Popination V Formation

a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: The Dirty Duck.

This is the most famous and beloved Denver dive bar I’d never heard of before. Weird that I hadn’t, even from the beloved Dive Bar Dick. Then again, I guess it makes sense that I wouldn’t know the most favorite places in Denver, as I spent most of my life in Boulder. If you’re not from around here, it might surprise you to hear that two cities only about a half hour away from each other would be such different and separate places, but. Then again, Boulder is often called a bubble, and I suppose it is in a few ways. But anyway. I hadn’t heard of it but it sounded like someplace I wanted to try. 

My partner and younger stepgremlin always passed Dirty Duck on their way to various and sundry extracurriculars, and would Muse about it. Both wondered what it must be like inside, and the former had heard very good rumors among the Denver denizens, though he’d never been there. The kid is a kid, so obviously he’d not been there. No research allowed for these essays (remember that’s the rule), but I found it on a Westword list after my fam mentioned it and suddenly started seeing a bunch of commentary about it, all fond thoughts by natives and bar fans alike. ‘Nuff said: I’m in.

Outside, it fits the  Dive Bar Dick’s criterion of looking shady, or closed. Inside? It’s dark and old and very comforting, again right in with the DbD’s rules for what makes a dive bar. What are they? Let’s look again: 

• Old

It should be old naturally, like, really have been in its location for many years. It should look closed or maybe even condemned from the outside. If not familiar (saith the DbD), one should briefly question one’s life choices before opening the door.

Dirty Duck is certainly this. It doesn’t look quite as condemned as other Denver dives I’ve visited, but the door was a little hard to find.

• It should look closed

I’ve covered this above—a dive bar should take a bit of courage to enter, if you don’t know it already.

• Dark inside

The DbD always notes if your eyes need to adjust when you enter a bar. If so, it’s a dive. I agree with this criterion—I feel like a dark dive creates a sort of cocoon as you enter, enveloping you in warmth and soothing dark. With neon signs abounding, of course.

Dirty Duck is definitely like this—it took me a couple seconds to find the one empty bar stool and edge my strange way into it. More about this in a minute.

• Old & dusty decor

Now, I happen to think this is the same as the Old Outside criterion—Old to me means it should be old outside and in. But DbD has these separate and I guess I get it. If you entered an oldy moldy exterior and found a scrubbed clean new interior with brushed steel and bright lights, it would be disconcerting, and not a dive.

Dirty Duck’s inside is as old and crunchy as the outside: a leather padded edge to the old wood bar, handwritten tabs, pool tables and old lamps that barely light the place. A well appointed bar, well organized (see pic), and a crusty bartender who, while not old, had an appropriate wry and dry way about him, bantering with the two factions of regulars who razzed each other and him in equal measure. If I’d stayed longer and if I go more frequently, I’m sure I’d have been included in this as well.

• No food

Now this one I feel like is an optional one: maybe it’s just because in CO there are rules when it comes to serving alcohol, and I believe those laws were even altered during the pandemic and not changed back. I’ve been in a few dives that only have chips or nuts or a jar of pickled eggs as food, but I’ve also been to several dives in Denver and Boulder that have dynamite kitchens but that are definitely still dives. Outback Saloon in Boulder is one that I think of off the top of my head. There are more. Maybe it’s a Colorado thing? I know this state is getting known as kind of a foodie haven. 

Dirty Duck did have a kitchen, actually—from what I eavesdropped, I got the notion that the actual food was made to order and not usually a thing people had. The day’s special when I was there was some kind of gumbo, with shrimp as an added option. One guy ordered it while I was there, but I’d hesitate to get seafood from a Colorado establishment if it looked like this. I can’t think they sell much of it; it’s got to be a little old. But I could be wrong. They also had pickles and corn nuts and bags of chips behind the bar for sale as well. I think at least that much is legally required.

• Basic drinks

No craft cocktails I get. No craft beer would be basically impossible in Colorado. Even the very basic beers here are from microbreweries. It’s just the way we roll when it comes to beer—we’re well know for it and ‘basic’ to us means an Avery or an Odell IPA, not a Coors (though the latter is made in nearby Golden). 

Dirty Duck had a wide range of options at their bar and none of them were luxury choices. Which is as it should be, with a dive. Their handful of taps did boast a few local IPAs and one seltzer, but I don’t like the hazy ones so I started with some Jame-o while I assessed. But this place was unusual in that they actually had Guinness on tap, and, judging from the regular that ordered one, they know how to pour it proper. I did also notice that several of the old guys posted up at their regular barstools were drinking Stella, so I did that too, and I enjoyed it very much. It was even served in the proper Stella goblet. So that’s odd and cool. 

• Weird restrooms

I didn’t go into the restrooms at Dirty Duck, so I can’t speak to those. 

• Cash only

Again, I don’t agree that this one should be a requirement for a dive bar in 2024. Cards are so ubiquitous in this day and age, that it’s really weird (not to mention inconvenient) when an establishment doesn’t accept cards. Each dive I’ve been to, even the crunchiest, has accepted cards, though they may hand-write their tabs and checks. Dirty Duck has a $15 minimum for a card purchase, which is totally fair. 

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What are your additional criteria? Me, I feel like the regular population (Popination population?) is an essential addition to a bar that can be called a dive. The personalities within a dive are so much what makes a dive comfy. Dirty Duck was no exception. I could tell quite clearly I was being scanned as I entered. I almost could see the red digital text a-la Terminator as I sat: …tall weirdly punk middle aged chick…tattoos okay she’s cool….unintelligible Metal font on shirt, good.…oh look at those heels maybe she’s too posh…ordered whiskey okay she’s allowed to sit with us…. (What does one order at an old beloved dive when one is basically onstage? Whiskey.)

In a place where everybody knows your name, it’s good to have a few ways to lay low and organically enter conversations (and modulate one’s voice). I felt very much at home at Dirty Duck, though I didn’t really make any close friends per se, I could see how it could be. Thing is, my ‘Cheers’ bar is literally staggering distance from my home, so it’s not really nearly as viable as a 20-minute uber (or even a 10-minute one). I want to reshare and re-write some of my many thoughts about 3rd places and their importance. Going to a place like Dirty Duck (or like IC, where I’m drafting this now), or any number of easily pop-over-able places in Boulder, is such a necessity for a healthy social scene. It’s necessary for mental health. Most people living in suburban or more sprawly urban areas don’t have that access, or they’re driving drunk too often.