My Brother’s Bar, Denver

When the manfriend takes me for burgers we go to one of two places. LoHi Steak Bar over the bridge into Highland or the oldest continually operating saloon in the city, a joint on a corner on the edge of downtown. Dark and wooden inside but with a surprisingly charming patio out back, all wobbly tables and mismatched chairs.

Oh, and there’s no name on the door.

We go for the burgers and the drinks. And for Paul. He knows manfriend from music (the local scene is more than incestuous; you can’t swing a drunk girl without hitting someone-who-knows-someone-who-sang-with-that one-who-played-an-open-mic-with that one. And like Pamela Des Barres, I like being with the band.) Paul shakes what I’ve declared the best dirty martini, slight on brine, perfectly icy premium vodka (make mine Grey Goose, the true Dirty Bird) and floating three giant olives. He never overclouds, more Catholic school girl dirty than truly filthy. Perfection. He's a good guy, and may even share a shot of "end-of-shift" Ouzo with you. Opa!!

My nosh and (other, can't call it second 'cause I have love to go around) Denver favorite is the The Johnny Burger. Grilled on a silver flat top, wrapped in paper (forget plates!) and piled with caramel-colored grilled onions and three kinds of cheese; one a happy yellow another a smear of jalapeño cream cheese. When you pull buns apart to add extra pickles (at least five chips) strings unearth in a cartoonish, cheesey melt. Best with lettuce and tomatoes, it’s a messy, glorious, juicy and hot handful of love.

LoHi Steakbar and My Brother's Bar are like brothers from another mother, related but unique and each carry the other half of this amulet. Bars at heart, but familyish-friendly (both pubs and barstools on one side, tables, chairs and booths on the other). Brother's less polished, the older and wiser of the duo.

Don't forget the Girl Scouts, cookie. The owner buys (rumor has it) $20,000 worth of cookies from the Scouts each year and resells them at face to customers until they run out. At the height of cookie madness, boxes line every wall, nook and cranny.

And boy howdy Tagalongs® go well with Guinness.