Salt Creek Restaurant & Saloon
110 Lincoln Avenue
Breckenridge, CO 80424
Summit County
Phone: (970) 453-4949
Fax: unknown
Website: no website on file
Email: no email on file
Hours: unknown
Salt Creek Restaurant & Saloon - About Us
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Reviews

by George W. on
This place is a worthless failure and unintentionally funny joke. If this place was a person, it would be the person dressed up like someone from Jersey Shore on Halloween, and then you find out that the person isn't in costume. Boston is one of the coolest cities in the world. Why? Because it has never been interested in "da club" as a concept. Its bands, bars, museums, and neighborhoods are naturally cool and offer something for everyone. Royale is a big stanky Miami turd in the middle of town. No one who is actually "hip" gives a fart about things like "VIP Bottle Service" (Ooooohhh! Wow! I can get a BOTTLE served to me at a TABLE?! Where else in Boston could I receive such a service?! Such pampering!) I was first introduced to this catastrophe through an advertisement in Stuff (y'know the free Boston magazine no one reads that is trying to convince the Boston populace that we are a hotbed of fashion, the one everyone ignores on their way to picking up the Phoenix or Dig. It has a big "S" on it, which shouldn't stand for "Stuff"). The ad was the worst I had ever seen; I'm talking infomercial bad. They had written a fictional scenario (probably made one of their English dropout bartenders do it) in which a woman was preparing for a supercool night out with her BFFs. After forced description of how the sun was setting over Boston, her cell phone rang. No lie, here are some parts of the ad: -She hung up the phone and thought to herself, "I love my friends, they're so hip". -There were forced, out dated (or never used) slang words sprinkled through the ad with asterisks next to them and definitions at the bottom such as "rolling ninja" (wearing black) and "sleigh bells" (the crappy band). -At one point the woman on the phone was (naturally) talking about how supercool the Royale was and said "I KNOW, EVERYONE FROM AL GORE TO KID ROCK HAS BEEN THERE". Oh boy! Cool-ass Al Gore keepin' itz real! What what! So obviously, I had to see this place for myself. It was more hilarious than I thought possible. If you are 15 year-old girl who enjoys Nelly or 3OH3 and their description of what "da club" is, this place is perfect for you to get dolled up and nervously scan the room to make sure everyone thinks one another is baller and agree that this is somehow a good time. Just keep in mind, the rest of the city is laughing at you. Artless, classless, and boring. There is dance floor and DJs so whack that you think they are kidding. One of them was using their MacBook and probably Pandora. And even still, the I have heard my grandfather blend beats more smoothly by taking a record off of turntable and putting another on ten minutes later. The crowd is what you expect: boring pricks transported from Faneuil Hall who think the term "baller" applies to themselves. Guess what: no one is baller. That's a made up concept no one cool actually believes in. Their daddies and mommies gave them an allowance to go pretend to be a big shot down at fancy dancey party. You could get herpes walking across the dance floor. Men who should be wearing padded helmets to go with their popped collars and are wearing more moisturizer than the women. The girls look like strung out victims of fetal alcohol sydrome wearing rhinestone rags and smell like sugar-coated doodoo. The staff has the personality and charm of a burrito belch. Sometimes a goofy mascot (a pink bear) walks around to make it seem like the place is KAR-AYYYZEEEE KRUNKKKK!! But of, course, it's pretty tame. It just makes you feel like you are on a Carnival Cruise for someones retirement party. All that, and there was a stabbing there and they were afraid to report to the police. So if you get stabbed, make sure you call the police yourself. The bartenders are poor. Hope you like crappy beer or frat drinks. No artisans here. Expect to pay a lot for your sub-par drink as well. So many better places to pay for interesting drinks, why over pay for a bad one in a joke of a venue. They should throw a big top over this place and then commit bar seppuku and burn itself down then have the pink bear vacuum up the ashes. Complete and total perfect failure. Don't go unless you are either a 15 year old reality TV junky or a 25 year old self-conscious attention whore moron. Then by all means, enjoy your night. Or don't. No one cares and no one is watching.
by Miss Information X. on
It was nine-thirty on Saturday morning.  We'd gotten up on the wrong day to watch our EPL football match and we couldn't bear the thought of going home without some sort of entertainment.  Neither of us were interested in breakfast.  Hmmm... what bar is open at 9 on Saturday?  Clooney's of course! The bartender was as sweet as pie and made a mean drink.  I mean, mean in a good way.  Strong but not deadly.  The other patrons were quite friendly and we had a cheerfully spirited conversation about music (Van Morrison and jazz) and politics (Africa) and rock and roll drug use (Van Morrison, again). We had our two drinks each and went on our merry way.  A bit tippled for that early in the day, to be sure, but very happy. Oh, and Clooney's is open at 6 am seven days a week.
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