Eats and the Inevitable

I finally got to try the Gastro Cart in downtown Denver today, and ohhh yeah.

It’s just a little silver lunch cart on the corner of 18th and Curtis. They could be selling hot dogs. There wasn’t an awning, or a seating area.

But they’re working an angle, honey: it’s good food.

Run by two former line-cooks at Table 6, the Gastro Cart serves a menu that is (wisely) limited in scope. On the regular menu are chicken tacos, veggie tacos, a lamb gyro, and a side. There’s also a daily special. All this week, it’s the Haitian-style pork slider, with half the sale proceeds going to the American Red Cross for earthquake relief efforts. (Decent, right?)

The execution is incredibly low-budge. Specials are advertised on Twitter and Facebook. The menu is a photocopied quarter-page of white paper. Your pay options? Cash only.

The execution is also totally delicious. I got the special, the pork slider, and it was a really good little sammich. (With homemade pickle - cute.) Straightforward, but not simple-minded, not totally obvious. A surprisingly sophisticated combination of flavors.

I took one bite and thought, This could be habit-forming.

The Handsome Man and I are going back tomorrow for actual lunch.

I’m already loving this concept.

A movement towards really good street food. It activates my imagination: gastro carts and foodie stands on every other downtown corner, serving excellent, unfussy dishes at reasonable prices. Denver would become known for its sublime options for edgy corner dining. Our residents would come to define everyday eats as real food that supports local micro-businesses (and, preferably, local producers of produce, dairy and meat).

Let's face it - it’s only a matter of time before I find myself in a hairnet, guys. We might as well start getting our heads around it.

Women Who Run

So, you get the Post?

You see today’s lineup of potential mayoral candidates?

What’s with there being only one woman?

Before you even begin trying to talk me down, I know, I know, it’s just an article, and just an exploration, and just one author’s take on it.

And I do totally realize that there isn’t even a race yet, a mayoral race being contingent on Hick winning his gubernatorial bid.

But no more than one woman is even seriously considering it?

To our credit, Denver, at least we have some racial diversity among the candidates, and you know that’s what everybody’s going to focus on.

But I’m a little embarrassed for us, when there’s only one woman being viewed as in the game. The contenders, the people who are serious about this, are serious right now.

We’d be hearing about more women.

And I’ll tell you what, the particular woman who is featured in the article is totally not my candidate. But I see that as beside the point. She is not who I’ll be supporting, but I appreciate that she’s running. I would like to have seen a lineup that included at least two to three more women.

And, depending on the women, I probably wouldn’t be supporting them, either.

But maybe you would. Other people would.

We’re half the population, y’all.

I’d just like to see em on the roster, is all. Is that so wrong?

Bah. You know I could go on. Instead, I’ll just direct any interested parties to The White House Project, and be done with it for now. Our friends over there explain it very well, and walk the walk to go with it.

And no, I didn’t support Hillary, either. But I totally appreciated that she ran. Game-changing.

(Do you know that apparently I chronically misspell “embarrassed”? Spell check keeps correcting me, and it keeps coming as a surprise...Ironically, that’s a little embarrassing.)

One Really Good Thing

Just feeling really good recently. I keep catching a smile at the corners of my mouth. (No, I'm not pregnant.) I've been meaning to write about it. For example:

Mae's tremendous success with her welcome reception last week.

My dear friend Mae is the recently-crowned director of a statewide foundation (I know! We’re all so proud.), and last Thursday was her first big community function. Ostensibly, it was to be a feel-good event for the purpose of introducing Mae to the community, awarding the selected grant recipients, and recognizing the founders. But Mae was responsible for the planning, natch, and was going to have to host, and give a speech. All of this is well within her capabilities, but...nerves. You know.

Well, the event was a hit. It was an after-work, happy-hour kind of gathering at Museo de las Americas on Santa Fe Drive. By six o’clock, the museum was packed, room to room, with a great mix of people connecting and reconnecting. Plus live music, open bar and tasty nibblies to make sure everybody lingered. And Mae’s speech was so good - clear and heartfelt and funny and warm. All the best parts of her personality came shining through.

Every angle of my critical nature was satisfied - as a professional fundraiser, as Mae’s adoring friend, as a curious community member, I was really impressed.

While the bigwig was introducing Mae, I positioned myself where I could see the podium clearly, so Mae would be able to see me when she got up to bat. I knew she was nervous, and I wanted to be an obvious friendly face in the audience. My plan was to will her, just actively good vibe her, into doing well.

I don’t think she needed my help.

First of all, she was very composed and terribly well-spoken. She engaged the audience with good, consistent eye contact, while delivering interesting, relevant facts and exhorting the community to get involved. She was friendly and professional, easygoing but very compelling. A natural leader.

Also, there was no shortage of good vibes in that audience. As I stood there, trying to emanate goodwill towards her, I realized I wasn’t the only one. Between the preponderance of smiling faces and the rapt attention being paid, it was perfectly obvious that this audience was in love. That’s quite a feeling in a roomful of people. Especially when it’s directed towards your good friend, and she is totally deserving.

And that’s when I had to step aside and let the blond head in front of me obstruct my view, and block Mae’s view of me, because I started doing that dorky thing -- moms know --where you’re smiling but you’re kind of about to cry because you’re so touched and proud, but you’re trying to keep your cool because you’re in public and your friend is going to be totally embarrassed by you if you don’t keep it together.

(In my defense, Mae’s family wasn’t there, and someone had to well up with pride! It’s possible that I was channeling her mother, or maybe a big sister.)

Dude. I knew you when, man.

I hope she’s getting as much of a lift out of it as I am continuing to enjoy.

More really good things to come.

Interview

Ooooh, Handsome got an interview for the job in Pueblo.

And now we’re all aflutter - Would we really move? Would we sell our house? Would we leave our families - COULD we? Would we plan to STAY in Pueblo? What about if/when we have kids?

Gee.

Handsome and I like some restaurants in Pueblo. We enjoy the Colorado State Fair. There are some lovely residential districts.

But it’s an acknowledged fact that part of what we enjoy about Pueblo is the drive down and back. I am always glad to come home.

Pueblo.

Unthinkable to certain Past Crystals. A full range of versions of me would have dismissed the idea out of hand. And even now, an alarmed inner voice is asking, What about arts & culture? What about Black people? What about choice in health care? Do they have any of that in Pueblo?

Handsome and I tend to like the people we meet in Denver who come from Pueblo. Chaco is from Pueblo. We could totally reinvent ourselves in Pueblo.

But how can we even be considering leaving our friends? My dear Mae? Our sweet-ass neighbors? Soup Group? How did leaving town get put on the table?

Well, it’s on the table because this town is starting to feel like a cage to me. Denver is such a known quantity at this point. I grew up here, feeling stifled and wanting different. My nuclear family lives here, my extended family lives here, Joe’s family lives here. My whole professional career has been conducted here. There’s so much duty and obligation and decorum -- and I am somebody who loves duty and obligation and decorum. I am a firm believer in duty and obligation and decorum.

But sometimes I just want to scream. I want to be somebody completely different than I am today and have everybody believe it. Or I want to be left entirely alone and have nobody feel slighted. I want to believe that life will be more tomorrow than it was yesterday, and that I’ll be able to achieve at least some of my dreams that look so distant and unlikely right now.

I feel like if we stay in Denver now, things will just remain the same, forever maybe, and that would suck, in a word. I’m craving major change. Change has been sounding like liberation to me for some time now. And I don’t want to cut off all my hair again.

(I might start wearing wigs, though. And while Denver might would have an opinion about that, nobody in Pueblo gives a shit about me! I could so rock the panoply of wigs in Pueblo!)

This feels a little childish, a little adolescent. Maybe that's because the last time I thought Denver was my problem, I was an adolescent. Maybe it's because I think wigs are part of the solution.

Ugh. If Denver was my husband, it would be time for us to have a heart-to-heart and try to rediscover that spark we once had. Because this relationship is on the rocks.

And it’s just that I’m taking Denver for granted is all, really. I just called it “a known quantity”, for goodness sake. I’m Denver’s dissatisfied wife with a wandering eye, but that’s not poor Denver’s fault. Denver is wishing we’d take salsa lessons together, or start a volunteer project, or vacation in the mountains, get to know one another again. Me and my reclusive ways have barely scratched the surface of what Denver has to offer, but I know enough to have a sense of some of the cool shit I’m not doing. It’s a great city, a peerless city, and so much better-suited to my wants and needs than the small-town version I grew up in. I’m being an asshole.

I’m just going through some things.

It’s not you, Denver. It’s me.

But here’s how Denver isn't like a husband: I can leave and come back.

Denver and I maybe need to go on a break.

Can we DO that?

Pueblo.


At the Colorado State Fair in Pueblo, 2009
Photo credit: The Handsome Man