Once again, folks, these are just the highlights.
twelve restaurant’s pork belly over braised cabbage & green chile with chicharrónes
Chlóe’s Moroccan cigars with peppadew aioli. Color me surprised
1515 Restaurant’s beef carpaccio roll with fried shallots & Dijon cream (pictured left). Color me really surprised
Empanadas from Buenos Aires Pizzeria: blue cheese–onion & tuna-green chile-egg
8 Rivers’ killer festival bread
I’m beginning to miss writing actual blogposts. Between deadlines for the guidebook—which you can learn more about here—& those for the Starz Denver Film Festival, I got so slammed that takeout had to suffice. Even so I scored big; they may not look pretty, but this week yielded some of my favorite eats yet.
Chada Thai’s hao moak & curry puffs
Prohibition’s polenta fries with balsamic tomato sauce
Solera’s white-truffle mac & cheese & Thai-style calamari
CoraFaye’s amazing pork necks over rice with all the fixings
Queen of Sheba’s kitfo done the right way—raw & spicy (take that, Arada)
Oh, the humanity. These are only the highlights, folks; you should see the outtakes.
Phoencian Kabob’s killer garlic dip with housebaked pita
Bastien’s sugar steak with twice-baked potato
Il Posto’s risotto with finocchino
Bacon-crusted pork chop with applesauce & Sriracha risotto at Satchel’s on 6th
Satchel’s on 6th’s lemon-ricotta gnocchi
Wild Catch’s fish charcuterie
Wild Catch’s pan-roasted grouper over chanterelles, corn, frisée & watercress-leek emulsion
If you liked El Bulli: Cooking in Progress, which kicked off Film Feast at the Denver Film Center/Colfax, you’re gonna love this doc about the titular 85-year-old itamae, which plays next Tuesday, 9/27. But don’t take my word for it; check these hilarious outtakes from the critics:
Per Slant Magazine: “The film every so often practically swims in close-up shots of freshly made sushi—sauces still dripping from the fish—as well as Wong Kar-Wai-like slow-motion montages of chefs cutting and massaging fish, stirring rice, and applying sauce on top…[This] is food porn par excellence.”
Per the Hollywood Reporter: “The lengths Jiro takes to maintain and improve his standards—from never taking a day off except to go to funerals, to massaging an octopus for 50 minutes, to customizing plate layout for left-handed customers — have their amusement value…[but] the most touching anecdote comes from an apprentice’s account of how he wept when Jiro finally gave his approval to an egg dish after rejecting the previous 200 he had made.”
Per Indiewire: When you see Jiro Dreams of Sushi, make sure you’ve already staked out the nearest sushi place. It doesn’t matter if you’re really in the mood, or even if you dislike raw fish, you’re going to have a pretty strong craving within five minutes, and by the time the lights go up you’ll be ravenous.
That would be Okinawa, just across the street. But not so fast—you’ll want to stick around when the movie ends, because director David Gelb is appearing in person for a Q&A!! For that matter, don’t show up late—the screening’s proceeded by Joe York’s charming CUT/CHOP/COOK, a short about a guy you might call the Jiro of Carolina barbecue.
See here, I’m writing a guidebook. Details to follow, but by way of promo pronto, I’ll be posting photos of each week’s highlights, while sparing you close-ups of the downside (this should suffice).
Amira Bakery & Deli’s Lebanese pie with lebni & zaatar
Arada Restaurant’s platter with lamb stew & kitfo
Budapest Bistro’s Indian frybread-like lángos
Bittersweet’s sinus-clearing chorizo over black bean purée
Black Pearl’s duck-confit-stuffed piquillo pepper over cauliflower-studded polenta
Caffè’s pretzel bread & bombolone in a peekaboo bag
H Burger’s fried jalapeños & apple coleslaw
Devil’s Food Bakery & Cookery’s chocolate–peanut butter Buckeyes
Le Grand’s garlic sausage over lentils
OTOTO Food & Wine’s Wagyu tartare & housemade ricotta
Pizzeria Locale’s stellar cantaloupe-prosecco spritzer
Pizzeria Locale’s tuna–red pepper rolls & insalata ai frutti di mare
Oh yeah, & Pizzeria Locale’s sophisto butterscotch budino
Sugar Bakeshop’s cherry-sprinkle pop tart
Lordy, that’s just the beginning. Enjoy the weekly sneak peek while it lasts, I may be lowered into an untimely grave by forklift before the book hits the shelves.
If you weren’t at Tuesday’s screening of I LIKE KILLING FLIES, you missed—in addition to a hilarious doc—a faceful of bacon, deviled eggs & shrimp with grits courtesy of Steuben’s & Vesta Dipping Grill wunderkinds Brandon Biederman & Matt Selby.
And if you’re not at the Denver Film Center/Colfax for next Tuesday’s screening of BLOOD INTO WINE, you’ll miss—in addition to an intensely up-close-&-personal look at cultishly worshipped rock star Maynard James Keenan as he strives tirelessly to get blood from a stone, or rather wine from desert soil—a real-life taste of the fruits of his efforts. We’ve got a case of Caduceus, you’ve got a fine night ahead of you.
A quick reminder that I sure do hope to see y’all at tomorrow’s screening of I Like Killing Flies. Not only is the documentary about New York’s notorious Shopsin’s hilarious—the menu alone will BLOW YOUR MIND—but it’s being followed by a reception complete with tidbits from Steuben’s Brandon Biederman (who happens to be a fan of the film, because he’s cool like that).
Extra bonus: it all kicks off with a lovely little short about an 80-year-old hot-dog slinger.
How you can be a lush & a lightweight at the same time is beyond me, but so I am. Much as I guzzle the vino, I have to tread very carefully when it comes to spirits. One cocktail makes me loopy; 2 make me goopy. Like I have the muscle tone of hot fudge.
But having hit the bar at ChoLon on the very night that Brian Melton & co., including the lovely Ali Terrill, were debuting a few new concoctions—well, suffice it to say I have about 5 minutes to write this post before I sink into oblivion.
So let’s make it quick: the Still Life is brilliant.
I happened to overhear Mr. Melton wax pleased to Ms. Terrill about the name; he was picturing a painting, say by Meléndez, of a table laden with bowls of pears, plums & walnuts. Because that’s what the drink contains: it’s a blend of Old Overholt Rye, Asian pear purée, walnut oil, Japanese plum vinegar & egg whites, dusted with Saigon cinnamon. It goes down like an iced coffee drink, minus the coffee, minus the cream, minus the sugar.
I’d have had 2, but I’d already had 2—I started with the Royal Garden.
For all my years-long bitching about beet salads, I’ve got nothing against beets themselves; on the contrary, I heart them. I just don’t need to ever, ever, ever eat them over greens with goat cheese again. I’d far rather drink them; the earthy sweetness of their juice mixes beautifully with a well-crafted vodka (ask a Russian. Come to think of it that would be me. Well, half of me). Here, it’s also combined with ginger & lime for a surprisingly light, refreshing tipple complete with an adorable garnish of dried golden beet ring.
Rock on, ChoLon. You had me at Kaya toast, but you can have me whenever. Especially after 2 cocktails.
**Oh yeah, the mysterious UPDATE: I’ve got 2 *major* projects on my plate, one of which is the 34th Starz Denver Film Festival & the other of which is food-related. You’ll learn more about the latter in the weeks to come, but in the meantime, I may not be posting with my usual vigor for the next couple of months. Bear with me. Confession: I don’t really know what radio silence means.
That’s the trademarked motto of the legendary Broadmoor in Colorado Springs, & while it’s pretty meaningless from a literal standpoint—if you’ve been to a crack house, you know what that’s like too—the ultra-elite implications are clear, not least with respect to the historic 5-star resort’s most celebrated restaurant, The Penrose Room. Come to think of it, though, the motto still doesn’t make much sense, since even if you haven’t been here, I bet you can make a fairly accurate guess as to the experience. Posh. Elegant. Lavish. Formal. Twinkling lights & tinkling crystal. Prix-fixe & multi-course. Extravagant from the bread basket service & the amuses bouches I wrote of earlier to the take-home gift bag bearing a block-sized marshmallow—compliments of head pastry chef Rémy Fünfrock, who with exec chef Bertrand Bouquin boasts a sparkling résumé dotted with names like Daniel Boulud & Alain Ducasse & the Coupe du Monde de la Pâtisserie.
Here’s what I, having been there, definitely know: it’s really not my kind of place. The whole VIP rigmarole with all its bells & whistles tends to make me nervous, in direct opposition to its intended effect. I feel too closely watched & kinda trapped, & in short I’ve never found fine dining terribly sensuous. Heck, I was far more attuned to & comfy in my environment yesterday at the Drunken Fry in OKC, where I sat in near-darkness surrounded by, among other things, retro votives & real live ashtrays, headless spattered mannequins & paintings of PBR-pounding dinosaurs & the ever-spooky sounds of Roy Orbison, while knocking back a Dubbel & a shitload of Belgian-style frites with cheeseburger sauce & curried mayo.
That said, if you are indeed into pure luxury & penthouse views & all that jazz, then The Penrose Room will bowl you right over.
I & my companions—whom, it should be said, were from the hotel’s PR department, as I was on assignment, but who did not pay for my meal—opted for the 4-course tasting menu, which gets you 2 appetizers, a favorite being the lone signature dish on the otherwise seasonal menu: good old Caesar salad prepared tableside.
The value’s all in the entertainment, of course—otherwise there’s not much point in ordering the perfectly well-made but perfectly common concoction. You’re here to luxuriate, so you may as well delve into the delicacies. You can even (for a supplement) order an appetizer tasting, which might look a little like this:
That pristine slab of foie speaks for itself, but my favorites were 1) the frothy cream of white asparagus soup with watercress coulis & a dab of caviar & 2) the lobster carpaccio with horseradish-caviar cream—the one classic, the other inspired. Lobster doesn’t get played with enough; I’m actually not sure I’ve ever seen it thin-sliced before.
Between the amuses & the appetizers, it seemed soup is one of Bouquin’s fortes: I also loved the blue crab bisque, ultra-smooth with an inxplicable, almost hazelnutty savor.
But my own pick, the wine-braised calamari, was terrific too. Over favas & chunks of bacon, the little pouches were as thin as cellophane & nearly as translucent; I don’t even recall what they were stuffed with, so enamored was I of the texture.
Overall, it was clear Bouquin favors a light touch in summer, which failed him only with respect to my entrée. “Ravioli” that were actually scallops sliced & filled with a dollop of American caviar, arranged over a sauté of diced purple artichoke & sunchoke in tomato consommé, & topped with basil foam sounded extraordinarily inventive, but lacking any sort of anchor—a rich ingredient or even a bit more seasoning for counterbalance—were so light they were nearly flavorless. (Supposedly there were capers too but I didn’t encounter any.) I don’t even mean the dish was bland, quite—more like ghostly, there but not there. Which is kind of fascinating in & of itself, but still.
Ultimately, though, a meal like this inheres in its lovely little flourishes—coffee service being a prime example, coming complete with a full dish of chocolate-covered espresso beans.
Finally, Fünfrock’s dessert selection, as the display in the foyer suggested,
changes even more frequently than the main menu, but it too is a study in refreshment & refinement more than comfort & decadence. Pineapple charlotte, for instance, wasn’t exactly what I expected, being mostly fruit topped with a small slice of coconut-lime dacquoise. But after all those coffee beans, I hardly needed a chocolate bomb.
As for the wine list, it’s far deeper than it is broad—the emphasis is firmly on the Old World rather than emerging regions, châteaux more than boutiques. But again, that’s to be expected at a place whose 50-year reputation is built on royal splurges. Why come but to succumb? (Now there’s an apt motto.)
