In a way, you can thank Joseph Stalin for the excellent German food at Edelweiss.
Not that the Soviet head honcho knew schnitzel from Shinola, but when he took over Eastern Europe after World War II, it caused America to station 300,000 troops in West Germany, which caused a lot of young American GIs to fall in love with German girls, which caused a lot of marriages, which caused a lot of German women to move to Colorado Springs.
Consequently, there are a lot of ladies around here who know their schnitzel. And since a restaurant is usually only as good as its customers’ expectations, there is some darn fine kartoffel pfannkuchen around town.
“We have several regulars who are Germans married to military guys,” a server told me on a recent visit to Edelweiss. “In fact, we have several waitresses who did the same thing.”
So you know when you find your way through the warren of different rooms at Edelweiss and sit down to a plate of zigeunerschnitzel or sauerbraten that you’re going to get the real thing. (This is also true of local Korean fare, for similar reasons. The Cold War was kind to the local restaurant scene.)
German cuisine can have a bit of an image problem. The plates are almost universally brown food and can be overloaded with gravy and syllables. Let’s face it, sauerkraut is not hip.
But the food at Edelweiss is so well done, with great service and a fun setting, that it’s hip to be square.
A meal typically starts with a veteran

While eating my fifth or sixth piece of pizza at CiCi’s Pizza’s allyou-can-eat buffet, I had an epiphany about why kids like buffets so much.
The chain on North Academy Boulevard was packed with families on a weeknight — some running around the small game room, some at utilitarian tables in the spare, easy-to-scrub-down dining room, and some passing yet again through the line of salad, pasta and about a dozen pizzas.
I’d already quizzed several parents about why they liked the place, and most said they didn’t, but their kids did. (Full disclosure: I don’t have kids.)
On a scale of one to 10, one mom gave the pizza a one. The small pieces come on ready-made crust in kid-friendly flavors including mac and cheese. They’re not bad, just bland.
“But she really likes it,” the mom said, motioning to her 5-year-old daughter in the game room, who was wearing a spotted cow costume and cat ears. (Full disclosure: She got to pick out her own outfit that morning.) “And if we can get 20 minutes of peace at dinner, I’m all for it.”
Almost every other parent I talked to said the same. This was less about a piece of pizza than just plain peace. Plus, at only $5 a pop, a mom could please the kids without going broke.
And the more I thought about it, the more I saw the appeal on the kids’ side, too. It’s all about autonomy. Think about it. Going out to eat at a restaurant to have someone else cook, wait on you, and do the dishes is no big deal when you’re 6. You get that every day at home. But to get to pick what YOU really want — that’s a treat.
Not surprisingly, CiCi’s has proved very popular. The franchise chain has more than 700 locations spread across the nation’s midsection. (Full disclosure: All-youcan-eat pizza is probably the last thing the nation’s midsection needs.)
So I tried to judge the food from a kid’s perspective. I tried the spinach pizza, the pepperoni, the mac and cheese, and, by accident, the buffalo chicken. Most were perfect for a child’s palate. (Full disclosure: From ages 6 to 8, I wanted to eat only Cheerios.)
Still, it’s a bleak buffet. The Romaine in the salad bar was brown with frost nip.
Think about it. going out to eat
at a restaurant to have someone
else cook, wait on you, and do the dishes is no big deal when you’re
6. You get that every day at home. But to get to pick what YOU really want — that’s a treat.
The rest of the salad bar was “not as good as Chuck-E-Cheese’s,” one mother noted.
The dozen or so pizzas aren’t labeled, so you don’t know you have the hot saucedrenched buffalo chicken pizza until you take the first bite. (Full disclosure: That could cause crying.)
The pizza is not bad. It’s hot and fresh if you pick one that’s popular enough to be replaced often, and the sauce and cheese ratios are good. I even found myself going back for a second piece of the mac and cheese pizza. (Full disclosure: I had skipped lunch and climbed the Incline before dinner.)
Would I pick it as a place to go out with friends? No.
Would I use it as a bargaining tool with 6-year-olds? Only if they’re good and clean their rooms.

When I met two friends in the disheveled parking lot of this tiny strip mall Mexican restaurant, the first thing they asked is, “How did you find this place?”
It’s a fair question.
El Jardin is a classic denizen of Colorado Springs’ Taco Triangle. The Triangle is a geographic wedge of aging sprawl between Galley Road, Academy Boulevard and Union Boulevard that is home to what seems like 95 percent of the city’s true Mexican restaurants — places owned by immigrants and catering to immigrants, where English is as rare as a counter that doesn’t sell phone cards.
Like the Bermuda Triangle, it’s a mystery to most.