Popination Appreciation
a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: The Thin Man. But St. Mark’s, too.
This Popination Post™ is a bit later than is normal, my lovely readers. Sorry ‘bout that. But this particular popination took place only yesterday, and the (beautiful) pub wasn’t exactly the right vibe for hauling out one’s computer and doing work at the bar, the way my ‘local’ is. So I took pics and longhand notes, then packed up and popinated to said local, to translate said scribbled notes into something resembling a thing to write from. By that time, I was exhausted (there’s been Covid in my household recently and, while I haven’t caught that, I seem to have caught something of the aligned fatigue). So. That’s why. Please to enjoy, now it’s here.
Popination Appreciation
Do I mean appreciation, though? Or appropriation? I feel like I’ve appropriated this place, from my partner who’s the one who used to be a real live regular here. All I did was follow him in But. I didn’t, like, take it from him, or steal his regular-ness—he invited me because he thought I’d like it. And I do. Appreciation is usually a positive thing; appropriation, a thing that white people do when they take cool shit that non-white people have been doing for years and pretend like it’s their own. Right? Like what the boneheads did with skinhead culture. So yeah okay I’ll claim Appreciation.
*Skinhead music and fashion began in the Black (largely Jamaican) diaspora in England, and until the asshole boneheads stole it and made the word ‘skinhead’ a synonym for nazi, it was violently and passionately anti-racist. (See Fred Perry’s current anti-racist campaign to reclaim their brand, which I mentioned here.) Punk is like, the opposite of oppression. That’s the whole point. Anyway. Skinhead music and fashion (the whole couture) is a fascinating study–that’s a fierce and fun rabbit hole, if you’re interested.
But I digress. A little.
Sharing is Caring
I wasn’t sure which wonderful pub to visit for this week’s popination, but I had a couple ideas. Then, my partner strode into the room yesterday morning, pointed at me, and declared, “You. You haven’t done Thin Man yet. In your popinations.” And I hadn’t. And I also hadn’t been there in a long time. Thin Man Tavern used to be a place where my partner would frequent, so much so that when he introduced me to the place when we started dating, the staff remembered him after something like a decade. It’s a cool place, and I was excited to visit it again, and describe it to you. But first!
Before going to the target tavern in question, I began my visit next door to it, at St. Mark’s coffeeshop. I began there, just as I often used to with my partner back in the day: we’d do coffee and literati or workerati first, then when we finished, we’d go next door for a drink and to blow off steam. Thin Man doesn’t open until 3pm, so this used to work well for us. And that’s the reason I began at St. Mark’s yesterday—I could sit with something bubbly or caffeinated, digest my giant lunch, and start planning.
St Mark’s
is an old and venerable coffee shop that used to have two locations back in the day but now has just the one. It’s got the old weathered wood floors and the old weird art, and the blackboard menus and the exposed brick and the very hip patio. Back in the Before Times, my partner and I would go to St. Mark’s each Saturday and sit at these majestic and not at all comfortable steel thrones which were our favorite place to park it to do literati. Back then, it was a regular practice we did, which helped us both get our writing done and made us each provide a benevolent and loving accountability for that work. He and I had grown up in Boulder, and, while he moved to Denver years ago, I stayed in Boulder pretty much until I moved in with him, at least part time. So it was a big treat to be squired around, getting to know each other at the same time as I was getting to know the cool corners of Denver. Getting to know St. Mark’s (and secondarily the Thin Man) was a rich accompaniment, in other words, to getting to know the person that used to be a regular there.
Thin Man
But popinations are, by definition, supposed to be about taverns, not coffee shops! And Thin Man is actually called a tavern! Is it, though? Hm. Hard to say. It does have an old-school vibe, and lots of old wood and artistically displayed patches of exposed brick and strange colored lights that are dim withal, and odd ornate sconces, and a big garage style door that’s open most of the time. It doesn’t have rooms to rent, but then that aspect of the definition of ‘tavern’ really isn’t a thing these days.
But the visuals of Thin Man Tavern that it’s most famous for are the multitude of icons and crucifixes on the South wall. The icons are mostly sacred hearts (featuring Jesus mainly but some of Mary), which is an interesting symbology to look at as I drink.
There’s a monster suspended in a swing (looks very Wild Things from Maurice Sendak) staring at me from the upper corner by the window, judging me for not sitting outside either in the back seating area or the front patio like everyone else. I don’t wanna, though—it’s more comfy inside, though much darker. It’s also cooler. I don’t mind being in the dark on a nice day, never have. Quit looking at me, Wild Thing…
As you’ll know if you’ve read any Popination Post™ of mine, I’m an IPA fan, but not the hazy or citrusy type. I like my IPAs to be a bit difficult for most. So once I settled in at the white marble bar of Thin Man, I chose a Man Beer to drink. It’s a very tasty British style IPA that’s just to my palate: woodsy and bitter and savory and not too ridiculously strong.
You’d think I’d take advantage of another thing that Thin Man is known for, instead of the beer: its many vodka (and some tequila) house infusions. They’re lined up along the wall behind the bar: a row of big spigoted glass jars with handmade labels haphazardly stuck to each, various dull brownish color variations and floating things visible within. Which, well that description should explain my aversion, right there. But the flavor choices did seem interesting: lemon, strawberry, apple pie, pickle (actually this sounds really tasty), yerba maté, sweet tea, cucumber… I think if I couldn’t see the contents of the jars, I’d be more likely to try one. A cucumber mojito or a pickle martini really does sound refreshing. But no. Man Beer for me.
As I finished my beers and started to sort out my uber, the other longtime staff member appeared and began going down the row of hanging lights, changing out the bulbs one by one. Speaking of dim. That made the place a lot less dim, and the regulars joked, watching him stand on the bar to switch out the bulbs, that his activity cost extra, ‘dancing’ on the bar. Very cute, and I asked if I should stick the dollar bills into his utility belt…
Old School is Good School
This place (with the attached St. Mark’s) has been an iconically important place for me, for my own Denver acclimation and kind of a symbol of my relationship. Plus, all this gnarly, beautiful, and powerful (and VERY punk) religious iconography echoed through the years, before I ever went (back) to church during lockdown. It’s a comfortable place, though it’s more comfy to hang out and chat in than it is to do anything else. There are no TVs in Thin Man, and I found it not conducive to work. But the bartender is affable and chatty, and it feels good to sit there in the coolth, with a Man Beer (or hey maybe an infusion).
Before this visit for this post, I hadn’t been to Thin Man in a long time, not since we established our comfort zone pub that’s just across the street, within literal stumbling distance. But it’s still a lovely place, it hasn’t changed, and it was lovely revisiting it. And maybe I’ll be back soon, this time with my partner, for old time’s sake.