Mississippi River Trip: The Golden Burro

While we were in one of the parks Larisa and I struck up a conversation with a couple (Jim and Marion) that has traveled the southwest several times by RV.  We started to describe what route we’d planned, and when I mentioned heading through Leadville, Co the wife exclaimed excitedly “Oh, you have to stop and eat at the Golden Burro!  Jim and I went there years ago and the food is fantastic, and the restaurant is full of stuff to look at!”

Larisa and I agreed that we’d stop and take a look.  We’ve been avoiding restaurants on this trip as much as we can, though on average we’ll “reward” ourselves with a meal every 7 days or so (not counting Subway, which is our “late into camp and too tired to cook” fallback place.  That said, we’ve only had Subway twice).  It was about time to reward ourselves, so we thought that the Golden Burro would be perfect to both satisfy our craving to not do dishes one night, and to give us a chance to visit a place that came highly recommended.

The Golden Burro is a fantastic place as long as you don’t eat or interact with the staff.  This is strange because the restaurant boasts several signs about award winning food, and even more signs describing how the business was built on excellent service.

We were greeted by a tired looking woman of middle years who asked wearily, “How many?”

“Two,” I replied.

The woman sighed and gave me a look that suggested that a party of two had probably just come from kicking puppies in the street.  “Follow me.”

We were seated in a booth in the back of the restaurant, and I’ll have to admit the place is very well decorated.  There are hundreds of local historical artifacts, each with a small descriptive placard.  The menu ties many of the dishes in with local stories and legends (e.g., the beer brats are dedicated to a pair of brothers who came to Leadville, became wealthy, and brought several countrymen over to help work their mines).  It’s a fantastic read.  I was engrossed in retelling of the love triangle between Horace, Augusta, and “Baby Doe” Tabor when our waitress arrived.

“I’m Chelsea.  You want drinks?” She asked in a voice more suited to a funeral than a restaurant.  Larisa ordered hot tea, I ordered iced tea, and Chelsea disappeared into the depths of the kitchen.  I resumed reading the menu and after a while began to wonder whether Chelsea had had to hunt down and kill the tea before bringing it to the table.  Several minutes later it arrived, plunked down unceremoniously on the table with a slosh and a loss of no little liquid.  “Are you gonna eat?”

“Yes,” said Larisa.  “We’ll order now.  Can I ask you what your soups of the day are.”

“Beef Vegetable and, umm.”  Chelsea screwed up her face.  “Mumble mumble.” 

Chelsea looked at Larisa, who said “Never mind.  I’ll have the cod with a salad.”

“What kind of dressing?”

Larisa, ever on the search for the perfect home-made dressing asked, “Do you have a house dressing?”

“I never heard of house.  We got ranch, blue cheese, French, and umm.  I don’t know.”

“You don’t have a dressing that is made here?”  Larisa asked, seeking clarification.

“No.  Honey mustard.  We got that too.”

“I’ll have French.”

Chelsea glared at me, which I took to mean it was time to order.  “What were the soups again?”

“Beef Vegetable and,” Chelsea looked around wildly at the walls, as if the historical placards would give her the answer. “I don’t know the other one.” 

She stared at me for a few moments.  “Did you want me to go check or something?”

“Sure,” I replied.  “Why don’t you go check?”

She did, returning several minutes later with the words “Ham and beans.”

I ordered the award-winning local favorite chicken fried steak dinner with blue cheese for my salad, resisting the temptation to ask about house dressing again.  The salads came about ten minutes later.  Our food came two minutes after that.  Chelsea plopped the plates on the table with the explanation “They’re cooking fast today.” 

Or, I thought, you had trouble killing the lettuce and getting it to the plate.  Larisa and I finished our salads as our main courses got cold.  After we took our first bite we locked eyes with a look that said “We’re paying money for this?”

Larisa’s fish was watery and overcooked.  My food was obviously from a package rather than “home-made”, and the fresh vegetable medley consisted of four pieces of overcooked broccoli and two pieces of what I think were cauliflower.  We finished our food and left.  At the bottom of the bill was a reminder about tipping, suggesting that we tip 25% or more if our service was excellent, 15% if it was just okay, and then boldly, “0% if your service was poor.  I followed the advice.

I don’t know what the Golden Burro was 20 years ago, but today it is a tourist trap with food that is on par with a school cafeteria.  Disappointing visit, and a disappointing “treat.”