Hilltop Bistro in Golden, CO

Hilltop Bistro
1518 Washington Ave
Golden, CO 80401
(303) 279-8151
http://goldenhilltopbistro.com/

It was a snowy day in Golden, Colorado, a quaint town to the west of the Denver where the West lives. It says so right on the sign. It was the perfect winter day to have lunch with an old friend at the Hilltop Bistro. I arrived early and was the only person inside. The staff hooked me up with some spicy sausage soup. Delish!

After what seemed like hours of quasi-silence slurping soup, from the blustery, snowy outsides walked Serena. From across the room I spied her, oh Serena, the brilliant gleam of her smile and her very presence immediately warmed up the room. I was still the only person in the establishment and was jumping and laughing and beckoning her in excitement to dine with me. Serena came looking, so the theatrics were not needed. She and I went to elementary school together. Her very name translated into a forgotten foreign tongue would be “She Walks With Grace, A Beauty to Behold.”

Beverages abound; lunch began. I had penne pasta with sun-dried tomato cream, chopped basil topped with Parmesan cheese. I also tried the Miso grilled salmon and fancy green beans. Yummy. The food was delicious and hot and arrived within no time. The bread was great. An overall excellent dining experience. The Bistro could do so much with the décor and there are plenty of tables to accommodate a lot of people. I noticed a few cracks in the ceiling and the walls. Perhaps the building is slowly sliding off the hilltop?

And the waitress, the faithful Misty Brown, catered to every whim and kept a steady stream of iced tea flowing as if she innately knew my beverage/hydration needs. I was too embarrassed to ask for a pitcher or carafe of tea with a lone straw peeking out from the top and several lemon wedges in a porcelain bowl. I consume beverage like a madman.

Besides the goodly foodstuffs, it really is all about good company and good conversation. One could be in the worst pit of a dive restaurant but with the right person, the dive restaurant would be transformed into a palace dining room.

Heading to the pink bathroom was an experience. A woman, a mannequin woman, laid sprawled in the tub, beckoning one to jump in and join the frolic. But then you realize how foolish that would be, because after all, she is a mannequin woman. That never stopped me before…

The Hilltop Bistro does indeed reside on a hill; a hill overlooking mountain beauty and invites people to take to new heights.

Charlie Brown Hates Me

In my life, there are a few simple pleasures that I enjoy immensely. One of them would be the highly underrated television show “Cavemen.” It’s funny and I get pleasure from it because I am a caveman. The show speaks to me and my people.

At Halloween, “Cavemen” wasn’t shown and “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” took its place on the schedule. I wasn’t that distraught, because it had pumpkins in it. At Thanksgiving, “Cavemen” wasn’t on because they aired “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.”

But tonight, a month away from Christmas, “Cavemen” wasn’t show and they aired “A Charlie Brown Christmas” instead. What the hell? Christmas is almost a month away! It’s still November!

Do they have to air this particular Charlie Brown show now to save airtime for the real holiday December classics of “Rankin-Bass’ Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “Frosty the Snowman?” No wonder “Cavemen” has shitty ratings. Filthy networks. Filthy Charlie Brown. I will wait for “Cavemen” on DVD.

A Weekend Trip to Florida

The Arrival

The weekend adventure to the Florida was a rip-roaring good time. The trip was perfect and everything went in our favor except for the plane ride home. More about that later.

We left warm Denver early on Friday morning, passing through Security at Denver International Airport with smiles on our faces and no problems, unlike the last time where I was almost stripped searched before leaving for Las Vegas. The flight was uneventful, as most flights are. Upon landing in overcast Orlando, the real fun began.

A smiley old woman awaited us at the airport with a huge sign that said “DALE” surrounded by Mountain Dew logos and shiny bling. Since we packed light and did not have any bags checked she immediately ushered us outside to where a massive black van was waiting to take us to the hotel. It was humid outside and the sweats began to pour.

During the ride from Orlando International Airport to the downtown Marriott, the driver, Archie, filled us in on local hotspots and where not to go in Orlando. Archie was genuinely concerned about our safety. My sister and I have some charisma. He got us to the hotel safely. We walked into the lobby and saw the Mountain Dew Playstation Pro booth, signed in, received $200 cash, picked up our grounds passes and checked into the hotel.

We were on the 14th floor, the same floor as the Presidential Suite.

Our first quest was to get dinner and we wanted seafood, as there is no good seafood in landlocked Colorado. Daniel, the deskman at the Marriott, suggested we try a local place, Straub’s Seafood, where they are serious about seafood, on Colonial Drive. Daniel called us a taxi and we were off.

And we feasted like royalty on king crab legs, citrus marinated salmon, blackened dolphin, sesame seared ahi, lobster tail, Maryland style crab cakes, mesquite grilled shrimp, baked potato, rice pilaf, creamed spinach with mushrooms, breads, Caesar salads and stuffed tomatoes.

After dinner, Daniel upgraded our hotel to the Rewards Elite membership, meaning we got accesses to the secret special lounge on the 14th floor with beverages, foods, desserts, honor bar and internet; all for free. Plus he hooked us up for the breakfast buffet both Saturday and Sunday morning!

We walked around the Playstation Pro festivities then went to sleep. We were to awaken early for a trip to the Happiest Place on Earth, the Disney theme parks…

Walt Loves Us

It was pouring rain in Orlando on Saturday morning. After a breakfast of homemade waffles, omelets, coffee, juice, plates of crispy bacon and grits, we purchased umbrellas and walked to the Lynx Central Station downtown bus terminal. Instead of paying 40+ dollars for a cab ride, we decided to take public transportation. It cost $1.50. The bus driver knew we were tourists and gave us false information at simple question I asked. We wanted EPCOT Center but we got Downtown Disney instead. Everything was closed because it was so early in the morning. Evidently people in Orlando do not wake up before 9am.

The rain stopped and yet it was still very moist outside. The humidity was unbearable and I had a slick of sweat on my bodyself the entire time I was out of doors. It’s a Dale genetic curse.

There are no direct park-to-park shuttles, so we had to catch a resort bus to the freaky Pop Century Resort, where the bus magically became the EPCOT shuttle with a bit of fairy dust and diesel fuel. We didn’t have to wait in line and hordes of yapping, screaming, unruly, spoiled brat kids and their bewildered parents packed the bus to capacity. Children were spitting up, spilling bile and breakfast on their Pirates of the Caribbean shirts and their Disney knock-off Crocs, the partially digested pieces of Cap'n Crunch filling the mouse-shaped holes. Parents threatened wailing children with “We’ll get off this bus right now if you don’t behave!” and “Billy quit standing up!” and “Little Sarah, please quit saying ‘Why?! WHY!? WHY!!??!!’ or else Mickey will turn you away at the gates and your behavior will have single-handedly ruined our expensive vacation.”

Hottie, braless, scantily clad mommies in their Daisy Dukes and moist t-shirts, their pointy, tenty nipples poking out like beacons from heaven whilst sporting sandals and “It’s a Small World” pedicures, were everywhere. The din of children squealing with Disney delight was overwhelming.

We arrived at EPCOT and got in for free. Yes, free. We saved $240 bucks due to networking and the ‘it pays to know people’ principle. A quick appearance by Lowell the Little Green Alien and it was off to Mars on Mission: Space. Then it was time for the reveling in the World Showcase to begin. We feasted on pierogi in Poland, drank margaritas in Mexico, Cream Stout in the United States, talked German to the Deutschland beauties in Germany, laughed at the smarmy filth in the United Kingdom, sprinted through Morocco and Canada, indulged in photo ops in China and Japan, totally missed Norway and ended up back in Mexico for more margaritas. We shopped and stumbled about, letting the humidity guide us in delirium.

EPCOT Center was a really, really good time. I sweat the whole time. But the day wasn’t over yet…

Disney World in the key of Fall

It was now time to ride the monorail to the Magic Kingdom of DisneyWorld. The park was all decorated for Fall, with pumpkins and yellows and oranges. And Mickey Mouse. And hordes of people. And sweating in the humidity. And Jack Sparrow.

We had the buffet at The Crystal Palace situated between the Adventureland entrance and Casey's Corner on the West side of the main street plaza. The Crystal Palace is modeled after a similar building in Regent's Park in London built in the late 1880s. DisneyWorld is crowded.

Our aching, oil-slicked bodies rode the bus back to the hotel and it was off to relax while watching “Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith” and sipping Coke from bottles. We drifted off to sleep with dreams of the PlaystationPro on Sunday and the journey back home.

Shaun White was skating and it was fun to see some professional skateboarding action.

Overall, the weekend was a super awesome time, an adventure worthy of many more words. We accomplished a lot, saw a lot and did a lot. The plane ride home was delayed by hours due to weather. The first snow of the season had hit Denver and screwed with air travel. I got home around midnight.

My garden is dead and dying now.

Techmeister 101 – Slaves to Elders

I don’t claim to be the greatest techie alive. I was a BBS goon. I can make my way around computers. I have a little audio and visual knowledge. I get buy with the tech that I have.

Unlike a lot of people.

I can jury-rig with the best of them. I once performed internet tech support with a friend in Denver via cellular phone while taking a shit in a McDonalds bathroom in Raton, New Mexico. Believe that yo! That’s right, I’m capable.

And word gets around.

I am always one to offer a glad hand, to friends or family. With my mom, I am obligated to help with all sorts of technology woes. That's blood, kin. But mom's friends and work acquaintances?

All of a sudden I am getting requests from her, second-hand, as if she is the ‘tech drug dealer’ offering out my services, to go over to a friend of a friends house to show her how to record a television show on VHS or program the VCR or play a DVD or watch a show on one channel while recording on another, all while transcribing step-by-step instructions for the woman to refer to in the future, a cheat-sheet for idiot-box operation.

All of a sudden I am getting emails from her friends requesting me make house calls to remedy computer problems and install printers. It is as if my mom is pimping me out.

And if I don’t do it my mom will find someone who will. Why is she in charge of these people’s lives?

Are we slaves to the Baby Boomer generation now? Am I obligated to help her friends with their problems? Am I a bastard if I don’t dish up some community service? Will I be on call forever, building a customer base of epic proportions, ending up delivering meals on wheels to them in the far future; mowing lawns and performing car maintenance and heavy lifting, my soul captured in a limbo between my generation and the ones previous?

product placement

Transformers (2007)

To all the haters of this movie, screw you. Screw you with the old-fashioned Transformer toys I played with endlessly as a youth child. If I could, I’d personally hire someone to shove the green Constructicons whole Devastator robot down your complaining, ungrateful throughts. I loved “Transformers.” I loved it! You know you loved it.

I arrived wicked early (I got to the theatre at 4pm and then my sister and PLJ followed shortly after. The show started at 07:30pm). After a hearty Mexican food dinner and a doubly rich dessert of Cold Stone ice cream (cheesecake ice cream mixed with cake batter ice cream mixed with cookie dough in a waffle cone/bowl), I drank 2 Gonzo Imperial Porter, which gave me a hefty buzz. We tailgated in the parking lot with chairs and coolers and the employees inside the theatre laughed at us and thought we were camping-out for the new Harry Potter movie. As if! Filthy British kids. I hope Ron Weasley dies. And Hagrid.

I thoroughly enjoyed “Transformers,” a Michael Bay film. The flick had all of the classic Michael Bay antics like gas-fueled explosions, chaos, elaborate tracking shots, effective use of the magic hour sunset lighting, carnage, action, slow motion Akira Kurosawa right stuff images, great ancillary characters, state-of-the-art military hardware on display perfectly in the frame (shouldn’t it be deployed in this time of war?), sunset love, quick cuts, witty humor, people eating a plate of doughnuts, city streets getting demolished, guns, cars flying too-and-fro through the air and gas-fueled explosions. Like “Pearl Harbor” or “Armageddon” or “The Rock,” this movie reeked of Michael Bay goodness. Did I mention gas-fueled explosions?

This movie was surprisingly funny. Some of the humor contained within was unnecessary “potty humor,” like when Bumblebee took a piss on Agent Simmons (John Turturro), but overall the comedy played well. I laughed. I was mildly amused when Optimus said “my bad.” There were eBay and internet references throughout. It was a timely, current, ultra modern spectacular summer blockbuster.

Boy Shia LaBeouf held his own in this film and the banter between he and his parents was priceless.

Seeing Transformers realized in live-action transported me back to my innocent youth. I played with Optimus Prime toys. I wish I took my old skool Megatron Transformer to the theatre with me, an ancient talisman of glory childhood. I can see the headlines now: “Local man detained after taking toy gun into movie theatre.” Pish posh! Oh and fuck-face, throwing trash on the floor at a movie is every viewer’s right! You’re lucky I didn’t spat partially chewed popcorn down the back of your shirt.

Industrial Light and Magic (ILM): they crunched the pixels in this film. The special effects are the best I have ever seen in a movie (yes, even better than those overrated “Lord of the Hobbit” movies). The FX set the bar higher for all future movies.

You have got to see Transformers on the big screen.

Thankfully there were not too many bratty kids in the audience. I could have done without the mini-robots grunting and providing stupid comic relief. It was as if George Lucas inspired those bits.

best movie ever

That is all.

“The Police” Denver June 9, 2007

The Police concert was great. I traveled via the Light Rail downtown to Brauns and had a nice dinner and beer before meeting up with my sister and some nice people from New Mexico. The Pepsi Center was rocking. I have video. It was a pleasant journey.

RADTube – “The Police Concert in Denver”

tags: denver thepolice colorado band concert pepsicenter sting lightrail train beer blog vblog drunk jam sing bacon chicken

The Swedish Chef Scares Me

Am I the only one who is terrified of the Muppet Swedish Chef? Are not Muppets supposed to bring joy and morals … not images of brutal murder and cooking? The Swedish Chef’s freakish image floats up to me in my dreams. Whenever I saw him as a child, his real hands alarmed me. I think that it’s the real hands that really turn me off to this creature. Just writing this entry unsettles me.

Did you see that Muppet back there!? He had real hands! Those are real man hands on a Muppet!

Those real hands are capable of strangling you. Those real hands wield butcher knives and meat cleavers and knives and stabbing weapons. Those real hands can suffocate you or poke out your eyes. Those real hands can pat you on the back and then behead you or yank at your hair. Those real hands are in desperate need of a manicure.

The Swedish Chef doesn’t speak English, so he could tell you to your face that he is going to kill you and you just would laugh it off. It’s just a cute, mustached, cloth Muppett … with unnatural human hands!!! You would be snickering at his jovial movements until he bum rushes you, reaching towards your throat, pawing at your face, trying to cut off all oxygen to your brain by applying pressure to your esophagus. I am sure he has superhuman strength. Any creature with real hands and no eyes cannot be trusted.

I can hear the hateful words of the Swedish Chef now, “I em gueeng tu keell yuoo Rooss su yuoo better vetch yuoor beck! My reel hunds ere-a here-a tu strungle-a yuoo!”

There are actually Swedish Chef fan websites

It says on there, “And if you think he isn't funny … You don't have any humor!” No. I value my life and do not wish to be prematurely killed by a rampaging Muppet with real hands!!!!!

Ugh. I’m scarred for life.

Biscuits and Gravy Society

Biscuits and gravy: the finest grub ever invented by modern man. I am the founder and President of The B&G Society, a vagabond group of people who search the world over for the holiest of holies: the bestest plate of biscuits and gravy ever! We elite at the B&G Society are ever searching, always seeking, the holy grail of biscuits and gravy.

My fascination with this wholesome treat started in my teen years. I first made biscuits and gravy on Sunday, December 1, 1991. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was 16 at the time and whipped up a hefty batch with best friend MELT. The culinary delight had ground turkey white gravy and was GOOD!

Here at the radhole HQ, we have shared countless plates of biscuits and gravy together over the years.

The search still continues to this day.

I pride myself on taking the quest so very seriously. I know that the finest plate of biscuits and gravy is out there somewhere. Some say B&G is deadly and I laugh! I consider it like the Japanese delicacy, fugu! The hunt for B&G takes determination, foresight and leaves no room for bashfulness. It’s a rough road. Don’t be afraid to photograph your biscuits and gravy. You shall not be persecuted.

While on the travels, one never knows when one will hit a B&G jackpot. Truck stops, family owned restrents or street vendors usually sell the grub B&G. Undoubtedly, while on the road, there is a painful twinge in the back of your brain, a hankering for a mess of fluffy, mongo buttermilk biscuits slathered in peppery, white country sausage gravy. Few can fight the urge.

In the constant search for biscuity goodness, the quest has taken me to various locations upon this great American land: Kentucky, Alabama, Kansas, Iowa, Minnesota, California, Delaware, New York, Washington DC, Georgia, Tennessee, Illinois, Missouri, South Dakota, Texas, Florida, Utah and Colorado.

I’ve searched and searched for the ideal biscuity knowledge. The one true source! But nothing compares to the righteous and stout recipe by GrandPappie Bailey. I was weaned on his freshly split buttery enchantment. I used to watch him craft breakfast. He was a cook in the World War II. He taught me to cook. Them biscuits are legendary! Them breakfasts am hearty. I salivate.

Old GrandPappie Bailey perfected his blissful recipe when he was four years old back in Saratoga Township, Pratt County, Kansas in 1925! Forget Bisquick! GrandPappie make his exquisite biscuits from scratch and they’ll make you rise on up and proclaim with a hearty holler "GrandPappie Bailey’s biscuits make me sing in jubilee!" Add those goodly biscuits to perfecto gravy sunshine, luscious gravy or grubby gravy; all made from the drippings of the finest browned breakfast sausage, and you’ve got yourself a mess of breakfast delight!

Biscuits and Gravy, a tradition in certain circles, is also a great ceremony. There are times when B&G is made just for the sake of making it. It’s a treat sitting down to a steaming plate of biscuits and gravy. Try it. They taste good any time of year.

Besides homemade, the current best biscuits and gravy (2007) reside at Bauer's Campus Café, 435 Poncha, Alamosa, CO 81101 (719) 589-4202. They are cheap and delectable.

Russ Dale
Biscuits and Gravy Society

a small B&G gallery

THE B&G RAP by Russ Dale

Biscuits and Gravy Rap Lyrics:

TELEPHONE CONVERSATION

Yo. We hit the B&G jackpot dawg. We be sittin' down to a heapin' plate of biscuits and gravy yo. Better dan da restrents. Come on over Shiz-Hole. It's homemade from the drippings of the finest browned breakfast sausage. Uh huh. Dats right. You's got a hankering for a mess of fluffy, mongo buttermilk biscuits covered in peppery, white country sausage gravy? I'll sees you in ten minutes dawg!

What up J-Hole? I's got a song fo you.
Forget your cereal. We got lardy goodness.
It's ethereal. Down right crudeness
Food stuffs. Release your cuffs.
No greasy bacon. Hey I ain't fakin' It's time to awaken!
No no no
No eggs neither
Take a breatha

We's gonna slather
or rather
tether, every otha, whilst enjoy this weather.
And together
Fill our bellies with anti jams and jellies. Inhale the smellies, no delis fellies, feelin' wellies. Feliz Navadad!
Knees on sod, pray to God, not Zod, just nod, join the B&G vice squad. It's odd.
It's peppery. We play. Don't stray!

It's biscuity goodness. Call the press.
I see you drool. Welcome to school.
You's got hunger? You ain't getting' any younger!
The pains be stabbin'. Yo stomach you grabbin'
Soooooooooooo

(Chorus)
Grab a plate yo. It's feast time.
You's be filled with glee
At my blissful recipe.
It's Biscuits. Biscuits and gravy. (HAY-VE)
freshly split
buttery enchantment (buttery)
hearty contentment
Don't be lazy. Taste my gravy

I used that buttermilk? Smoother than silk!
And da steamin' pepper white gravy. Sweeeeeeet so very savory.
Can't forget the peppah. Freshly ground black peppah.
Pass the butter yo. Ain't in no mood for olio.
Damn straight yo. We go wit da flow.
Got the Jimmy Dean sausage. Brown breakfast sausage.
Yo it's spicy pork. Don't need no goddamn fork.
I know I be a smarty. This food am mighty hearty.

Hear that bell that ring? Join me and sing.
It's breakfast time. Come here my rhyme.
(Chorus)
It's feast time.
You's be filled with glee
At my blissful recipe.
It's Biscuits. Biscuits and gravy.
freshly split
buttery enchantment
hearty contentment
Don't be lazy. Taste my gravy

Taste like shit? Damn foo. You don't like it?
Well fuck you!

I slather I don't skimp. I'm the B&G pimp.