Denveater - Deconstructing Colorado Cuisine, Dish by Dish

Dish of the Week: Salt-Baked Onion with Spaetzle at Table 6

The menu description doesn’t do it justice: “salt-baked onion, wild mushrooms, Camembert, semolina spaetzle.” The below photo, even if you click to enlarge, certainly doesn’t do it justice. The only thing that does this dish justice is firsthand experience.

I hadn’t been to Table 6 since the departure of Scott Parker, now ensconced at Session Kitchen—but now that I’ve seen what former sous chef & current top toque Carrie Shores can do, I won’t let so much time elapse between visits. The spaetzle stood on its own—toasty yet velvety little gems mixed with meaty mushroom caps & hearty greens. But the soft, sweet onion is the unlikely centerpiece: when you cut into it, Camembert fondue studded with yet more mushrooms literally spurts out. An over-the-top embarrassment of earthy autumn riches. (Those eggplant fries & onion rings with chèvre-enriched aioli were nothing to sneeze at either, by the way.)

Dish of the Week: Ceviche en Crema de Rocoto at Pisco Sour

Ceviche is a category unto itself in Peru; there, variations on the dish we tend to think of simply as citrus-marinated fish with maybe some chiles & onions are near-endless, & the inclusion of starchy veggies is fairly common.

The use of a sauce like crema de rocoto, however, was new to me. The rocoto is a type of pepper that’s generally pretty spicy, but the ratio of mayo to chile paste in this sea bass ceviche—mounded atop a hefty chunk of sweet potato & sprinkled with toasted corn kernels—tempered the heat considerably. Bite for bite, the mixture was startlingly like a cold seafood casserole—& I loved how the delicate yet firm chunks of fish held up to the creamy, crunchy, & earthy-sweet elements.

But there were numerous runners-up for Dish of the Week last night, when a group of us gathered at Pisco Sour Restaurant & Lounge for dinner amid the celebrants of what appeared to be a baby shower & a handful of raucous soccer fans catching a match on the big screen. Pal A’s aji de gallina, for instance. This traditional stew, based on chicken & potatoes in a parmesan-&-walnut sauce—wait, do I need to say anything else? “Cheese-&-nut sauce” is the #1 synonym for delicious.

The all-around comfort-food theme continued with causa rellena—mashed potatoes layered with a mixture of more chicken, more mayo & more awesomeness.

But wait, there’s still more spud! The papa rellena‘s a potato croquette stuffed with ground beef, tomatoes & raisins & accompanied by a couple of hot sauces (pictured in the photo below it)—one smooth, green & rather salty, the other chunky & tongue-searing. Good thing our gregarious waiter, who I suspect may have been the owner, was so determined to ply us with multiple rounds of the frothy, cooling namesake cocktail.

Mantonat’s anticucho platter included marinated beef heart & what the menu described as pork belly, but was clearly tripe, of which I am ashamed to say I’m not a fan. However, the heart was tender & stellar; if you’ve never had it, rest assured its bloody, iron-y tones aren’t quite as strong as they are in, say, liver. Behind that, pal T’s classic ceviche mixto.

And as for the roast chicken Denver on a Spit split with his kiddos, I’m sure he’ll have a word or 2 to say about that on his own blog, so keep your eyes peeled. I know he’d agree with me overall that this extremely warm & welcoming place is doing Peruvian cuisine a solid, complete with complimentary dishes of puffy, soft corn nuts mixed with plantain chips that they should really sell in bulk to make a mint off the likes of me.

Pisco Sour Restaurant & Lounge on Urbanspoon

Dish of the Week: Crispy Sofrito Chicken at Corner House

The Corner House couldn’t have picked a better time to host a media preview of the new fall menu: gray & chilly as it was outside yesterday, the warm & woody space, with moody jazz playing the background, felt like shelter of a distinctly New Wave-cinema sort. I wished I’d been dressed like this, gazing dreamily out the window with a Norman Mailer novel to finish or something.

And of course the food completed the cozy picture, darkened only by the realization that I’d only been here once before, for the opening preview. So many times I’ve looked at the online menu with lunch plans—what has stopped me? Partly the sense that it’s way over there in isolated Jefferson Park. Apparently I’m not alone in that impression, because chef-partner Matt Selby told us that he’s started to put maps on all his press materials. Truth is it’s a few-minute drive from Uptown, and I need to make it more often.

This terrific “play on arroz con pollo,” as Selby termed it, is as good a reason as any to do so. The crackling, juicy chicken thigh sits atop a mound of chorizo-studded rice in a generous smear of saffron aioli, garnished with sangria-marinated onions & queso fresco. It’s earthy & comforting &, in short, a keeper.

In fact, earthy comforts abound on the new menu, which reflects Selby’s current motto, “Keep it simple—that’s what the neighborhood wants. Just a few ingredients; nothing should take longer than 10 or 15 minutes to plate.” But he’s not budging on foie gras, bless him. The seared lobe below accompanies a veritable spring mattress of pumpkin bread pudding, plus the last of the season’s figs & a charred fig-rum reduction that, mingling with sage oil, is a light, bright rejoinder to its cloying, jammy counterparts. (As winter sets in, kumquats will feature here instead.) Loved that bracingly citrusy, capsicum-laced cocktail too, called When Doves Cry, made simply with tequila blanco, grapefruit, lime & Fresno chiles.

And PEI mussels bathed in white wine, tomatoes & butter, served alongside City Bakery ciabatta brushed with chive aioli & grilled. Could have made a cocktail out of that broth, actually.

And seared Alamosa striped bass, topped with braised frisée, over criminally & eternally underrated lima beans plus brandade (salt-cod emulsion) that incorporates parsnips instead of potatoes for a touch of sweetness echoed in the sherry reduction.

And an ultra-meaty though wholly vegetarian dish of lentils with duxelles, grilled apple slices & sautéed broccolini.

The peach cobbler à la mode pictured in back will disappear soon; Selby’s considering a berry buckle in its stead. As for the mighty fine, tapioca-like banana pudding, he seemed worried about guests who are taken aback by its hue. Anyone schooled in the art of Italian gelato, though, should know that bright yellow means Stop—artificial flavoring ahead.

Yes, Corner House is the ultimate neighborhood place. But it’s also proof that expanding our own sense of neighborliness never hurts.

Corner House on Urbanspoon

Dish of the Week: Roast Beef-Chimichurri Sandwich at Park & Main, Breckenridge

After a terrifying, ice-slicked drive up I-70 to attend the 4th Annual Breckenridge Craft Spirits Festival (of which more later), I arrived in town thinking nothing & no one could soothe me except the 1st distiller to ply me with copious amounts of hard liquor. But I was wrong, thanks to Park & Main, a lively little crayon box of a place dispensing equally colorful modern American eats, where I met a colleague for lunch & got a grip.

This in particular did the trick.

Complete with curlicues of golden-browned, unapologetically fatty bits that clung to creamy blobs of melted fontina, the mound of warm, shaved prime rib came slathered in a chimichurri so rich in garlic I could’ve gotten back in my car & cleared the roads with my breath alone. To its herb-&-vinegar kick, pickled onions added juice & crunch, & the grilled baguette was perfectly textured inside & out.

Nearly its equal was this veggie concoction, also en baguette drizzled with chili mayo: roasted sweet potato, braised kale & caramelized onions brought the soft, earthy bittersweetness, while pickled cukes & carrots brought the contrasting crispness & brightness. Piled so high, it was a bit of a mess, but that’s no complaint—on the contrary.

In fact, I’ve got nothing but compliments for the entire meal. Loved how baby arugula added a peppery bite to roasted-beet sliders generously smeared with tangy herbed goat cheese, laid on the eggy-sweet pillows of sweet-potato buns. But gigande-bean bruschetta, topped with slivers of good parmesan & lightly touched with some sort of fruity vinaigrette, proved an even bigger, heartier mouthful.

Breck has something special in this place, unassuming & casual as it may be—but I guess the locals know that, as it’s been there for a decade. Hopefully I’ll get over my utter dread of driving back sometime in the next 10 years. (UPDATE: My misunderstanding—it’s only been open for a year. For all that, it sure feels like a hometown fixture!)

Park & Main on Urbanspoon

Dish of the Week: Moules Marinières at Brasserie Ten Ten

Something for everyone. Coming from your average middlebrow chain, that’s a suspicious boast whose translation generally amounts to a whole lot of nothing for anyone except those who privilege quantity & convenience over quality. Every last item (they’re not really dishes) on that giant menu, from the hoisin-chicken lettuce wraps & Cajun jambalaya pasta to the potato twisters & taco pizza, was green-lighted in a boardroom after market research showed how it would activate the salivary glands in 2.5 of every 4 Americans & then prefabbed offsite—where it bears little resemblance to the legit creation by which an actual chef somewhere had launched an accidental trend.

But there are indie establishments—run by such actual chefs—that inherently appeal to a wide range of diners. They too are mainly mid-priced neighborhood gathering spots, built on solid tradition rather than the shifting sands of culinary pop culture—such that the unadventurous eater is bound to find something familiar even as the rabid chowhound accepts their “authenticity.” Here in the States, they’re likely to be European/American; even now, when large swaths of the population have grown comfortable with Latin & Asian cuisines, there’s still a subset who won’t go near a taqueria or a pho joint—unless, perhaps, it’s Americanized to the point that then the subset who insists on the real deal won’t go near it. But your classic roadhouses & delis, your picture-perfect trattorias & bistros: those almost all of us can agree on, because they speak an honest language we’ve long since incorporated into our own. (In a few decades, the same may therefore be true of those taquerias & pho joints.)

I’ve quibbled elsewhere about the differences between a brasserie & a bistro (here’s a good cheat sheet); despite the name, Brasserie Ten Ten walks a line between the 2. But that’s irrelevant here; what’s important is that it remains true to the spirit of casual French dining, & in so doing, it welcomes your uncle from Cleveland who insists on meat & potatoes (steak frites!) & your connoisseur pal who knows it’s not bouillabaisse unless it includes rouille. Any creative license taken is in keeping with its setting in worldly yet locavore-minded 21st-century Boulder, just as it would be in France. Meanwhile, the warm, bustling space has a timeless aura; the service is crisp & clean; & the bar puts an equal focus on beer (as a brasserie would), wine (as a bistro would), & spirits (there’s your nod to to the cocktail-crazed time & place).

With the memory of a vibrant pesto-chicken & prosciutto salad I had there nearly 2 years ago (it’s no longer on the menu) still lingering,

I’ve been back twice recently—& the impression that Ten Ten has, after a decade, earned its place on Boulder’s short list remains. That’s not to say everything’s perfect—but everything feels right nonetheless. Check out the charming presentation of the brunchtime Bordeaux Scramble—eggs scrambled with local goat cheese, shiitakes, fines herbes & a beet reduction, then topped with a small arugula salad & a scallion biscuit. The latter didn’t seem to have popped straight out of the oven, being a little too cool & crumbly, & the casserole itself needed a touch more salt, but it was the right idea.

Or consider the kitchen’s sly take on huevos rancheros, also a brunch item, with white-bean purée instead of frijoles refritos & avocado pistou instead of guacamole, plus gruyère &, get this, “porc green chilé”!

A raw bar’s essential to the brasserie theme, & Ten Ten does oysters right, with one of the nicest mignonettes I’ve ever tried, the vinegar mellowed a touch by a slew of herbs.

Though it looked a little slapdash—& my vote would be for thinner crostini, for a better fish-to-bread ratio—a plate of marinated white anchovies proved a fair deal for $2.

But the moules marinières (pictured is a full portion; a half-portion’s also available at happy hour) blew my mind.

Traditionally, the simple broth of this Normandy classic is based on white wine, butter, shallots & parsley, but cream, garlic, other types of onion & thyme aren’t unheard of; all appear here, though crème fraîche replaces whipping cream. The addictive result combined an herbal, floral complexity with unexpected lightness of weight, & the accompanying grilled bread was comme il faut—crusty, chewy & built to sop.

Now, there’s a whole dinner menu I’ve yet to explore—but given Ten Ten’s staying power, I know I’ve got time.

Brasserie Ten Ten on Urbanspoon

Dish of the Week: Chipotle- & Bourbon-Butter Grilled Oysters at Angelo’s Taverna

I’d never set foot in the previous, long-standing incarnation of Angelo’s Taverna—what’s another neighborhood pie parlor, eh? But “Denver’s only pizza & oyster bar” is a whole other matter—one worthy of scrapping my planned search for a place to watch the PPV Mayweather-Canelo fight last Sat., Mantonat convinced me.

He was right—& not just because the bout turned out to be a bust (no boxer will go down in history with more skills yet fewer guts & even less heart than will Floyd Money Mayweather). In fact, the real knockout that night went down on the plate on the left:

Them’s some honking oysters chargrilled in a mixture of chipotle- & Breckenridge bourbon–infused butter, adobo sauce & brown sugar; the result’s a wild ride of brine, tangy sweetness, smoke & spice whose complexity caught me by surprise.

No surprise on the right: just straight-up hot, crusty-gooey garlic bread covered in cheese. None below either: the stromboli’s pure goodness. With my choice of 2 of about 30 pizza toppings to supplement the filling of mozzarella, ricotta & classic marinara (which also comes on the side), I went with grilled eggplant & sundried tomatoes. Comfort food warrants far more discussion when it’s done badly: stale chips, soggy burgers, waiter there’s a fly in my pho, etc. When the construction is solid, when the ingredients are balanced, when you’re lulled into enjoyment rather than egged toward analysis, etc., as was the case here, it’s all pretty self-explanatory. (Note also the toasty glow coming from Soul Food Scholar‘s pizza with sausage, pepperoni, peppers, onions, mushrooms & olives.)

The rest of the menu’s a mishmash of red-sauce staples & more-contemporary Italian-inspired fare: there’s fried calamari & chicken parm, but there’s also a salad of arugula & toasted gnocchi in truffled herb dressing & Southwestern-style ravioli made with blue corn, red chiles & pepperjack. Same goes for the bar: there’s Bud & Pinot Grigio, but the cocktails skew craftward & the limoncello’s made in house (check out the jars in the display case near the entrance).

Granted, as Mantonat observed later, “Realistically, it’s not an easy menu to make a full meal from if you don’t want pizza or pasta.” Though Angelo’s does offer gluten-free crust, Mrs. M—who leans that way—& he opted instead for an appetizer of beef carpaccio with mustard aioli, plus sides of grilled shrimp & roasted mushrooms. Said the author of Westword blog A Federal Case—who you’d think would be getting his fill of Asian food these days—”the carpaccio was a little bland, but the mushrooms & shrimp were simple yet tasty. We actually stopped on the way home for a little sushi!”

Still, he scored the coup of the evening by noticing the quintet of oyster shooters on the beverage list. Being at that point 2 glasses of vino down, I declined to join him in a round, but the Chach—pepper vodka, cucumber, mint, lime juice—& the Webber with pale ale, housemade cocktail sauce, Cholula & a lime wedge continue to call my name.

In the end, I can’t say I know the ins & the outs of the place yet, but the statement it’s aiming to make is clearly thoughtful, & the questions that remain are minor. (For instance, what’s with the homage to the Red Hot Chili Peppers hidden in the names of the combo pizzas? And did we really accidentally convince our poor sweet waitress that Sudoku is a type of oyster?) What I can definitely say is that I’ll be back soon. From the rustic comfort of the dining room & the soulfulness of the eats to a could-be-much-worse Cal-Ital wine list & the fact that, on a busy weekend night, no one hassled us about lingering for nearly 3 hours, there’s no reason not to be.

Angelos Taverna on Urbanspoon

Dish of the Week: Melon-Crab Gazpacho at Fruition

If you too are beginning to grieve over Goldengrove unleaving, you may as well do it by crying into a bowl of soup that glows with the very essence of summer. That would be Fruition’s cold consommé of Rocky Ford cantaloupe, honeydew & watermelon, studded with disks of both melon-wrapped crab “cannelloni” & panna cotta made with yogurt from chef-owner Alex Seidel’s own creamery, & scented with finger lime—every spoonful an achingly delicate evocation of the season going by.

Of course, painterly impressions have always been this kitchen’s forte, such that even the homiest of ingredients, the heartiest of dishes get recast in a softly elegant light. After sharing it with the Director as an appetizer, I seriously considered ordering this beef tartare again for my main course,

so I could prolong the sensation of its silkiness against those melting cubes of crusted bone marrow, dollops of intensely tangy trumpet-mushroom conserva, & homegrown potato chips. Oh, if only Fruition had a bar, & at that bar were bowls not of snack mix but marrow squares with mushroom spread. I’d be chief lounge lizard.

Instead I got the pan-seared diver scallops over handmade orecchiette with clams, summer squash (plus blossoms) & chanterelles, garnished tableside with generous shavings of cured foie gras that deliquesced on contact to gently suffuse the whole. (You can go right on ahead & roll your eyes & mentally replace the word “deliquesced” with “dissolved” if you need to prove to yourself how linguistically democratic you are. But you’d be losing the nuance that defines Fruition’s style in the process, if you ask me. So there.)

As for the Director’s fried chicken, forget greasy-fingered gnawing—this was a whole other animal, with a high tender meat-to-crisp skin ratio via cylinders perched atop spoonbread, tomato confit & black lentils bathed in a barbecue sauce whose its lightness was anything but homestyle.

It had been a long time since I’d been to Fruition, & this visit marked the first time I’ve ever been seated in the narrow gallery adjacent to the kitchen rather than the main dining room. I’ll know to ask for a table there from here on out—it’s both cozier & closer to the action. Then I’ll just sit back & soak it all up over a glass of, say, Schiava, aka Vernatsch, a light, easygoing indigenous red from Alto Adige that pairs with just about anything—although the entire selection of wines by the glass here is built both to pique enophiles & to reflect the seasonal cuisine. Seidel once told me he wished people thought of his restaurant primarily as an everyday gathering place rather than a special-occasion destination. In a city less casual than Denver, they might. But here, the level of execution in both the front & back of the house stands out as special indeed—however packaged in warmth, & even though the diners around us appeared perfectly comfortable in tee-shirts & sport sandals.

Look, I’m generally a downright slob, & even I believe that we as a society will come to regret losing all traces of formality, forgetting the difference between an occurrence & an Occasion. No shame in maintaining at least shades of the distinction for as long as possible. On the contrary, kudos.

Fruition on Urbanspoon

Dish of the Week: Cake Batter Ice Cream with Crispy Pork Belly & Churros (& more!) at Harman’s eat & drink

I was sorry to see Phat Thai go, but I respected Mark Fischer’s insistence to Westword that closure was preferable to a P.F. Chang’s-style makeover. With the notable exception of Ondo’s, Cherry Creek just doesn’t do food that hasn’t been scrubbed clean of most of its original influences.

The food at its successor, Harman’s eat & drink, is therefore understandably clean. Though the menu does have its offhand foreign accents—Mediterranean, Latin, Asian—they’re added in service of a broadly accessible culinary lexicon.

With a few quirky exceptions, that is. Though the combinations of chocolate & bacon, salt & caramel have gone mainstream, most permutations of savory & sweet continue to strike most Americans as strange. Not so the denizens of any region that was ever touched, directly or indirectly, by Moorish culture, including the Sicilians—think melanzane al cioccolato& for that matter the Brits with their mincemeat pie; compare to meat dishes that incorporate fruit & baking spices, like Moroccan tagines & bastilla. But Harman’s dessert of cake-batter ice cream drizzled in rum caramel; topped with cinnamon-sugar-sprinkled, deep-fried pork rinds; & bathed in a compote of blueberries & chunks of golden-skinned pork belly—whew—is its own kind of triumph: cool & soft, warm & crunchy, the pork fat melting into the ice cream (or vice versa) amid bursts of fresh fruit. Way stimulating.

Pork rinds are also to be found among the appetizers, sprinkled in truffle oil & grana padano. Pal @Mantonat, who said he has “truffle blindness,” couldn’t really detect its funk; A & I certainly could, & indeed the suggestion of musk on pigskin was strong enough that a little went a long way for me, though it was balanced by impressive weightlessness & near-greaselessness.

Also greaseless, with vibrantly herbaceous, moist interiors, were the pea falafel balls with a dip that walked the line between the tzatziki it’s advertised as & aioli, only subtly tangy in its richness.

As for entrées, for all its emphasis on familiarity, the kitchen sure threw me with an Italian dish I’d never heard of: cianfotta. Upon looking it up, I—who does, after all, pride herself on knowing quite a lot about Italy’s regional cuisines—was embarrassed to discover it’s not terribly obscure; heck, Eater Denver’s Andra Zeppelin offered her own recipe for it a couple years ago. In any case, the Campagnan vegetable mélange is often, reasonably enough, compared to Provençal ratatouille; Harman’s version follows the model in that, rather than melded to a stew, the vegetables are cooked (perhaps, à la Jacques Pépin, individually) to stand out each in its turn: eggplant, crisp green beans, tomatoes, carrots, celery, onion, mushrooms so meaty I thought they were shreds of chicken at first, & so on. Suspended in a marvelously light parmesan brodo, they’re barely seasoned beyond the generous dollop of pesto on top—which does all the work of salt & pepper once it’s stirred in.

I think I was even fonder of the roasted-vegetable crostini, however. Two thin, oblong slices of grilled bread were smeared with housemade ricotta & topped with a more finely chopped, balsamic-drizzled mixture of seasonal veggies that, if not doused in wine, sure tasted like it. There were cubes of eggplant & onion & peppers, of course, & wedges of something that had 3 of us—2 of us food writers—absolutely flummoxed. It was tenderly rooty, slightly tart—some sort of squash we couldn’t place? I literally put a piece in the hand of our server Chip & asked if he wouldn’t mind finding out. (I mean, I asked him first, I didn’t just suddenly smash food in his palm.) He came back with the supposed answer: radish. I’m still not convinced. Anyway, it was all tucked beneath a mound of vinaigrette-dressed greens to highly refreshing effect.

There were 3 dishes I didn’t try over the course of my 1st 2 meals here, but not because they didn’t appeal. Mantonat’s porchetta over stone-ground grits with fennel salad & fennel agrodolce (literally “sweet-sour”) looked plenty elegant (though to his mind, a bit more seasoning would’ve brought out the flavor of the meat better).

Even sans potato bun, the burger, smothered in white cheddar & caramelized onions, beckoned. I did swipe a sweet-potato fry, & yep, it was as good as sweet-potato fries generally are.

And for a small salad, my mom got a fair heap of kale Caesar.

So there you have it: Harman’s is aiming to please, not challenge, & thus far it’s working. (You still want Thai, head to Aurora.)

Harman's Eat & Drink on Urbanspoon

Dish of the Week: Foie Gras-Plantain Mofongo Shumai on Zengo’s Test Kitchen Menu

Wowee. When I was invited in to Zengo recently to check out the specials on its rotating Test Kitchen menu—whereby the crew behind globetrotting restaurateur Richard Sandoval’s Asian Fusion showcase focuses on 2 specific culinary centers, currently Hong Kong & Puerto Rico—I was happy to do so; after all, chef Clint Wangsnes has proven a rather-undersung talent since he’s been on board. But I didn’t know just how happy I’d be once these shumai passed my lips.

At 1st nibble, I was almost disappointed; silken as the pouches were, & as much as I always love the earthy zing of the Chinese black vinegar they were perched in, I could only discern ground pork. But upon the 2nd, they positively blossomed with the velvety-smooth yet distinct savor of foie & green plantain—a combination that might’ve have been jarring in less-deft hands.

A sizeable portion of pork ribs whose tangy-sweet marinade blended ingredients of adobo & sweet-&-sour sauces was satisfying as well—the tender, plentiful meat coming clean off the bone alongside fluffy, more-please potato croquettes stuffed with bacon & jack cheese; chayote slaw reminiscent of green-papaya salad added cool contrast.

Of the 2 Test Kitchen entrées, I preferred the plump, moist Hong Kong roast chicken with “Shaoxing tomatoes”—blistered little pops of juicy fruit that I’m guessing were marinated in the namesake rice wine—over Moros y Cristianos, i.e. black beans & white rice (the un-PC translation is “Moors & Christians”); the overall effect was as vibrant as it looked on the plate, with its pool of jus & herbed oil & its heap of Chinese broccoli.

Mind you, the gorgeous whole crispy fried fish was no slouch, but it was a lot for the palate to tackle, served in a funky black-bean vinaigrette over a puree of malanga that evoked Hawaii’s infamous poi—meaning that it’s probably an acquired taste. If you’re down with eye sockets & starch, then by all means.

Besides, the effervescent, floral lychee Bellini will help lighten the sensory load.

You’ve really got to respect Zengo’s efforts to evolve & stay relevant on the very fast-moving dining scene that it helped to rev here in Denver—especially considering its high sizzle-to-fizzle rate.

Dish of the Week: Jax Glendale’s Pickled Fried Green Tomatoes (& oh so much more!)

Breaking the mold of the downtown & Boulder branches, Jax Fish House & Oyster Bar’s 4th location at the edge of Cherry Creek in Glendale (there’s also one in Fort Collins) is sleeker, bigger & brighter than its predecessors.

It also differs in that it’s open for lunch, which is when I was there for a media preview this week. If, like me, you’re a longtime fan of exec chef Sheila Lucero & her crew (Duane Walker oversees the kitchen here), the sheer verve of the seasonal seafood will come as no surprise, but the item I’m dreaming about today comes from the land rather than the sea: the pickled & fried green tomatoes accompanying this Southern-inflected dish of grilled shrimp over a vibrant succotash-like mixture of corn, favas, greens, & smoked ham plus a dash of classic rémoulade.

Provided the batter is crisp & well seasoned, fried green tomatoes are always a treat—but these go to 11 thanks to the hit of acid (& another of creamy sweetness should you swipe the disks through the sauce).

My fellow guests & I were also loudly smitten with the ultra-buttery brioche croutons on the Caesaresque grilled-romaine salad,

but the whole thing was deliciously funky, from the frico-like grana padano crackers to the egg-&-anchovy-based mound of gribiche.

Grana padano also infuses the broth in which lobster ravioli are immersed & topped with arugula pesto; if you’ve never sipped cheese essence before, I highly recommend it. It is choice, as Ferris Bueller would say.

Another favorite, this one a surprise: the flourless chocolate cake with orange chantilly (‘in other words, whipped cream,” laughed pastry chef Jennifer Helmore Lewis).

I usually ignore the still-ubiquitous 100-year-old fad that is flourless chocolate cake, but when it’s good—darkly rich, brownie-like, not too sweet—it’s really good, & all the better for the spike of cool citrus.

Also reveled in the tender-crumbed, salty-sweet, sugar-dusted corn fritters with caramel corn & bourbon-toffee sauce.

And though those were the standouts in my book, I didn’t try anything I didn’t genuinely like, from the peppercorn-crusted & perfectly seared ahi tuna with sticky rice

& the moist crème fraîche-roasted salmon over “beet-braised’ kohlrabi

to the lovely old-fashioned banana split

& springy, zingy monkey bread topped with Stranahan’s whiskey-brickle ice cream (all the ice creams presently come from Sweet Action).

In short, Jax is raring to go over here, & the second-floor bar, Hi*Jax, is soon to follow (on the 4th to be exact). You’d best be ready to live it up.

Jax Fish House & Oyster Bar on Urbanspoon