Lakeview Lounge — Restaurant in Edgewater

It was a Thursday evening when I stumbled into the Lakeview Lounge, nestled like a wayward uncle on the edge of the lake in Edgewater, Colorado. The joint had that old-school charm of a place that's seen more drunken missteps and ill-conceived romances than an all-night casino wedding. It's the kind of dive where the linoleum floor is more confessional than surface, holding decades of slurred secrets and poorly executed pick-up lines.

I had been lured here by whispers of their infamous pickle shots—a concoction allegedly brewed to revive dead taste buds and slap your soul into a new gear. But I should have known better. Like so many well-dressed promises, the reality was as disappointing as a politician's campaign speech. Sweet pickles. Sweet—as if the bartender had misread a recipe or harbored a sick vendetta against decency. Nothing turns a bold shot of vodka into a ghastly communion more effectively than the syrupy tang of sweet pickles. It was like taking a shot of liquified regret, with a chaser of disappointment.

Now don’t get me wrong, the Lakeview Lounge has its charms. The bartenders are quick with a drink and quicker with a story if you loosen their tongues with a fiver and a smile. The walls are adorned with ancient memorabilia, relics from a time when bars were escapes, not photo opportunities. This place feels like a relic, and not in the Disney-fied sense—more like a museum for the reckless and the wrecked.

The clientele is a mix of grizzled locals and wide-eyed newcomers. Veterans of the lounge nurse their beers like war wounds, each sip an ode to days that felt real. The kids? They roll in thinking they're slumming it, treating the place like an ironic pilgrimage to the past, blissfully unaware that this isn’t an imitation of authenticity—this is authenticity.

There's a jukebox in the corner that plays like a possessed relic of an analog era, bellowing out rock and country classics with a defiance that says, "Take it or get the hell out." It’s the kind of machine that knows exactly what it is: a bullhorn for booze-fueled ballads and nostalgic anthems.

But sweet pickles—sweet goddamned pickles! The shot was a betrayal of every sacred tenet of drinking. You expect a shot to hit you like a jolt, a brief burst of clarity or madness. But this? This was the dessert version of bad decisions, leaving me reeling in a haze of candied confusion.

In the end, the Lakeview Lounge remains an artifact of old Colorado—a living shrine to what Edgewater once was, and perhaps what it could be again if we let it. But beware the sweet pickle shots; they're not for the faint of heart or those who cling to the idea of a dignified evening. This is a place for rolling the dice and making peace with whatever madness follows. God...

This is not a bar — it’s a living artifact. A sacred ruin. A cash-only cathedral of cheap beer and brutal honesty parked right on the edge of Sloan’s Lake, Denver’s glimmering puddle of cosmic reflection. The Lakeview Lounge doesn’t care about your apps, your IPA flights, or your precious little debit card. Bring cash, order your drink, and stay out of the way.

I asked for a Coors Light — and bless them, they poured it into a glass. Not a mason jar. Not a frosty mug. A glass. Clear, cold, straight from the tap. It hit exactly as advertised: like a liquid apology from the state of Colorado itself. Not fancy. Not ironic. Just beer the way it was meant to be — fast, cold, and consumed within earshot of a pool cue smacking chalk-dusted vengeance into a corner pocket.

The pool table in back? A survivor. Sloped. Slightly angry. You don’t line up shots so much as negotiate them. The regulars know the lean, the light, the curse words that help. Play at your own risk.

And then there’s that patio — a stone slab of outlaw luxury with a direct line of sight to modern America in four acts: bar, busy street, walking trail, lake. You sip your drink with traffic howling ten feet from your skull, joggers panting past in the distance with Bluetooth ears and haunted eyes, and beyond them all, the lake — shimmering like a lie you almost believed. There’s peace out there, if you squint past the madness.

Five stars. No flair, no plastic in your wallet. Just glass-poured salvation, a battered pool table, and the best damn view in the city. The Lakeview Lounge isn’t for everyone — just the lucky few who know exactly where to sit and...

Great bartender, kind service and fun vibes with the old school music playing.

Played 2 games of fooseball and then went to play pool, the balls got stuck and upon barely lifting the table to get the balls out, the female manager abruptly and aggressively kicked out our group and a completely separate group, even after being respectful and explaining the situation and that we were not together. We were polite in regards of not being “destructive” and explained the malfunction and she was having none of it - a warning or stern explanation would have gone far and earned much more money from my group and I. Honestly - I would like to go back, but after that experience I find it...