***As always during the wine-fueled whirlwind that is the Starz Denver Film Festival, my diet is as off-balance as I am: lettuce just doesn’t absorb much alcohol. In honor of closing weekend, a word to wise cinephiles about the glorified junk food you too may find yourself grubbing between screenings—there’s fat-tastic & then there’s just plain flabby. Get to know the difference.***

Missing the Point of EDGE
The new Four Seasons positively gleams, & its mod steakhouse exudes just so much prerecession swank. Frankly, it’s a genre that strikes me as being way past its prime, pun intended; in an era of downsizing on the one hand & ethicureanism on the other, & in an area of town that’s already chockablock with chophouses, the decision to erect yet a temple to conspicuous consumption seems, despite the name, far from cutting-edge but actually rather uninspired. Even the menu graphic is jarringly evocative of a passé aesthetic, one that might have been appropriate when women wore shoulder pads & men took fashion tips from Miami Vice.

That said, the dinner menu shows about as much flair as it can, given the surf & turf conventions the kitchen has to adhere to by definition; I look forward to putting aside my anti-glitz misgivings & giving it an honest whirl. In fact, I already tried to do as much for the bar menu, only to learn that it’s limited after 9pm; the most interesting selections by far—”Rocky Mountain sushi” like spicy bison with salmon & peppered elk with tuna—weren’t available when we were there at 10:30. Far be it from me to suggest, then, that what we wound up with is in any way indicative of the repertoire as a whole.

At least I hope the vegetable spring rolls weren’t.

Heavy on the wrapping, the filling bland, the dipping sauce standard, they had no more finesse than those of your average corner take-out joint.

Luckily, good old truffle-parmesan fries came to their rescue.

The line between a cliché & a neoclassic is thin, but these fries land on the right side of it: skin-on, crisply golden, & judiciously sprinkled with truffle oil, parmesan, parsley & sea salt, they’re accompanied by a nicely lemony aioli.

Still, to reiterate, I’m only recording an initial 1st impression here. To make a judgment call, good or bad, based on 1 visit featuring 2 minor snacks that have nothing to do with the kitchen’s forte would be like reviewing a film based on the performance of Man on the Street #2 & the font used in the credits.

Evilicous El Diablo
In fact, lest the folks at EDGE give a hot damn about my opinion, they should know that I was initally pretty skeptical of El Diablo as well. In a town all fat & happy with hardcore no-habla-inglés taquerias, I wondered, what void could it possibly fill other than that of a dumbed-down, Disneyfied distraction for goofy young gringos? But I figured wrong; as noted in a recent review, the kitchen’s output is as smoky & soulful as, well, hell.

The tacos de barbacoa & tacos de carnitas further proved that the crew in white takes its sweet time preparing meats; both the lamb & the slow-cooked pork were as tender & flavorful as could be.

Even The Director, whose heart belongs to El Taco de Mexico, grudgingly admitted they were well-wrought. Granted, there’s something to be said for a little shredded lettuce & cilantro, even a sliced jalapeño or 2—but nothing fine salsa & a squeeze of lime can’t cover.

The Corner Office: Demoted to Cubicle
In past years, The Corner Office has served as the Denver Film Society’s second home during the festival. This year, what with the opening of The Denver FilmCenter/Colfax, I’d give that nod to Encore (more on which later)—not least because The Corner Office seems to be occupied by the culinary equivalent of bumbling milquetoast Milton as often as it is some dashing, buck-stops-here CEO. (For various mixed reviews click here). Or, for a more obvious parallel with Office Space, I couldn’t help but think of the movie’s drone den & Chili’s clone Chotchkie’s, with its Pizza Shooters, Shrimp Poppers & Extreme Fajitas, upon the arrival of stuffed shishitos rangoon & KFC (Korean fried chicken) wings on our most recent visit.

I know Korean fried chicken; Korean fried chicken is a friend of mine. This, sirs, was no Korean fried chicken, way too thickly breaded in a sickly sweet glop. As for the poppers, despite containing precious little of the advertised crabmeat in the cream cheese filling, they were okay, but no match for, say, Black Pearl’s take on shishitos, showcasing the peppers themselves in all their grassy, smoky glory via a dipping salt with sesame seeds & paprika.

***That’s almost a wrap, kids, though I’ll remind you to get thee to Encore before the weekend’s over.***