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The Marvelous Mr. Cundari?

There's a warm feeling of recognition when you're actively being pushed to leave your box of solitude. Are they friends if they're not forcing you to act against your self-imposed guardrails? To me, it means your presence is wanted. Wanted in a way that, without you, their own night would be nothing more than an empty post-shift bar hang. I feel gloomy every time I'm forced to join the rest of the group, especially with a Costco pumpkin pie in my fridge and my recent attachment to the TV show, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel . Of course, after the intersection of a pint or two of beer and a good song, my gloom turns into a curiosity about what comes next. For a monthly tradition, we'll go to a goth night so we can lurk behind the attractive and young people the International brings in. I'll see a girl or two there and daydream about who they are, what kind of interaction we could have. Nothing sexual for the most part, but a nod to their ability to stand out in a very...
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Shooting Star Saloon

A Sunday reset should involve a winding canyon road, higher elevation, a draft beer, and a truly messy burger. There's a small gem tucked into the mountains overlooking Ogden, and it’s been there since 1879. Making the drive out of the way for a 1 p.m. lunch at the Shooting Star Saloon should be a ritual for anyone looking for a real throwback to the good days.

Cash only. Five food items are on the menu. That’s how it should be. It’s not about the drink; it’s about the experience.

The classic jukebox caters only to those who appreciate real songwriting — Johnny Cash, folk legends, and the kind of music that furthers your conversations. There aren’t many places like the Shooting Star Saloon, nor should there be.

Their signature Star Burger stacks two lean patties around Polish knackwurst and melted cheese — the perfect match for their house Hefeweizen.

The interior is a collage of taxidermy oddities, the most notable being a wolf-like creature rigged to breathe through its own ass. The ceiling is drowning in dollar bills, packed so tight it seems they’re running out of space.

It’s a simple establishment, but one of the truest watering holes you'll ever find. A proper break between runs at Snowbasin. It has an aura that can’t be replicated.

The lone bartender treats you like a long-lost friend. Pulling out your phone almost feels rude, as if the walls themselves reject the intrusion of the modern world. A place that reminds you that some things are better left untouched.