Popination Unification

a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: The 49th.

Also: a Brutalist Wedding.

The savage bull may [bear the yoke], but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull’s horns and set them in my forehead, and let me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write ‘Here is good horse to hire’ let them signify under my sign ‘Here you may see Benedick, the married man.’

(Much Ado About Nothing, I.i.215–219)

So bleak. And beautiful. And yes, we have some adorable newlywed pics of us in front of that ridiculous backdrop. Because of course—look at it!

Let me tell you a story about the absolute Surreality, if not Soviet Brutalism, of my courthouse marriage on Friday afternoon.

So we’d been planning our union for a little while, and decided, for many reasons (not the least of which includes /gestures widely/), that we’d get the legal bits out of the way on our own, go on our honeymoon, and then later on, most likely early this summer, throw a big party where people can come celebrate and etc. And so he proposed on Xmas Eve, and this past Friday, on the 21st of February, we got hitched at the Littleton courthouse not far from home.

The courthouse itself was massive, housing the DMV and other legal type offices within. Unlike the one I’m accustomed to in Boulder, which is plop center downtown and gloriously art deco in design, this one in Littleton was a series of beige blocks, as was the carpet once we went inside. The very courteous policeman directed us to the Clerk & Recorder, and we knew we were nearing the right spot when we saw in the distance, past the dreary airport-style rows of waiting seats, a little backdrop mounted on the wall just opposite the doors, like a cheap YouTuber.

The process was quick and efficient and my photographer friend had come by to snap pics of us—he, like us, was enthralled with the beige brutalism of the surroundings, contrasted with the festive pastoral backdrop obviously mounted there for those couples like us who choose the courthouse route for their unions. It was over in about 20 minutes tops, and my new husband and I found ourselves a bit peckish, and in need of a festive beverage.

But, however celebratory, the Littleton Courthouse is not a pub!

I had done the thing I often do, where I know I have a thing to do, and so I look around the area using google maps to find a Popination possibility. Today we were going to be in a weird little slushy corner of Littleton, between the old dire weekly-rate motel area of town and a nicely made up new few blocks filled with fresh condos and this lovely, odd little nook that housed multiple different small ethnic food joints. Including The 49th.

The 49th state, that is.

That’s what this pub of choice was named after, I realized embarrassingly late. Alaska, the 49th state. (Don’t judge me.) We found our weird backroads way to this food hall laden corner facing the highway. It was warm just a day after a blizzard, and so it was watery and slushy all around, and the perfect temperature that we in Colorado call False Spring.

Inside, it was both comforting wood, and that sort of brushed steel/exposed piping of a modern brewery. But instead of being an actual brewery, this place had all Alaskan beers, and 49th state themed drinks. What a weird niche theme: Alaska? Okay…that’s one I haven’t ever experienced before, but wow is their smoked salmon spread smoky! I’m in.

And of course there were fishing tackle and mooses and a stuffed mounted reindeer head and like big fish and…

This is one of those Popinations that if we lived closer we’d come here more often. As it is, this is our new anniversary spot, for sure. It’s delightful, and the bartender was so amiable and good at his job. The bar was nearly full of comfy regulars when we got there, which is always a good sign, and more kept trickling in as we snacked and marveled at our new shiny rings and as happy hour crept up on us. It was sunny. It was relaxing. It was… nice.

As I write this continuing series, I keep finding these places that I sort of mourn, even as I celebrate their discovery. And I’ve done enough Popinations now that I’m finding some are fading away before I can get a chance to go back and enjoy them. Like Incantation (both its locations). And Dionysus wine bar, before I ever got a chance to write about it in the first place. Let alone DV8.

The jar aesthetic was super cool.

The comical brutalism of our wedding scene was actually perfect for us. It was absurd and surreal and funny in the bleakest sort of way. The clerk that helped us with all the legal papers was flashy behind Plexiglas, wearing thick silver chains around his neck and an array of rings on each finger, flashing silver or sparkly white or iridescent rainbow niobium as he signed and typed and stamped with his various ceremonial sigils. He joked to my husband: ‘So if you’re feeling a little tightening around one of your ankles…’ and I showed him my necklace, consisting of a ball and chain design. I retorted: ‘O I’m way ahead of you.’ ‘I was only joking!!’ he laughed.

And finding The 49th was such a lovely surprise after, yanno? There are weird little lovely corners everywhere in the world it seems, still. For now, at least. Long live love. And smoked salmon.

This was taken just before the bartender bought us a pair of Duck Fart shots, on the house. Ask me what a Duck Fart is. Go ahead, ask.