Ruth Tobias

Everything about the Cherry Creek branch of this upmarket regional Italian franchise seems custom designed to rub me the wrong way—it just reeks of corporate blandness. But I had a little time to kill in the area recently & have to admit I was happily surprised by NoRTH’s happy hour. For the price of a bag of factory potato chips ($3), I got this heaping bowl of really beautiful zucchini chips.

Sliced razor thin, fried to a blistering golden-brown, & sprinkled with basil chiffonade, they were plenty salty & just a touch greasy (yet still recognizable as squash), super crunchy & totally downable.

There are way too many independent restaurants to support to justify returning for a full meal, but it’s nice to know if I got stuck here for some reason I wouldn’t necessarily be miserable.

The Landmark at Greenwood Village does not lend itself to atmospheric dining experiences, & Yanni’s is no exception. (Ali Baba Grill comes closest, but that’s another post.) Unable to escape that “multi-use development” vibe, it gestures half-heartedly toward upscale Aegean-themed decor in white & blue, but the hard-surfaced space feels threadbare. Presentation doesn’t help, showing all the flair of an all-hours diner (read: none, from the institutional white dishware to the foil-wrapped butter pats for the warm breadsticks—where’s the Greek olive oil?) Service doesn’t raise the stakes of formality a whit either—but at least the waitstaff brings some familial warmth to the proceedings, led by an owner who makes the rounds with shots of ouzo (albeit in plastic glasses). Given the prices, which tend toward the teens & 20s, a touch more elegance seems to be in order.

So long as you close your eyes, though, the food mostly lives up to the promise of the concept. Take the tarama, a/k/a taramosalata—a whipped spread composed of cured fish roe, bread crumbs (or mashed potato), olive oil & lemon juice. When poorly made, it’s a shambles—gritty, clunky, & lacking the salty punch of the key ingredient (à la My Big Fat Greek Cafe’s version—sad trombone). But when it’s well made—as this was—it’s one of my favorite things on earth: creamy yet airy, pungent, slightly tart & totally craveworthy. Decent pita, too—the oil-touched, soft kind.

The Director’s gyro platter wouldn’t win a beauty contest, but the expertly done lamb-&-beef slices had robust personality aplenty: meltingly tender, well-seasoned & paired with spot-on chunky tzatziki alongside crisp fries.

My octopus, too, was lovely—buttery in texture with a nice char—though why it was served over shredded cabbage is a mystery. It would have gained a lot, I thought, from being tossed with or at least served on the same plate as the sides—

which looked like something you’d get at an old folks’ home but tasted much better: fluffy potato wedges with a bit of a crust & a surprisingly rich & saucy mélange of green beans and carrots stewed with tomatoes.

I’m happy to add the wine list pulls no punches for the sake of the suburban crowd, boasting its share of Greek varietals—love me some Xinomavro! Ultimately, when ambiance matters, Axios Estiatorio is the place to beat, but in terms of food quality, it’s a toss-up—both kitchens prove solid.

So this should be a hootenanny. Kicking off the Great American Beer Festival Tuesday from 6:30-9:30 pm at Mile High Station, the folks from Paso Robles’ Firestone Walker Brewing Company will be in town to pour, & I quote, “4 barrel-aged anniversary ales from our library, specifically rare sold-out vintages: XII, XIII, XIV and XV.” Blackbelly Catering’s Hosea Rosenberg of Top Chef’s season 5 will be doing the culinary honors—quite a menu, eh? At $75 per person, tickets include not only food & beer samples but also a souvenir snifter. Availability is limited. Get yours here.

The name for these Eastern Mediterranean quasi-pizzas can be spelled about 1001 ways—but it all adds up to deliciousness, any way you slice it. The easygoing Lebanese counter joint near DU that turns them out from its traditional ovens with such aplomb, Amira Bakery, offers a full range of Levantine staples, including shawarma, hummus, baba ghanoush & more, much of which comes with terrific, puffy, toothy, fresh-from-the-oven pita—I had to snap a pic on my car seat before it deflated.

And the falafel’s damn fine too. Though they need to update the posted menu to reflect price changes—everything’s a couple bucks more than listed—they also give you a little extra, so it all evens out in the end. These puppies are moist, crunchy-fluffy rather than flour-dense, with lots of parsley as well as chickpeas—so they’ve got an herbaceous zing that barely needs dressing (that said, a side of tahini sauce beyond the meager dribbling on top would’ve been a plus).

Still, the pies are Amira’s ace in the hole. Of 14 different kinds, I’ve tried 3 & adored them all: the lahmbajeen (from the Armenian lahmajoon), topped with a robust, juicy mixture of ground lamb & beef, bits of pepper & pinenuts;

the za’atar, named for its strongly aromatic, earthy-tart spice blend of thyme, sesame seeds, sumac & more, enhanced by a drizzle of olive oil;

& the chef’s special, which combines lebni, kashkawan (aka kashkaval) & a goodly pour of honey for the sticky-gooey, sweet-salty win.

The lebni they use is so thick & smooth it’s almost like cream cheese; the cheese is a cousin to mozzarella. For all I know you could replace both with Kraft’s finest & get the same results. What a guilty, finger-licking pleasure all the same.

Wow. What weird timing. Yesterday I finally made the all-of-6-block trek to Cinque Soldi Salumeria after checking out the menu online. All seemed to be in order at the adorably old-school little South Pearl deli, its display cases loaded with goodies from Il Mondo Vecchio, the gents behind the counter kindly & quick.

By the time I got home, though, the website was down. Odd, I thought.

Odd indeed. Turns out that, as of yesterday, Mark DeNittis is severing his partnership with the owners, per Westword, due to creative differences. According to Lori Midson, whether IMV products will continue to be featured there remains to be seen.

But I can’t imagine they’re going to just toss them all in the next few days. And the 2 sandwiches I wolfed down in short order—don’t judge—were still killer, so if you hurry, you can probably relish the last of these babies before the revamp.

Granted, the German panino was not as advertised.

Listed on the blackboard as containing headcheese, tongue, bierwurst, gruyère & sauerkraut, it was in fact headcheese-free (boo), & maybe tongue-free too, unless that was what the mysterious smattering of diced meat was…hard to say. Spread with spicy stone-ground mustard & pressed right on fresh, springy bread from Dolce Sicilia, though, it was nonetheless delish—hearty & pungent.

The porchetta, meanwhile—rough-chopped, skin clinging, & piled high with fried peppers on a grinder roll—was beautifully prepared: so tender, so purely flavorful & simply showcased.

Hopefully, the departure of DeNittis isn’t a death sentence; plenty of brilliant sandwiches get assembled day in & day out, all over the world, without his name on them. But only time will tell.

Sigh. ‘Tis true: though I rarely let my conscience get in the way of a hot food shot, there was something in the air at The Squeaky Bean on Wednesday night that deterred me from full-on flash action; everyone around us seemed immersed in deep conversation, to the point where such a gauche breach of etiquette was bound to earn me grand opprobium. Since snapping on the downlow got me nowhere—to wit:

—you’ll have to heed my verbiage.

Despite the seriousness of the clientele & the level of culinary prowess on display, it’s clear that Max Mackissock & his crew aim to pour on the playful charm from the moment you scoot into a booth through to the gut-busting end of your meal. The 1st thing you’ll note is that the menu is a heck of a juicy read—not only in itself (“variations of radish”! “whipped verjus”! “marrow emulsion”!), but also because it’s attached to a vintage cookbook: I got Vegetables, the Director Cooking on the British Isles. Adorable!

Not seconds after its arrival, you’ll be treated to a little thirst-quencher from the bar—in our case zippy cucumber soda—& garlic knots (of all things) so buttery, fluffy & soft they’re gone in a flash (no pun intended). And eventually, if you order right (not that it seems possible to order wrong), you might be presented with a little treasure chest whose lid is opened to reveal a pair of doughnuts filled with foie-gras mousse, sprinkled with foie powder, & topped with figs (top pic). Cartoonishly eye-rubbing as the presentation may be, these babies could be slung on a paper plate or just tossed in your general direction from the open kitchen and their deliciousness would remain intact. They’re as flaky as goldleaf, as creamy as pudding, as awash in sweet-salty funk as all get out.

Dehydrated, roasted, shaved & arranged neatly in a bowl of potage de Crecy poured tableside, “variations of carrot” (unpictured) are so intensely pure of flavor they almost overwhelm; good thing Mackissock, smart cookie that he is, keeps them in check with smidgens of lime cream & a tart-savory dollop of kaffir-lime ice cream topped with crushed “citrus peanuts”; the transformation that occurs as the elements meld is something to behold.

For the main course (middle pic), the Director went for the fat-wrapped Berkshire pork loin with corn pannacotta; though beautifully executed overall, the standout for me was a side of peaches so thoroughly roasted they transcend peachness—indeed, they’re suffsed with a startling but fascinating mushroomy savor. I opted for corned teres major with mustardy polenta, fried-to-a-crisp leaves of broccoli di cicco, roasted kohlrabi & slivers of white cheddar; that beef, my friends, is just nuts—so tender yet so aromatic & pungent, taking me right back to childhood in a way few things do (okay, maybe Chipwiches & eating spaghetti sauce out of the pot).

As for dessert, the one item that survived the move from LoHi to LoDo is the Fluffernutter (bottom pic): this, full disclosure, was brought out to us gratis with glasses of Pineau des Charentes, so I technically shouldn’t review the concoction of sweet brioche slathered with peanut-butter mousse & toasted marshmallow & drizzled with peanut caramel—but it hardly defies belief to admit the thing’s beyond rich & gooey, only enhanced by the lift it gets from the alcohol & zest of the stellar pairing.

Is it the best new restaurant of 2012? No doubt it’s among them, along with Bramble & Hare, Trillium (if that counts, since it opened at the end of 2011), &, I say rather to my own surprise, Central Bistro & Bar. But then, with the exception of Trillium, I’ve had only one meal at each candidate, so I’ll reserve my final verdict for the months to come. In any case, it sure has been a bang-up couple of years for this town, eh?

I’ll be there judging; you should come get punched up too.

True confessions: a) I actually shared this charcuterie platter with pals at Colt & Gray a couple of weeks ago, & b) the porchetta di testa wasn’t even my favorite thing on it—that honor goes to ‘nduja, the vicious-red slab towering somewhat obscenely over the octopus terrine, rye-cured steelhead trout, housemade condiments (including an intriguing escarole chutney, of all things) & etc. It’s a spicy Calabrian sausage whose almost unnervingly creamy texture is due, I understand, to a ridiculous amount of fatback.

But I haven’t grown so jaded as to shrug at the fact that something as in-your-face (so to speak) as head cheese could become a staple on an American restaurant menu. Nor would it ever, if it weren’t for brave chefs like Nelson Perkins—whose thinly sliced version is so gorgeous it looks like it should be behind glass in a natural-history museum display case & labeled “pink-limb-cast petrified wood”:

If you’ve still never sampled his pâtés, puddings, pastrami, prosciutto, etc., etc., it’s past-high time you did.

Does Denver really need yet another cheeky-chic purveyor of contemporary farm-to-table comfort food & craft libations? Rhetorically speaking, the answer would seem to be a big fat no. But the real-world answer is a bigger, fatter yes—provided the chef is Lance Barto, now installed in the kitchen at this killer LoHi newcomer. He will make you drink the cool kids’ Koolaid & like it.

I’ve been lax about posting for the past few weeks due to a slew of dragon-breathing deadlines exacerbated by a 7-day trip to Champagne. As special as the latter was, the meal I had the night at Central the night before I left for France hardly pales by comparison (both 1] apples & oranges & 2] hard to fathom as that statement may be. The thing is, you can only eat so much foie et fromage). Assuming my one experience so far is typical—except for the part where my table of 4 snarfed about 1/2 the menu—what’s going on here pretty much epitomizes the verve of our current dining scene.

Since I’m still under fire workwise, I’ll let the photos mostly speak for themselves (click to enlarge): suffice it to say the food, to a dish, is as thoughtfully conceived yet flat-out punchy as it looks—with the PS that if you, like me, think you’ve had just about enough of the pork craze, surprise: you haven’t even begun. Sticking a knife into any given cut was like stabbing a pink silk pillow. Bravo.

Left to right: crab mac & cheese with sourdough crumbs; corn & bacon risotto; superlative fried chicken—best I’ve had in some time—over johnnycake

Kandinksy-esque raw-vegetable salad & white gazpacho with green grapes, almonds & basil sorbet

Pork (belly) ‘n’ beans. Sigh—flawless.

BBQ pork chop with peach salad: bigger sigh. (Every bit as good as the chop I had last fall at the rather-underrated Satchel’s on 6th, which I named one of my favorite dishes of 2011.)

Lamb sirloin over spiced carrot puree

Striped bass over creamy tomato with beans (the current menu mentions lobster emulsion & clams; either this preparation was different or one of my companions got to the shellfish before I did. Either way, savvy).

Special of succulent bacon-wrapped halibut with root-veggie puree/garnish

Dessert sampler, including a chocolate torte to remind you why they became ubiquitous in the 1st place

You get the idea. My experience was up there with those I’ve had at twelve, Linger, Bramble & Hare, & other stars of the upscale-casual, modern American genre; one more visit & my rating might hit 5. Put it on your short list tout suite.

Lest you’ve been pining for the fjords of this blog, I’ve got a backlog of sweet posts on the other side of these deadlines—and, oui, oui, on the other side of this press trip to Champagne. Though this technically belongs on Globeater, what the hell.

‘Twas here that I polished off this “salad” of gizzard confit, smoked duck & foie gras en croûton, with some apples and greens thrown in for propriety’s sake. Mon effing dieu, click to enlarge.