only problem is that the closest thing to craft I can find is Blue Moon, and that just doesn’t seem right given the recent lawsuit brought against Coors, so instead I’m drinking Colorado Native. At least it’s not Bud.
This makes me think of the previous Saturday, where I spent the afternoon in a new bourbon bar that has recently opened near my house in Lakewood. C De Marra, named after owner and GM Kim Reuter’s late wife, is the opposite of a ballpark emblazoned with the name of the country’s second-largest mass brewer - here, craft whiskeys and small batch bourbons flow in abundance. “Nobody around here in Lakewood has got an upscale bourbon bar,” said Reuter, a restaurateur who has opened sixteen establishments, of his latest concept. “It’s a bar that you have to go downtown for.”
With a drink menu consisting of 1920’s-era cocktails and a shelf of craft whiskeys, this place is a modern scofflaw's haven.
“We like to barrel-age three of our bourbons,” Reuter said. “We try to bring some locals in, but we’ve been bringing a lot of bourbons in,” At this point, he called the bartender over to us and asked her to enlighten me with a pour of Rebecca Creek Fine Texas Spirit Whiskey on the rocks. “This is the smoothest whiskey you’re ever going to drink,” he stated blunty.
One sip and I knew exactly what he was talking about - the smoothest whiskey I’ve tasted this year.
Reuter, who also owns the Blake Street Vault in downtown Denver, is not shy to take credit for introducing his patrons to quality craft cocktails. He has purchased whiskey barrels from numerous distillers, including Jack Daniels, and he certainly takes pride in the house aging his establishment is doing. While I sit there chatting it up with him over a couple rounds, he points out the aging barrels at least three times.
-
But back at the ballpark, as the game progresses I can at least take some joy in where we are sitting. I can’t help but think about how much better it is to sit up close than in the Rockpile (Coors Field’s brand of cheap seats) or just about anywhere above the first deck because down here, among the retirees and other brands that are here 50+ nights a year, people around me actually seem to care about baseball. The new rooftop party deck that worthless hack of a franchise owner Dick Monfort installed above right field prior to last year has done nothing but further the stereotype that most Rockies fans don’t even watch the game because they’re too busy drinking. But in season-ticket territory all it takes is one glance to my left to find proof that I am not the only one concerned about the game’s outcome - a woman in probably her mid-sixties is wearing a hat completely covered in Rockies lapel pins and hasn’t been able to go more than 15 seconds without either yelling at the home plate umpire or invoking what I can only assume are pre-meditated slurs against the opposing Phillies. I leave the game happy because we actually won, a rarity around Coors Field.
This is when the day gets a bit weird though, because I am scheduled to do an interview with the drummer of punk rock band Anti-Flag in a couple hours, and then cover the show for an article in a very different publication than this one. Quite a change of pace from an afternoon spent watching a baseball game. The struggle here is to feel equally at home and comfortable in both environments, which to me is the perfect representation of walking the line I spoke of earlier. How to remain objective and put together a good interview. How to demonstrate professional composure after six hours of drinking. How to straddle the line between my youth and my adult life in perfect succession. I’ve spent enough time at punk shows, I should be able to do this.
I stop by the theater, about a five minute walk from the ballpark, to pick up my press credentials and then start wandering around the neighborhood to pass some time. I stop into a cigar bar and buy a cheap Dominican. The waitress, a beautiful Cuban girl speaking no English, manages to also sell me on a glass of Woody Creek Cellar Merlot. I’ve always been a sucker for a girl with a flower in her hair no matter how much I despise the Grateful Dead.
Relaxing, I scribble some interview questions into my phone for later. This cigar is about perfect right now.
Backstage at the theater, sitting on a couch in a small dressing room, I conduct the interview. Sixteen-year-old me would be creaming his pants right now - Anti-Flag is near legend of nineties punk, the kind of band I grew up on and one of the bands that helped teach me to always follow my passions in life, always draw my own line.
I watch the show, reflecting on the last 24 hours from inside this theater in downtown Denver, the heart of Kerouac country, and can’t help but smile. I’m a good ten years older than average here, but I’m beginning to be okay with that.
Today I may have straddled a mental maturity line, but the truth about life is that it doesn’t matter which side of the line you are on, as long as you are following your passions. What I’ve thought about today was confirmed by my new friend Kim Reuter back at C De Marra: In life, especially here in the world of craft culture, what matters is not whether there is a line, but whether or not that line was drawn by you.
“My passion is introducing bourbons to people who have never had them, and never known how to drink them,” Reuter said. I’ll raise a glass to that.
 |
| Kim Reuter (left) at C De Marra |
Fado’s Irish Pub & Restaurant - 1735 19th Street, Denver
C De Marra- 11100 W. Alameda Ave, Lakewood
Tim Wenger is a Denver-based journalist, musician and avid snowboarder. Catch his work in Colorado Music Buzz, MicroShiner, Snowboard Colorado, and his weekly talk show on worldviral.tv