.JPG)
Barricuda’s is central Cap Hill’s dive bar/diner mainstay
that boasts a colorful (all the colors of the rainbow, if you catch my drift) cast of characters in every booth.
While living in the immediate neighborhood, Cuda’s has become a central hub of
sorts for most of our gang’s activities. It is a calm place to go for cheap beer
and run of the mill bar food. It has hosted our business meetings, family
dinners, holiday brunches, late night meals where we have realized we’ve
forgotten how to eat when the food arrives, and post-game celebrations.
Barricuda’s has also graciously sponsored our recreational sports league team:
The Barricuder’s. We even refer to the back room as “our living room.” If you
think that any of these facts and potential biases would sway this review of
their food in any which way, I implore you to believe that the integrity of my
fingers is infallible. I have discriminating taste and high standards, meaning I
will not happily stick my fingers into each and every Cuder that spreads itself
before me. 
Visiting Barricuda’s as much as we have, we already had a
pretty good idea of the caliber of their food, especially their chicken fingers.
In the past they had been the sour example of a disappointing finger. I was
saving this review in order to fully exploit my collection of must old claptrap
innuendo because of the extremely poor quality of the chicken fingers, but
since the inception of this blog Cuder’s has changed the recipe (or should I say
distributor) of their chicken fingers. Though it is more fun to bitch and moan
about coming away from a meal with a puss filled infection of disgust on your
lip, I will instead focus on the fingers that I had recently and put the old
ones to rest.
When the fingers arrived at our table, my arousal immediately
stiffened. Just by looking at the plate, I could tell these were not the Cuder’s
normal foul discharge but were in fact the exact type of chicken fingers that I
crave. They were actual chicken tenders pounded out flat, battered and fried…
though not by the restaurant; these clearly came frozen from a Sysco type food
distributor. There is a place in a comfort food diet for non-homemade food
stuffs, though, regardless of the current trend toward local sustainable food.
If I gave a flying fist fuck about local sustainable food, I wouldn’t be writing
an immature innuendo laden blog about children’s food, would I?
Upon inserting the first finger into my wet orifice, I was
sent into a state similar to that of post orgasm euphoria. The fingers were at
once crispy, tender, juicy, flaky and savory. As close to perfection as a
frozen fried meat can be, Cuder’s fingers whisked me back to a simpler time
when my only concern in life was the quality of a restaurant’s chicken fingers
and if there would be a chance to see boobs on the HBO late-night movie.
I was
also pleasantly surprised to find that the Cuder was self-lubricating. It
provided us with three delightful sauces to moisten our fingers with before
forcing them into our mouths. The honey mustard, with its perfect blend of
sweet and tangy, was exactly the kind of Cuder juice I’d want to lick off of a
finger. After we finished with the fingers, there was enough lube leftover to
play around with… if only we were on rubber sheets!
I will happily insert four and a half fingers into the
Cuder. They are not perfect, but they are damn near close to it!
-jason
Beer Can Chicken Corner:
Barricuda’s beer list is unmatched anywhere in Denver,
mostly because I’ve never seen it. We usually order a pitcher from the
bar as we breeze past the host area and show ourselves to the back room, our
living room. The alcohol catch of the day is always the $6 pitchers of
Coors Banquet. And with a price like that, one must order a pitcher per
finger; we usually wind up with a fistful of 5. Gun Bae!
-kevin
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)