What's So Funny? Meat on a schtick

Great news, Denver dicks: There’s a brand new joint in town where you can unfurl your manhood! Yes, you heard me right, backslapping members of the city’s rich, white elite. Next time you feel like taking out that spray-tan of a leather sofa you call your girlfriend, forget taking her to The Capital Grill then to Spill for bottle-service. Screw dry-cleaning that mink holocaust your third-wife loves so much and then heading down to either Del Frisco’s or the Cool River Cafe in the DTC. That shit is played out, playboy.

The next time you feel like acting self-important in a city that is anything but, may I suggest hitting up a new spot called Fogo de Chão downtown? Or have you not yet heard of Denver’s newest, hottest, most identical-to-a-hotel-banquet-hall churrascaria?

That leaves you in pretty exclusive company then, because everyone who was anyone was on hand at the Brazilian steakhouse last week for the grand opening. And by everyone who was anyone, I mean Mayor John Hickenlooper and Nenê. Other than that it was just a flock of cheese-dick, white-toothed assholes doddering after their bobble-headed girlfriends, then row after opportunistic row of miserable-looking press types, there to festoon their kidneys with free alcohol and pocket cheese squares for their cats.

It was typical Denver trying to appear impressive, all dressed up and dolled out and sort of nervous looking and kind of pathetic. Don’t get me wrong, I love this city with my entire aorta, but that out-to-impress look never quite fits us—mostly, it makes us look like we’re wearing our daddies' suits.

Still, I was there in my father’s best coat because I was curious to see what, if anything, could open during such a bad economy, but also in such a grand fashion as to offer everything on its menu for free for one day. With an open-bar. Then extend that offer so far that it actually trickled down to me. What possible service could merit such an introduction?

Meat on a stick.

“Our unique concept,” a pamphlet informed me, “features continuous tableside service of fifteen different, delectable cuts of beef, pork, lamb and chicken… Patrons control their service with a small green and red-sided chip. The green side signals the ‘Gaucho’ chefs to bring out skewers of sizzling meats to the table, while the red side indicates a stopping point.”

So let me get this straight, I thought to myself as I sucked down glass after glass of expensive merlot and deftly avoided eye-contact with members of the media whom I’ve met but whose names I've forgotten: This place’s “unique concept” is a bunch of Brazilian dudes in flamboyant pants serving meat off of swords?

That is brilliant! Too bad there’s a place in town called Rodizio Grill that does the exact same thing. For cheaper. Three blocks away.

Now, I’m no businessman. Truth be told, calculating a 20 percent tip is often difficult for me. (And, yes, I’m aware of the whole calculate 10 percent then double it secret—it’s still hard for me.) But if I were to open a restaurant that did, oh I don’t know, the exact same thing as another restaurant, I would either not open up shop mere spitting distance from said other restaurant, or somehow find a way to charge less. But Fogo de Chão—which I believe is Portuguese for “wrong market”—seems to disagree with my logic.

As far as I can surmise, it’s Fogo de Chão’s contention that because of its upscale environment, and the success of its corporate model from Beverly Hills to Sao Paulo, it’ll be able to open up shop in downtown Denver and basically kick a whole lot of ass while speaking in a Brazilian accent.

I overheard a Denver restaurant type telling a companion, “I bet this is the busiest night this place ever sees.”

I don’t know about that, and I certainly don’t wish failure on anyone, but Fogo de Chão felt watered-down and homogenous, vaguely soul-sucking and exploitive, and certainly like something I wouldn't shell out $39 for—especially when I could get it down the street for $33. But it certainly was nice to eat there for free and see Nenê.

Dude’s as tall as I am seated.