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Archive for the ‘Food’ Category

Writing Lost Fort Collins has been a load of fun. In fact, it’s been an obsession. But lately,  just about every part of my life has changed. My work is drying up, my family is transitioning, and I’m ready for some change.

So, I’m moving on. To Bismarck, North Dakota, of all places.

But before I go, let me say this: It is an honor to be read, and especially to have others participate in my enthusiasm. Many of you told stories, asked questions, sent photos, or offered up ideas. Lately, you’re not even talking to me anymore, but to each other.  I love that.  Many of you contributed history of  Fort Collins that otherwise had never been captured.

I’m prouder of Lost Fort Collins than almost anything else I’ve ever done. Thanks for being part of it.

Cat

P.S. If you want to stay in touch, feel free to friend me on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/catmcc) or write cat at lostfortcollins.com

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Downtown Diner, November 2009

My long-lost friend Ute came to visit today, and caught this while we were dining downtown. Ute said I could use her photo, but not say the  name of the restaurant because that’s unkind to the business.

Okay, I won’t say where we were. But use a disinfectant wipe on your Parmesan dispenser if you eat outside anywhere in the next few days, okay?

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One hamburger joint Norm may remember:  Morrie’s “In and Out” on South College. It was a little before my time but I know it was popular with a lot of FCHS students because it was relatively close to the old high school building on Remington.” Jim Burrill

Morries

1611 S. College. Photo from history.fcgov.com

“I remember Morries In & Out – the owner was Morris Teel who was a neighbor of my parents. Morrie was a very good golfer and in the 50’s and 60’s gave “Spike Baker” some good competition-by the way they lived next door to one another.   -Captain Bevo

“Morrie’s In-and-Out was located just south of Prospect in the approx location of “Chucky Cheese” It was a popular High School eatery in the fifties and had no inside service. You ordered into a mike and drove up to the window. A foot-long hot dog and a root beer was 35 cents. Beyond that to the south was all farms until you reached Trilby and the popular nightclub “Clancys” on the East side of the road. It later became the Cow Palace etc.” -Norm

norm_profile[What happens when you ask the Lost Fort Collins blog a question? Typically, I just go ask Norm for the answer. Norm Cook has lived in Fort Collins since the mid 1940s, and he remembers EVERYTHING!

Now, you can cut out the middle man and ask Uncle Norm yourself. Just write Norm@lostfortcollins.com.  Answers appear here on the Lost Fort Collins blog]

[This edition of Ask Uncle Norm was taken from recent discussion on an earlier post. If you just can’t get enough of fifties fast food at the fort, read (and contribute to) the comments here]

[Become a fan of Lost Fort Collins on Facebook]

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There once was a boy from a desolate  town that had only one girl worth dating. And when she left him, he came to Fort Collins to float his broken heart in Fat Tire, because you couldn’t buy that where he came from.  Before long,  he discovered O’Dells IPA. It was even better. Probably because she had never even heard of it.
One night, we were at Road 34 disagreeing about whether you can believe in love but not in God, when I realized I’d let him get too drunk.
“I’m going to buy you a burrito,” I said.
“Do you have McBurritos here?” he asked. “The only girl worth dating–we always ate there.”
I put him in my car and drove right past McBurritos, and he was too drunk or too new to insist on it.  Instead, I took him to Big City Burrito.
There wasn’t a line, so I didn’t tell him the rules for ordering…
(The tortilla guy doesn’t want to know what kind of burrito you’re having. Just tell him what kind of tortilla…he’s only pretending to listen to the rest. The filling guy will ask you…never mind. OH, unless you’re getting potato, you have to tell the tortilla guy if you’re going to get potato.)
The boy from a desolate town ordered a potato burrito, and then turned down the Ranch dressing. “Nobody turns down the Ranch dressing with potato,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“Nevermind.” It was his Big City Burrito and I knew better than to think I could save him from his own bad decisions by now. So I poured us both an iced tea. He found us an unelegant table in a room with sobering lights.
The burritos and the tea did their work. When I was nearly done, I went to pee.  When I returned he was talking to a girl with a damp table rag about John Cage, and she was leaning toward him.
That potato burrito with no Ranch started the cure. Within days, he stopped talking about the only girl worth dating. And he stopped talking about where they ate.  And he stopped talking about love all together.
But he kept eating at Big City. Every day.
And he never stopped talking about God.

BigCityWindow

There once was a boy from a desolate  town that had only one girl worth dating. And when she left him, he came to Fort Collins to float his broken heart in Fat Tire, because you couldn’t buy that where he came from.  Before long,  he discovered O’Dells IPA. It was even better. Probably because she had never even heard of it.

One night, we were at Road 34 disagreeing about whether you can believe in love but not in God, when I realized I’d let him get too drunk.

“I’m going to buy you a burrito,” I said.

“Do you have McBurritos here?” he asked. “The only girl worth dating–we always ate there.”

I put him in my car and drove right past McBurritos, and he was too drunk or too new to insist on it.  Instead, I took him to Big City Burrito.

There wasn’t a line, so I didn’t tell him the rules for ordering…

(The tortilla guy doesn’t want to know what kind of burrito you’re having. Just tell him what kind of tortilla…he’s only pretending to listen to the rest. The filling guy will ask you…never mind. OH, unless you’re getting potato, you have to tell the tortilla guy if you’re going to get potato.)

The boy from a desolate town ordered a potato burrito, and then turned down the Ranch dressing. “Nobody turns down the Ranch dressing with potato,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“Nevermind.” It was his Big City Burrito and I knew better than to think I could save him from his own bad decisions by now. So I poured us both an iced tea. He found us an unelegant table in a room with sobering lights.

The tea did its work. I went to pee.  When I returned he was talking to a girl with a damp table rag about John Cage, and she was leaning toward him.

That potato burrito with no Ranch started the cure. Within days, he stopped talking about the only girl worth dating. And he stopped talking about where they ate.  And he stopped talking about love all together.

But he kept eating at Big City. Every day.

And he never stopped talking about God.

My day job is interfering with my blog this week. That’s why I’m offering something more creative than historic. Something I wrote in the middle of the night recently. More relevant posts to come when the real work is done.

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