It����ap difficult to imagine a more perfect fish and chips than the shatteringly crisp platter sold at in Broomfield.

I’ll entertain an argument for a newsprint-wrapped bundle eaten while overlooking the River Thames, but for hungry Anglophiles who want to avoid a 9-hour flight from Denver to London, the cozy pub near Rocky Mountain Metropolitan Airport sells a fish and chips that����ap the best I’ve had this side of the Atlantic.

There’s the stunning visual: a filet of Icelandic cod bigger than your head, battered and fried to deep golden brown perfection, served piping-hot over a bed of hand-cut chips (also known as French fries, for the uninitiated).

And then there’s the sensory experience: the beer batter coating is like biting into a kettle-fried potato chip, crunchy and light at the same time, substantial without being overly thick or dense. The cod is flaky and succulent, falling apart at the lightest touch. Crispy, thick-cut chips and tangy tartar sauce play a beautiful supporting role.

Fish-and-chips is common enough in restaurants across metro Denver, but it����ap also a meal that����ap often so-so. At Burns, it����ap not just standard pub fare, shuffled in alongside plates of fried appetizers and happy hour pints. Rather, it’s the star of the show.

And as proven over my own repeat visits – and through customer raves on review sites like Yelp and TripAdvisor and a feature on – the fish-and-chips is not a solo act.

Burns’ salty-savory-tender corned beef, brined in-house, challenges diners to choose between the corned beef poutine or the Reuben sandwich. (I vote for both.) The menu features a rotating savory pie of the day along with perennial favorite shepherd’s pie, which I have labeled in my mental restaurant rolodex as “ultimate comfort food.”

That����ap not even touching the desserts (sticky toffee pudding that I will not admit to getting misty-eyed over), occasional special features like beef Wellington, the staggering 500 whiskeys on deck or the Celtic music jams every Sunday night.

There’s not a lot I can do when the travel bug strikes and a trip across the pond isn’t in the books. But just a few miles down the road, Burns promises a balm of British comfort food, no passport required.

The Burns Pub & Restaurant is located next to The Hilltop Inn at 9009 Metro Airport Ave. in Broomfield and is open Tuesday-Saturday, 11 a.m.-9 p.m. and Sunday from 4-8 p.m. More information at or by calling 303-469-3900.

They say laughter is the best medicine, but it can be easy to forget to consume a daily dose when all that seems to come across the endless scroll is news about war abroad and injustices at home. Heck, even chores like grocery shopping and filling up on gas are enough to send me into a tailspin after looking at the bill.

Recently, though, I’ve found an anecdote to ensure I get the prescribed amount of belly laughs to balance my media diet.

The podcast is a must-listen for folks craving something both light-hearted and deeply entertaining. Hosted by the “Saturday Night Live” alum and “Parks and Recreation” comedian and actor, Poehler welcomes a steady cadence of funny famous friends into the studio to talk a little bit about their recent work and a lot about their personal lives.

Fans get to know actors, musicians and directors beyond surface level because Poehler approaches each conversation from a more personal perspective, instead of strictly professional. The vibe is jovial; topics are served with a smile and, more often than not, a laugh. The good vibes are simply contagious.

I’m not alone in singing the show’s praises: In January, “Good Hang” won the inaugural Golden Globe award for Best Podcast.

Since it debuted in 2025, Poehler has interviewed people like , , , and . A recent episode featuring was a standout, in part because I learned so much about the singer that I probably never would have read in a music-focused profile. For instance, Eilish is an animal lover with a pet dwarf hamster named Tomato Bisque Soup.

Is this profoundly revelatory information? Of course not. But it is a charming aside that endears me further to an artist whose music I love.

I guess it����ap also worth mentioning I am a Poehler superfan, having followed her television career and read her memoir many times. Over the course of the last year, it����ap been hilarious to learn about her obsession with fake food; it����ap also been cool to hear her refine her style as an interviewer. Early episodes are somewhat chaotic, with many unfinished questions and sentences interjected by giggles. These days, she is more concise and complete, which ultimately makes for a better listen.

One thing I love about Poehler’s interviewing style is how she uses random questions to disarm guests and get deep about silly subjects. One she returns to often is sleep, asking interviewees what their bedtime routines are and if they catch enough zzz’s. It����ap actually fascinating to hear about the timing and tools celebrities use for that ubiquitous human experience. Poehler also has candid conversations about aging with many of the women who join her, which I can appreciate as a 38-year-old Millennial.

If you listen to podcasts to develop new skills or study a new subject, “Good Hang” may not be an apt pick for you. But when I feel the need to tune in and drop out, I turn on this podcast and tap into a bottomless well of joy.

“Good Hang with Amy Poehler” is a weekly podcast, part of The Ringer network, streaming on Spotify and Apple Podcasts, among other platforms. Fans can also watch Poehler interview her guests on .

A couple of previous experiences in the mountains have shaped my comfort level camping and lodging in Colorado.

On one hand, I had no issue sleeping in the back of my camper truck — when it still worked. (Rear-wheel-drive vehicles and ice don’t mix very well.) On the other hand, one weekend without Wi-Fi at a resplendent lakeside cabin had me climbing up the logs trying to get in touch with civilization.

Earlier this year, I found my sweet spot at Castle Mountain Lodge, a roadside inn with cabins and hotel rooms in Estes Park on the way to Rocky Mountain National Park. The lodge had almost everything we needed for a calming weekend getaway, whether our plan was to venture into the park, stroll the town or lie low and let hours go by.

Our excursion ended up being more of the latter. My wife recommended Castle Mountain Lodge as a destination for our “babymoon,” a getaway before our child is born, and a sort of redemptive opportunity after our last trip to the “Cabin with No WiFi.”

The lodge began with a single dwelling, purchased by architect Igor Polevitsky in the early 1950s. More cabins — including the Little Pines studio with kitchenette and fireplace where we stayed — were built by the adjacent Fall River.

Castle Mountain Lodge is now owned by Chris Wood and Michael Hodges, according to the website. It has 29 units, a playground, a hot tub room and picnic area, said Joel Tramel, the inn’s manager.

It has not changed much over the years, according to Tramel, who did single out the addition of the laundry services and hot tubs to some cabins. “It has always been a very family-focused collection of cabins.”

The lodge is on the doorstep of Rocky Mountain National Park, where many of the guests head for the day, he said. Others stay near the lodge, casting for fish stocked in the Fall River, watching for grazing elk or walking by not-so-wild turkeys that roam the grounds. Black bear sightings are possible, though we did not come across one.

Since we are expecting, we were not looking for excitement, so we splurged on a babymoon package that included a couples massage. Our room came ready with a vase of roses, a basket of treats, a box of chocolates and firewood dropped off by the front door. In the basket was also a gift certificate to Bird & Jim, an American restaurant in Estes Park, that did not go unused.

While that package is no longer available, there are others: The “Sweetheart” deal comes with roses and chocolates, a snack basket, a certificate to Bird & Jim and extra firewood. The “Spa and Pamper” package adds a one-hour couples massage performed on-site by professional massage therapists.

Truly, I would’ve been fine just enjoying the serenity of the outdoors out on the deck, or streaming a baseball game on the television, or reading from inside our warm room, as we did.

The lodge is open year-round. Rooms and cabins are still open despite the busy summer and fall season, Tramel said.

Many longtime guests are familiar with Wanda Bauder, who has worked there for about 20 years and now assists at the concierge desk. Tramel has an even longer history with Castle Mountain Lodge, having worked there while attending college in Kansas between 1989 and 1993. He is now two years in to what he considers his “third act” in life as lodge manager.

“I had been coming to Estes Park since I was a little kid and always loved it,” he said. “I worked summers in college here, made friends and kept coming back out year after year.”

I don’t have the same history with this area as Tramel does. I can definitely see myself coming back, though.

Castle Mountain Lodge is at 1520 Fall River Road, Estes Park. Check online at for bookings and availability.

“Making memories” is one of those cheeseball phrases, but it has a solid core: You can often detect, in real time, events that will stick with someone for a lifetime.

That’s easy to see in my kids, who are constantly trying something for the first time, be it a scary movie, a rock concert, or an unfamiliar food. That includes a recent Colorado Symphony performance of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” itself part of a program of early 20th-century American music at Boettcher Concert Hall in late April (and also featuring Britten’s Peter Grimes: Four Sea Interludes and Debussy’s sublime La Mer).

My wife propelled us there on opening night, having long ago linked the song with the romantic days of mid-20th century aviation (the 102-year-old “Rhapsody” is ). It seemed like the right play to introduce my kids to the world of feel-it-in-your-chest orchestral beauty, provided they wanted to go there. Symphonies and the fine arts in general can seem intimidating, but people who embrace them often have a formative, positive experience they can point to.

We had seats more or less behind the soundboard at Boettcher, which ensured a balanced mix in a venue that has occasionally been knocked for its acoustics. The energy in the room crackled compared with some other, also-great early-20th century showcases I’ve seen there (hello, Rite of Spring!) as conductor Peter Oundjian shared his infectious joy in revisiting and leading these iconic pieces.

Grammy-winning pianist Michelle Cann tore up the keys with equal parts passion and precision, tackling Rhapsody’s twisting piano lines like roller coaster turns: fleet and firmly on track. I’d steal looks at my kids and delight in the fact that their faces hadn’t turned to stone; if anything, they were pitched forward, their eyes scanning the dozens of expert players on stage.

“I loved it!” my daughter said afterward. “It was cool,” my son reported, which is about as close to a ringing endorsement as he gives.

Success?

We’ll see. It often feels smug to me when I hear parents crow about introducing their kids to high-level activities (i.e., ones with knowledgeable and refined audiences, be they fine-arts or fitness-related). And certainly, my goal was not to pat myself on the back.

But I also try not to take anything for granted, and I’m thrilled with how engaged the kids were, potentially setting them up for a lifetime of supporting and benefiting from live performing arts.

It’s easy with the Colorado Symphony. The orchestra’s range, enthusiasm, skill and good taste all combined during the “Rhapsody” show to remind me how stage performances can cut through the clutter and connect directly with one’s soul — however young and new to the experience it may be.

I’ve got a thing for hardware stores.

Not the big-box behemoths like Home Depot or Lowe’s, necessarily (although those can be pretty great, too).

The ones I prefer smell of sawdust and fertilizer and have those cramped aisles chock-full of products you don’t know you needed until you have to replace them.

Like my local Ace Hardware, which has been my mainstay since I moved here in the early 1990s (it opened in 1977). Or like McGuckin’s in Boulder or the now-shuttered Meyer Hardware in Golden, wonderful places with rows of well-used shelves holding tools and gardening supplies and building materials and assorted geegaws that all inspire a sense of wonder and possibility.

When I was a little girl, my dad would take me down to Kos Hardware, a tiny, ramshackle storefront with yellow peeling paint and untold mysteries within. The proprietor, Mr. Kos (did he even have a first name?), would come to greet us from behind the front counter in well-worn denim overalls and most always had what Dad needed.

My job was to count out penny nails — there were millions of them, it seemed, in small bins on a heavy-duty rotating rack — and plop them into a tiny paper bag while Dad went off with the proprietor into the bowels of that crowded, dusty little shop in search of what he actually came for.

We paid with cash, and there was always a piece of candy or two for kids at the checkout counter.

And then we would go home, where Dad would head into the garden to plant those new seeds or down into his basement workshop that also smelled of sawdust and held a giant table saw, a wall of mismatched tools on a pegboard, nails and screws in assorted old coffee cans, pieces of scrap wood and old storm windows.

It was in there that Dad built three little one-piece desks with connected chairs using a plan out of The Practical Handyman’s Encyclopedia. (I still have his 22-book set, and it was fate or chance that when I went to send my sisters a photo of one of them last week and flipped through it, Dad’s spirit hand stopped the page right at the pattern for the little desks. Can’t make that up.)

Each was a different size, one a bit larger than the next, for each of us. He had painted them gray, and accented in blue, yellow and green, and presented them, all in a row, to his three daughters one Christmas.

I still have mine with the original (probably lead) paint, and treasure it as much as I do the memories of Dad’s workshop. (Long gone are his other projects, like the standup bowling lane, the seesaw, the Adirondack chairs and the oversized sawhorses we used for to support a play tent.)

Colorado Ace Hardware stores are franchised and locally owned. Its jingle: “Ace is the place with the helpful hardware folks” (you will be singing that to yourself for a while; you are welcome). The one on East 12th Avenue in Congress Park is my go-to, with walls jam-packed with products and a wall of screws and nails and nuts and bolts that will leave you awestruck. The best part: The clerks there know how to find stuff.

“I’ve been working here for about a year and am always surprised by what else we carry,” said clerk Michael Leggett. “On a daily basis, I look and think, ‘Oh, where did you come from?'”

Employees can pretty quickly put their hands on a replacement for that obscure little part, cut you a new pane of glass for that broken picture frame, or point you to the washers for that leaky garden hose.

Or help you find the materials to build your kids little matching desks.

A communal circle started the class. Women checked in with each other as their names and thoughts for the day circulated counterclockwise. They were seated on the floor and actively listening while surrounded by plants, bright colors and art.

Inside the in Denver’s Five Points neighborhood on a Sunday morning in March, just under a dozen participants took part in a free dance class. Instructor led a beginner-friendly samba routine that included arm movements, swaying hips and traveling steps.

I started taking classes at Moyo about six months ago after seeing one of my fellow dancer friends post about them on Instagram. My dance background runs deep: I started in middle school with jazz and ballet, added tap in high school, studied and taught African dance in early adulthood and have explored Middle Eastern forms for nearly two decades.

in Glendale has been my dance home for five years, and I love the chance to perform on stage and in the community.

One constant that had been missing in my dance journey was an environment where dance was outside the classical gaze: absent of straight arms, pointed toes, mirrors everywhere and pricey classes. That was what I found at Moyo with Jules’ classes. There was no pressure to have (or achieve) a classical dancer’s figure, and no pressure to perform.

The students were on their own path, with some who had never taken a dance class at all,  while others were adding more styles to their dance card. I had been interested in samba for several years, but my schedule was barely clear for it. Also, it felt intimidating. Moving my feet in 4-inch heels at 115 beats per minute seemed unapproachable.

Jules emphasized samba’s roots as we danced barefoot or in sneakers. The steps reached about 85 beats per minute, a slower speed than what you may see performed live. The movement recalled samba’s Afro-Brazilian roots as a form of community and religious practices. It’s part of Jules’ mission to de-colonize dance by stripping away the Western practices that have been added to cultural dances like samba, hip-hop and belly dance.

She dives deeper into this philosophy with a podcast and upcoming performance in late May focusing on how dance is a form of self-healing and a celebration of heritage. Dancers shared their stories about how they arrived at this art form and their attachment to movement.

Sunday classes alternate between samba and belly dance. While I had no samba experience before joining Moyo, I was a longtime belly dancer. I could get back to learning the basics and being carefree. I saw new dancers get lost in the movements, surrendering to what made me love this dance form many years ago. That’s a transformation that never gets too old to watch.

The space at Moyo was mellow, with a tea station featuring multiple blends, and sometimes classes end with cupcakes from . Some of the best conversations I’ve had surrounding dance have arisen over tea and sweets here.

The free dance classes are part of Moyo’s Each One Teach One, a series of community arts programs that include martial arts, crafting, children’s programs, DJing and more. Funding comes from the Colorado Health Foundation, Black Resilience in Colorado, Denver Arts and Venues and The Eulipions Fund, among others. Bathsheba Walker, who has been with Moyo Center since 1992, described the center’s mission as a means to “leverage cultural arts and technology to create experiences where people discover hidden strengths, find purpose and deepen connections with others.”

These classes are my weekend reset. The discussions and movements I absorb from them rewire my brain and remind me why I keep returning to dance.

Free walk-in samba and belly dance classes are offered from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. on Sundays at Moyo Nguvu Cultural Arts Center, 617 22nd St., in Denver’s Five Points. 

When it comes to finding the right cannabidiol (CBD) product for your dog, even experts say that it’s a process of trial and error. And with the myriad tinctures and treats available, where do you even start?

Perhaps with a word-of-mouth recommendation. In my household, we keep chewable CBD dog treats around as a staple, especially since my dog Woody’s recent surgery to remedy a partially-torn ACL.

Though the perceived benefits of doggy CBD are often shared anecdotally through pet owners, researchers have found it helps some four-legged friends with symptoms of anxiety and pain from inflammation and degenerative diseases. One vet told me that he recommends a CBD regimen for every pet that is senior in age or dealing with a degenerative joint disease.

That was enough for me to seek out something for Woody, who spent the better part of a year limping and in pain due to his ACL tear. (His injury was treated as a pulled muscle for many months before we discovered the root cause of his limping was ligament-related.)

I was first introduced to Bad Apple Pets last year, after sharing Woody’s plight with a fellow cannabis journalist and dog mom whose husband began making CBD pet treats in 2021. She gave me samples of the , each of which is infused with 5 milligrams of full-spectrum CBD.

Vets recommend full-spectrum products in lieu of CBD isolate, even though they contain small amounts of tetrahydrocannabinol or THC, which can be toxic for dogs. That’s because maintaining an array of cannabinoids and terpenes in a product — versus removing them — helps bolster the effects of the CBD, .

For Woody, the effects were almost immediately noticeable. Within 30 minutes of eating one of the treats, his interest in mail delivery trucks approaching our house declines and his penchant for naps increases — both very beneficial when recovering from major surgery. Not only that, Woody has become obsessed with the chews because they are so delicious. (I’m drawing this characterization from the amount of drool that hits my floor every time I even so much as crinkle the bag.)

Why vets recommend CBD to treat dogs with chronic pain and anxiety

Kurt Kinneman, owner of Bad Apple Pets, said the secret to doggie delectability is in the ingredients. Kinneman first developed the recipe while working at a bakery in hopes of creating healthy granola bars for human consumption. But once he learned about the benefits of CBD for animals, Kinneman pivoted to make a pet treat.

The Doggie Dreams Serenity Chews ($14.99-$19.99) feature peanut butter, oats, oat bran, flax meal, eggs, honey and coconut oil, plus CBD oil made from hemp grown on Kinneman's family farm in Wisconsin. Bad Apple Pets also sells a CBD tincture ($29.99) that can be administered sublingually or put on top of dog food, as well as CBD balm ($29.99) for itchy or irritated skin.

Kinneman, who previously worked at a hemp cultivation in Oregon, knew CBD could help other dogs after first seeing improvement in his own wire-haired Weimaraner mix, Lucy. Before she passed last year, the treats helped her skin and ear health improve, effectively eliminating the chronic yeast infections in her ears, Kinneman said.

Perhaps it����ap worth noting that, just like humans, dogs’ response to CBD is subjective. Dr. Steph McGrath, a veterinary neurologist and an associate professor at Colorado State University, previously told me that while some dogs see benefits from CBD, others don’t seem to be affected by it. Nonetheless, CBD is safe for dogs unless they have liver issues, so owners looking for a remedy for their pets’ condition should feel comfortable giving it a shot.

Kinneman has heard numerous stories from pet owners over the years about how their pups have benefited from CBD.

“Many tell us their senior dogs are acting like puppies again. Others say their pets can finally relax when company comes over or a thunderstorm arrives,” he said. “And while all animals react to CBD a little differently, the fact that so many pets have seen positive results is what keeps us going.”

For more information, visit .

I’m impressed by physical spaces that can gather sub-sections of music lovers together and encourage them to share that music with others.

is that rare place for DJs and record collectors, especially those seeking used soul, funk, hip-hop and jazz vinyl. That’s a unique set of stock among record stores in Denver. Many of the selections available at the shop, at 1255 Delaware St., are full of rhythm and groove and are begging to be heard out loud in public.

I should know. I’m a DJ.

I won’t tell you where I spin, nor what my stage name is. It’s not my full-time job, after all. I play vinyl occasionally, in bars mostly, late into the night. A lot of that music is rap and R&B from the 1990s and early 2000s. Recollect has entire sections dedicated to these periods. Shelves are separated by albums and DJ-friendly 12-inch singles.

Other spots in the ample showroom offer international records broken down by region and genre, like gospel, rock, folk, reggae and electronic music. Except for the budget bins, the pricing is dependent on the market, which values rarity and quality. At Recollect, one can find a perfectly acceptable copy of a 1970s soul record for $15, a Venezuelan music compilation for $7, and a treasured jazz album for over $100.

“We try to have a little bit of something for everything,” owner Austin Matthews told The Denver Post in 2017, a year after opening the shop. “We try to carry more obscure, rare stuff. You might find stuff in our store that you can’t find elsewhere.”

Recollect is a clean and airy store. (There is even hand sanitizer on the checkout counter.) The records are kept in clear plastic sleeves in neat browsing racks that extend up, down and across the shop.

Cheaper records are stacked underneath the main racks and at the end of the aisles. Records in an adjoining room in the back are $3 each.

Small shops like this — offering curated, used records for reasonable prices — can sometimes be modest to a fault. Recollect is open for a limited time each week, and it lacks a storefront sign that would make it more identifiable for passersby and other record collectors.

Despite all my obsessive record browsing, I had not visited Recollect until earlier this month, when I accompanied a friend who was looking to grab some music for a gig at a local listening bar that night. Once inside, the daylight gleaming in from the windows and bebop coming from the shop speakers cast me in my element.

When I wasn’t ducking into the Latin records, I was crouching away from view, flipping for bargain dance tracks. After scanning the hip-hop records, I veered over to the front of the shop, where the 7-inch “45s” are kept in thick white boxes labeled alphabetically by genre.

For $35, I came home with records in the aforementioned sections, including Quincy Jones’ album “You’ve Got It Bad Girl” (the one sampled by the Pharcyde in “Passin’ Me By”); a Giorgio Moroder track from 1985; and a spoken-word recording about the history of communications released in 1964 by Smithsonian Folkways, the recording label of the Smithsonian Institution. Later, I dropped $2 more on a 7-inch of Roberta Flack’s “Gone Away” I found by the entry.

I can’t wait to play these records to a crowd, to get their reaction when they catch a groove that had gone silent for a moment, however brief or long that music was resting in the crates. Denver’s residents deserve these kinds of experiences, ones that feed a love for musical discovery and exploration.

Recollect Records is open Thursday through Sunday from 12 to 5 p.m. The shop is celebrating its 10th anniversary on Saturday, April 18, with an in-store show featuring Queens rapper Large Professor, one of several events that record stores are holding as part of the national Record Store Day promotion.

I’ve only been snowshoeing a few times in my life, and to be honest, it was one of those activities that sounds a lot more fun than it is — despite the sincere recommendations of friends and fellow writers over the years.

Here’s what I’ve encountered so far: a lot of ice and dirt and crusty layers of snow. I’ve been on trails where those layers required a lot of stomping, or falling through the snow — or what outdoorsy types call “postholing.” The trails have sometimes been difficult to find, and the carved-out tracks don’t always fit the width of the snowshoes. Pictures I’ve seen of people snowshoeing make it look so pretty — with people tramping through powder under blue skies. I haven’t really found that to be the case.

Last year, my wife and I snowshoed to a hut near Tennessee Pass. On our way back down the next morning, we took another path, walking with just our boots and some microspikes to help us keep our footing. And, honestly, it was a lot more fun.

That wasn’t the first time I’d used microspikes (there are many brands of these slip-on traction devices, including MICROspikes). Because, let’s face it, I am no longer young. And I am occasionally grumpy.

A few years earlier, after complaining about how difficult it was getting for me to walk on the ice, especially in the mountain towns we visit, my wife got me a pair. I loved them. Not only did they make it easier for me to walk in parks and open spaces, but I could go for hikes in the winter and the shoulder seasons without worrying about slipping and falling or, you know, just looking to others like a white-tailed deer fawn trying to take its first steps on a frozen-over pond.

I now own two pairs of spiked traction devices — my son got me the second pair, so I guess the complaining paid off — and a set of Yaktrax, which are more for walking on mixed terrain since their metal traction pieces are flatter than spikes. And I’ve done more walking in the winter than ever before, as well as in the shoulder seasons, when mud can turn into ice overnight.

I haven’t needed them as much this year since 2025-26 has turned into the winter-that-wasn’t, but I love keeping them in my hiking backpack just in case. Some outdoors enthusiasts don’t like these kinds of spikes because they feel like they can tear up the ground or give ice-climbing mountaineers a false sense of security. Since I am in no danger of trying to scale Longs Peak in the middle of winter, though (or ever, frankly), I think they provide a real sense of security.

Sorry, snowshoes.

Editor’s note: This is part of The Know’s series, Staff Favorites. Each week, we give our opinions on the best that Colorado has to offer for dining, shopping, entertainment, outdoor activities and more. (We’ll also let you in on some hidden gems.)

The fastest way to a writer’s heart is often through his brain, however cobwebby and ink-stained it may be.

That’s how hooked me when it launched in June 2024, boasting it was “the first magazine with an AI-free guarantee.” The promise that humans created all words and images runs counter to the bro-tech culture of artificial intelligence that has infected and degraded Hollywood and social media like brain-eating amoebae.

The Denver Post and other publications are currently suing generative AI companies OpenAI and Microsoft for stealing copyrighted work for their plagiarism machines, so you can imagine why Denverse’s message appealed to me. Fortunately, the magazine has fulfilled its promise with quarterly, jam-packed print issues that contain savvy, original writing and illustrations you can’t find anywhere else.

It’s ad- and subscription-based, and offers perks such as exclusive live shows and citywide discounts to supporters, along with a year-old podcast called . It’s also widely distributed around town, and the newsletter is free. The magazine deserves every member of its fast-growing audience, particularly as news media retreats from arts and culture journalism, and working artists and creatives are increasingly priced out of every aspect of their practice.

With a tone at once sophisticated and impish, Denverse already belongs up there with the city’s historically great, independent magazines that sport national-quality writing and art, ranging from to and , .

Denverse is leading the charge, and the staff and contributors have asserted themselves as essential voices in Denver’s creative scene. A look at any 70-page, full-color issue includes acclaimed and award-winning writers, poets, musicians, comedians, painters, cartoonists, chefs, podcasters and teachers.

Some are established names that have appeared in local and national media (see cartoonist Karl Christian Krumpholz) while others, such as Team Nonexistent singer-guitarist (who reviewed local records for the Winter 2026 issue), represent Denver’s young vanguard. As the leader of a ferocious queer punk band, LaBelle-Plott brings much-needed perspective to a music scene that can easily default to dude-ly, folk-rock orthodoxy and misogyny.

It’s all just meaty and long-form enough to stand out, but it ain’t academia. Inviting features on Robert Redford and Sundance, pickup basketball, Denver’s Sapphic renaissance, Colfax Avenue, and noise rock grace the newest issue, among many others. With its wry cartoons, poetry and art, it comes off like a Colorado version of The New Yorker.

Denver has lately been enjoying a grassroots explosion of fiction, poetry, music and other art forms that speak directly to our times with diverse and badly needed new voices. Denverse gives you a front-row seat for all of it.

Learn more at .