NOV 7, 2024 | OPINION | By Asa Gartrell
You’ve surely gnoshed, and perhaps you’ve even mucked, but count yourself a lucky diner if you know how to snarf.
Ever a pucker-tongued pursuant of the hot and sour, I found myself in the Mile-High City on the doorstep of Snarfburger: the scrappy black sheep of the Snarf’s Sandwiches dynasty. The supposedly ugly duckling’s burger did me so right I occasioned the joint every month of the summer, and even forayed to their Boulder shop to assess its consistency. Each venture layered another harmony on Snarf’s siren call.
June 20: Round one found me housing a nice fat round one with my collegiate crew. I went for the Spicy A1, a soulful two-story cottage with the namesake sauce, a wreath of grilled onions, and a lovely pickled pepper garden. Mmmm! This little guy went down easy, high-fiving every taste bud on its journey to my gullet. Paired with a bespoke degustation—onion rings and a Coke—the Spicy A1 gave me my first lesson in snarfing. I’d be hard-pressed to find another unit this based for under 10 clams. It more than redeemed the four bucks I lost to the parochial choky shake.
July 14: Round two brought me to Boulder. I was hungry as a schoolboy after attending the local chapter of Jason Momoa Awareness Club, and the remedy to my famishment was the Hatch Burger. Pepper jack spilled from the patty stack like a bridal train from a wedding dress. Mmmm! The signature Snarf’s giardiniera joined hatch green chilies and slow-griddled bulbs to form a fetching picture of pleasure and grease. This was easily my favorite pumpkin in the patch. 24 seconds later, it was a crumpled memory. That guppy swam laps through my head on the way back to the 719.
Aug. 11. Round four. I’m back in Capitol Hill and staring down the barrel of the Hot Island Burger. Primed by a crushed-iced cola, I let its full weight hit me. Mmmm! A single patty shouldered the crisp, corrugated lettuce folds and a handful of sweet cuke shekels. The Russian dressing and hot peppers were a wax seal on this juicy little love letter. Endorphins were pumping, and I struggled to contain the burger as it had its way with me. Writing this now amidst autumn’s cold whispers, I’m planning a return. And I’ve heard the Triple B is out of this world.
On the whole, I’d liken this triptych to a bouquet of Colorado wildflowers. In bright little suits, the Western Wallflower, Indian paintbrush, and blue Columbine beguile the viewer into a new relationship with familiar colors. So, my friend, can the sandwich. You may have smiled at a yellow leaf or a big blue sky and enjoyed a good burger. But have you snarfed? My best to you and yours.