Popination Configuration
a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: White Chocolate Grill.
We were Musing, my husband and I, about the configuration (!) of outdoor malls (and malls in general, and hybrid ones too, with both outdoor walkways and indoor complexes), as we went over to the Park Meadows Mall to Popinate. We agreed on our distaste of the hybrid, or corporate outdoor malls, though we recognized that their existence means that the urban planners were trying to create a walkable urban area but in a sub-urban place. The problem with their setup ends up with kind of the worst of both worlds: you have to drive to the destination, park in a huge lot, and then walk around in the little enclosed complex as though it’s a walkable downtown. It doesn’t work; it’s not pleasant in the way that urban walkable downtowns are, and not as convenient as a strip mall in a suburb either. Or at least the shop choices are less interesting. And all-indoor malls, like the ones we used to hang out in as teens in the ‘80s? They don’t really exist anymore.
My attitude towards malls, I’m sure has everything to do with those that presided over my teenhood, in particular the historic and gorgeous Pearl St. Mall in Boulder. Thinking about this and comparing it to the awkward walkway experience of Park Meadows makes me wonder: despite its size, is Boulder more of an urban city than a small town, or certainly than a suburban one? I’m thinking so. And of course, we’re spoiled, my husband and I, having grown up with such a unique place to hang out as Pearl Street.
And then when I worked down on Auraria campus in downtown Denver, I’d go to the 16th Street Mall, a long drag of 16th that, while it’s not technically a pedestrian strip, only has the traffic of a mall shuttle. It too is a hip walkable urban mall. Or, it was. Until the pandemic threw the area into violent ruin, that it hasn’t really been able to climb up out of since, though the block of Larimer Square is still closed to all vehicular traffic. I’m still not comfortable again yet walking around down there, though it used to be so vibrant.
I’m sure
has some more in-depth findings about this mall phenomenon, so go sift through his fascinating urbanism discourse, and let’s get back to my topic:
But a mall is not a pub!
Though there be pubs within malls, of many types. This trip was true — remember The Yard House was across the twisted brick way as today’s destination, and we went there last time since this place was too crowded. But today, the White Chocolate Grill had a mostly open bar waiting for us, so we pulled up a couple leather bar stools and perused their extensive whiskey list to quench our thirst.
The exterior was a classic boring hybrid-mall facade, with a rotating door to give one a moment of time to let the eyes adjust to the dim mood lighting within. It’s a big sprawling restaurant, in what I would call a corporate-steakhouse type layout (and certainly menu). Husband tells me that back in his 9-5 corporate business office days, White Chocolate was one regular stop on their whiskey tour evenings.
Inside, the bar area was sparkly and comfy, its many rows of bottles making a delicious mosaic, and a wide long range of steakhouse offerings were on the robust menu. We had snacks and ahi tuna and a perfectly cooked burger, and sampled some of the genius cocktails made by our petite blonde bartender of the afternoon, whose name I unfortunately never caught. What I did learn was that she had a deep love of home repairs and building, and was even gifted some new tools as a thank you from her manager after having invented some stellar new drinks to add to their regular menu. One was a new jigsaw, that she was clearly excited about (as who wouldn’t be).
Handy Ma’am
Not only did she have (obviously) a good handle on keeping up a well constructed household, she kept a smoothly running front of house as well. She was working the long bar and big bar area table setup all alone, and at no point did I feel neglected, nor was she harried at all, but handled the whole place with coolth and aplomb. She even made me a couple cocktails of her own invention (which is how we got on the conversation of her inventions being put on the menu) when I couldn’t decide. One was a flowery herbal gin based confection that was like a mojito but with herbs replacing the mojito’s sugary sweetness. And when I asked her to make me a cocktail for dessert since I was too full to eat any more, I was presented with the frothiest, coffee-noted, downright best espresso martini I’ve ever had. Perfectly balanced and well built, like I have no doubt all of her shelves and roof shingles are too.
I can only conclude with an overview of the vibe; the mood of the place. When more people began taking up barstools to either side of us, we didn’t feel crowded but welcomed, a part of some warm club. I can understand why this bar looks so busy so much of the time—it’s the place to be, and I get why. And at the dregs of our last drink, my husband looked around at our environs, turned to me, and declared, “I feel like I belong here.” We did. We do. We’ll be back.
Unlike a mall. At least these days.