Ruth Tobias

Five stars for a place that hasn’t even officially opened yet is a giddy amateur move on my part. But if the sheer skill & savvy Black Cat Bistro’s Eric Skokan & crew showed throughout their friends & family kickoff is indeed a sign of things to come—& one imagines it is—then Bramble & Hare is gonna see my bet & raise it twofold.

It’s all about the little things here: tiny rustic space, small plates (supplemented by a daily-changing 3-course prix-fixe), innumerable background details—like the fact that the clay on the walls is mixed with hay from Skokan’s barn or that his wife stuffed the pillows lining the banquette with wool from their own-raised lambs. (As if “chef-restaurateur-farmer” weren’t enough of a hyphenate for Skokan, he added “general contractor” to the mix while building out the new space.) You also can’t quite tell by looking that the “all-star team” he’s hand-picked to cook here hail from all over—Atlanta, Chicago, Maine. But you can definitely tell by tasting that it all adds up to something special.

I mean, this is just ridiculous.

The rib is cut from a heritage breed Skokan’s helping to breed back from near-disappearance, with good reason—its rare flesh simply melts away. (Perhaps the pigs spontaneously deliquesced.) Of course, it first fills your mouth with such complex, smoky richness that I told Skokan I don’t think I’ve ever had a better rib—not at a barbecue joint, not at a Korean eatery, nowhere. And I wasn’t just kissing his ass, I meant it—notwithstanding the fact that what originally sold me on the dish were the pressure-cooked pork-skin “noodles” bathed in Sichuan-spiced jus. A dab of them pure-fat apples’ll do you.

Of course, Skokan’s commitment to not just whole-animal but whole-vegetable sustainability is evident at every turn. Take the farm chips: last night’s beet & turnip crisps were just the tip of a bowl that may, at any given time, include fried kale, Jerusalem artichokes, chicken skin, or pig’s ears: “Whatever we have that’s in season, we’ll turn into chips,” he promises.

Pictured in back is yet another winner: chilled, roasted turnips tossed with broccolini & cabbage in a star-anise vinaigrette—such a smart touch, bringing out a whole new side of the earthy veggies.

Granted, the veggies alone had a way of bringing out a whole new side of themselves: a cold soup special of carrots & the whey leftover from housemade ricotta, though seasoned only with S&P & lemon juice, possessed a distinct, almost cinnamony spiciness. Skokan surmised that the recent heat spike may have concentrated certain flavor compounds in the carrot patch.

So the list of hits—most fully realized, a few potential—went on, & on, & on, from the steamed bun filled with chopped beets alongside a dollop of beet-dusted chèvre mousse that called to mind my beloved gnocchi di prugne

to gorgeous, giant Hama Hamas on the half-shell with kimchi vinaigrette

to duck liver mousse-filled sourdoughnuts with grapefruit marmalade

to a killer special of perfectly cooked pork shoulder over the silkiest, poppiest little pearls of couscous ever (plus yet more turnips! Can’t get enough of those)

to, finally, a juicy, fruity as opposed to sugary yet heartily streuseled wedge of cherry tart.

That’s still not all: while the craft beer & cocktails flow, Dev’s carefully curated wine list is not to be dismissed—chock-full of all the Zweigelts & Teroldegos & boutique Lambruscos to stir an oenophile’s cockles. Nor is the keen service (courtesy last night of on-the-ball Tyler).

Sure, this is one of those occasional googly-eyed Dear Diary accounts wherein I suddenly pull back to add a steely disclaimer: I came as a guest, not an anonymous reviewer. My experience can’t be separated from my familiarity with the staff or my prior admiration for Skokan’s work—at least not by me. It’s up to you to validate my vote of confidence (or not, for that matter). Keep me posted.

***Brief respite from blogging over at Globeater, in turn a brief respite from blogging over here.***

Long story short: Girl moves to Denver, girl falls in love with Black Pearl, Black Pearl loses girl with a string of iffy chef shuffles, girl returns on a whim that reignites the crush—this time with Seattle transplant Mitch Mayers. He’s a keeper.

Taking family there last week, the Director & I were presented with a menu that boasted all the much-missed hallmarks of the restaurant’s original, splashy style—bold flavors in unexpected combinations—with none of the recent drawbacks (what either were smaller portions at higher prices or simply seemed to be because I was annoyed; see “much-missed hallmarks”). It’s funny—it’s not as though Denver’s devoid of creative contemporary cuisine; far from it. But there’s a certain rare flair for surprising juxtapositions that speaks to me personally, & Black Pearl’s best chefs have had it in spades, to the point where I positively crave nearly everything they’re dishing up, be it deviled-egg salad with maple-horseradish vinaigrette or a bacon-stuffed bison burger with brown-mustard mole or goat-cheesecake with sage-granola crunch & red wine-marinated strawberries—& yes, all of the above are on the current menu.

We started, however, with an old favorite, the sesame-crusted calamari in sweet aged soy, tossed with slivered scallions, toasted garlic & pistachios. Having written about it often, I didn’t bother to snap a pic, so here’s an old one—

but rest assured it’s as good as ever. In his retirement years, the Director’s dad discovered he actually liked squid okay; as we smugly surmised, that was probably because he’d had it prepared properly for the first time in his life.

Speaking of firsts, he also gave the agave-glazed wild-boar spareribs over Moroccan-spiced quinoa with baked plantains & beet chutney a shot, & so pleased was he with the gorgeous results I didn’t dare ask for a taste.

Same went for his missus’ classy, throwback shrimp & crab salad with lemon velouté in a puff pastry shell (which, get this, was retro-colored in real life!).

Not that I wasn’t busy with my own entree: edamame-corn cakes topped with sauteed zucchini & served over chipotle crema-drizzled refried black beans.

Dense but fresh, pure & naturally sweet, the cakes stood up admirably to the smoky-rich beans, making for a smart play on masa & frijoles, while the squash ribbons added a dose of levity.

Of course, I was also busy with the Director’s hickory-smoked game hen.

Over nutty orzo, that crispy-skinned bird just kept adding to its own pilsner-splashed jus, accompanied by unbelievably silken quarters of grilled artichoke heart; the “hoecake” (really more like a corn muffin) pretty much gilded the lily.

I still say the markup is too high on the bottle list, however sizeable & interesting the cellar may be; wines by the glass & cocktails are a better way to go. And I do hope the warm chocolate-chip cookies & milk return to the dessert menu someday. But that’s just quibbling for the sake of not slobbering too hard or jinxing the delicate balance currently being struck at this sometime neighborhood ideal.

For the next week or so, you can find me over at my other blog, Globeater, where I’m reliving the gastronomic glories of a week spent in Brooklyn & Boston.

But if you’d just as soon stick close to home, check in over at Eat Drink Denver, where I’m dishing up Five Favorites on the regular—my own & those of all your top local toques.

More soon!

***This just crossed my desk, & though I’m too swamped right now to do anything but give the press release a light edit, it’s way worth a heads up.***

Denver’s African Community Center announces “Restaurants for Refugees: Global Flavor, Local Good,” a Denver-wide awareness and fundraising event to be held at 9 Denver restaurants Saturday, June 9, to Friday, June 15, to further their efforts in Colorado Refugee Resettlement.

Local chefs have paired with refugee community members to create unique specials, inspired by the flavors of the latter’s home countries, in honor of the difficult and hopeful journey that 46,000 refugees have undertaken to rebuild their lives and their homes in Denver. Restaurants for Refugees is a symbolic coming together of cultures, fusion of flavors, and celebration of the richness and diversity found in our own neighborhoods.

A percentage of the proceeds from the sale of each dish goes to ACC, which welcomes approximately 500 refugees who have fled violence, persecution, and war each year. ACC bridges the gap between hope for a better life and economic self-sufficiency in Denver through social, educational, and employment services.

Participating Restaurants:

Appaloosa Grill (535 16th Street, Suite 110, Denver, CO 80202)

Aria Inspired Cuisine (250 Josephine St., Denver, CO 80206)

Caveau Wine Bar (450 E. 17th Ave., Suite 110, Denver, CO 80203)

The Corner Office (1401 Curtis St., Denver, CO 80202)

Le Central (112 E. 8th Ave., Denver, CO 80203)

Lowry Beer Garden (7577 E. Academy Blvd., Denver, CO 80230)

Snooze (Ballpark Location, 2262 Larimer St., Denver, CO 80205)

Vert Kitchen (704 S. Pearl St., Denver, CO 80209)

Watercourse Foods (837 E. 17th Ave., Denver, CO 80218)

Well, isn’t this place more fun than a barrel of shrieking monkeys aged in rum.

Located at the edge of the Baker District on S. Broadway, it’s quite the jazzy throwback to the Polynesian-crazed mid-century era of Trader Vic’s—all bamboo & sunset hues, fishnet-strung & blowfish-shaped lanterns, ukelele-playing hula girls & booths upholstered in embossed alligator print.

Since Adrift doesn’t seem to have a website or even a Facebook presence yet (hey, like it really is the 1950s!), I snapped the cocktail & small-plate menus (click to enlarge)—you’re welcome indeed.

 Given that 6 of us covered a good chunk of both over the course of our stay, I’ve gotta give props to our server, clad in some sort of flowery caftan, who managed to keep the entire order straight without writing it down—smooth! We started with drinks, natch; my favorite among the 3 (unpictured) I tasted —which are mostly fresh & fruity tiki classics—was the Suffering Bastard, a blend of gin, brandy, ginger beer & lime cordial, garnished with mint, that kept sweetness in check with spice & citrus notes.

As for eats, I admit I kind of pined for just 1 or 2 old-school snacks like rumaki or spareribs, but the contemporary, non-cheesy versions thereof were overall pretty swell—better than I’d expected, certainly.

I’m anointing the barbecued beef-tongue potstickers Dish of the Week not because they were the best thing I’ve had in the past 7 days—they weren’t even the best thing I tried at this meal—but they were the most intriguing. The minor problem was the blandness & chewy texture of the dumplings, more like unwieldy ravioli than silken guotie; but the filling, with big chunks of tangy, tenderly marinated tongue, proved a nifty innovation on pork—& shiso leaves plus a zesty sweet-soy dressing ensured the slaw beneath was more than just a token attempt to round out the plate. Soft, savory-sweet fried green-plantain patties in coconut-rum drizzle went down way too easy as well.

Although the below brioche toasts were too hard—the stuff really does go stale so fast; might as well not use it if you’re not equipped to keep it fresh—the little coins of airy foie-gras mousse, awfully tough to top in themselves, came smartly, subtly enhanced with drops of tea-thyme syrup.

And though the black-bean sauce on the fried calamari was a touch too sweet for me, & the squid itself not particularly flavorful, the light, ultra-crunchy breading had a lot going for it—I almost thought there were crushed nuts in there. Macadamia, maybe? If not, kudos for the illusion.

I passed my threshold for voluntary ahi-tartare consumption years ago, even topped with avocado mashed with crabmeat. But some friends who ordered it offered up a yucca chip whose delicacy I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the likes of before—so thin & crisp it evoked phyllo. Impressive.

Top marks, however, ultimately went to—color me surprised—the most seemingly stolid of selections: lemongrass-roasted, pan-sauced chicken thigh alongside coconut black beans & pineapple-tossed rice, all perfectly cooked & harmoniously aromatic & flavorful.

Just goes to show that cheeky retro flourishes on the one hand & novelties on the other, delightful as they can be, don’t always trump square fare, even for a jaded so-&-so like me.

Nonplussed: that’s my take on this DU hangout in a nutshell. I’d never intended to set foot in there, since never setting foot in its predecessor, the shabby-looking Smugs, had worked out pretty well for all involved. But trusted pals Mantonat & Amy had sworn, albeit with some bafflement on their own part, that the wings were worth a shot; hope against the odds—& the need for some Celtics on a big screen—got me through the door.

Boone’s claims to “smoke our BBQ right in the backyard,” by which they seem to mean a covered annex in the parking lot—at least that’s whence the admittedly enticing aromas waft. Because I wanted to taste that smell right in the meat, I suggested we forego a rub & stick with 1 of 10 sauces (which range from “wimpy” to “waiver required”; we opted for the medium-hot, sweetish Jalapeño Gold.

Now, I can’t tell you Boone’s suddenly tops my list of local wing slingers—or rather, I can tell you it doesn’t; that honor currently goes to The Red Claw &, believe it or not, Le Grand Bistro & Oyster Bar. But they were a hell of a lot better, plump & juicy, than I’d have bet dollars or doughnuts on.

That was true of the ‘cue in general. Again, I wouldn’t begin to pit Boone’s platters against those of a true pitmaster or even some talented enthusiasts I know. But they did all right in a pinch (see: Celtics). For instance, the shaved pot roast was a little overdone for my tastes, but still flavorful &, surprisingly not at all dry; the pulled pork, too, though lacking textural integrity—practically minced—possessed some punch. I didn’t try the coleslaw, but crinkle-cut sweet-potato fries were just fine, & the cornbread fritters rocked—hot & salty-crunchy on the outside, dense & sweet within. (I’d say the napkin havoc is evidence of reasonable quality, but my napkins always end up looking like that. So it’s more like a cry for help.)

The Director’s ribs & fries were just average, though the tangy baked beans at least were a half-notch above.

Recently I was across the street at Morgan’s Liquors & overheard a clerk praising Boone’s hummus, of all things; I won’t hold my breath until the next Celtics showdown, but I might amble back to test her opinion one of these days.

Though I like Phat Thai rather more than does the Westword’s outgoing Laura Shunk (while taking to heart her point that key spicing is handled in too desultory a fashion by the kitchen, which thereby forces you to do the dirty work via tableside condiments), I definitely agree with her that Thai Monkey Club has a much more natural & confident handle on the balance between flavor elements that is the hallmark of Southeast Asian & particularly Thai cuisine.

This newish Baker District hole in the wall rates the heat of its dishes on a scale of 1 to 6; the Director & I, having relatively combustion-proof palates, went (via delivery) for 4s and 5s—which a) seemed pretty much the same & b) provided fair warning as to the permanent damage that might be done to tongue & stomach by 6.

So yes, this stuff is packing heat, in the form of little chili-pistols that spray your insides with pockmarks of pain & pleasure. But if mere cheap thrills were all it had to offer, I wouldn’t have been half so impressed; rather, homestyle savvy gave each dish its clear, bright due (& hue). That much was true of classic green papaya salad (pictured bottom, heat level 5), a refreshingly precise blend (once mixed together on the spot) of crunchy raw cabbage & salted peanuts; slivers of surprisingly ripe tomato & carrot; & julienned strands of the namesake ingredient that, neither woody nor slimy, evoked tart vegetable spaghetti. In this case, traditional fish-sauce-based dressing delivered the heat as well as the soothing sweet (typically palm sugar) & citrus sour (i.e. lime juice) to highlight the papaya.

The Director’s green curry with bamboo, basil, globe eggplant, snow peas, broccoli & pork (top left), though supposedly spicier than mine at heat level 5, was certainly a bit sweeter and creamier—but not thick or clunky; the medium is the message, after all, & what the curry transmitted rather than garbled was the integrity of the humble ingredients within—their nice, nearly uniform bite size; their crisp bite, period; their clean green freshness.

Still, it was my seafood red curry (top right) with more bamboo, basil & globe eggplant plus carrots, baby corn. shrimp, scallop & squid (&, okay, maybe krab?) that, while thoroughly & lastingly spicy in its medium-thick soupiness, was the edible equivalent of looking at the ocean in sunlight & seeing each wave glint in turn—the intense purity of flavor washed over you in intervals.

Given, then, how adept Thai Monkey Club is at exhilarating curries, I’m chomping at the bit to try their noodles next. But by the same token, I’m also tearing a bit at the missed opportunities of the straightforward menu: a lesser-known regional specialty or two would be a dreamy bone to throw at the likes of us chowhounds.

I recall vividly the 1st time I ever had lardo, or cured fatback. It was 1998; I was in Italy for the 1st of what would be many starry times, seated on a restaurant patio with the cliffs of Amalfi to one side of me, the sparkling Mediterranean to the other. The view was basically something like this (to show off a snapshot of Positano I took about 6 years ago. Italy, you may be aware, doesn’t generally suck.)

My man at the time had ordered it knowing a) full well what it was & b) that I might not touch it—obviously this was a lifetime & a whole different set of aesthetics ago—if I knew what it was; by the time he confessed, I was hooked. Like all good fats—extra-virgin olive oil, farmstead butter, & for all I know whale blubber—it has as much flavor as it does the obvious advantage of unctuous texture, albeit one that’s surprisingly complex & fleeting: one moment it seems delicate & floral, the next animal & funky.

And that constantly morphing essence, enhanced by salt & set off by fresh rosemary, is beautifully showcased on The Kitchen [Next Door]‘s grilled flatbread wedges.

The lardo is unusually crumbly even as it’s melting, layered between the thin, crunchy, pita-like (as opposed to puffy, chewy, naan-like) flatbread, sliced laterally & into wedges. When something so simple, with so few ingredients, registers & satisfies on so many levels—well, that’s what classics are made of.

Of course, The Kitchen’s forte has always been vibrancy by way of purity; it was doing farm-to-table fare before anyone remembered what farms were, & it remains a standard-bearer of the genre now that practically everybody tends a potager or piece of pasture. Case in point: the veggie antipasti.

Currently, it’s a mélange of perfectly roasted carrots & beets, respectively cumin-scented & salty-sweet; tangy, vinaigrette-marinated kidney beans & cannellini with onions; & Moroccan-style stewed chickpeas & tomatoes, plus grilled bread. So sunny for being so rootsy.

That same kidney-cannellini mixture gives earthy heft to the ultra-refreshing salmon salad—which, over lemon-spritzed arugula, is creamy but not too thanks to the firmness of the flaked fish & the crunch of diced celery & onion.

I didn’t try pal H’s chilled, herbed cucumber soup with toasted-caper garnish, but it sure looked swell.

There’s a lot more I’d like to try; the menu’s grazer-friendly, & the space has a more laid-back feel than that of the flagship, fine as it is—rather like that of the spanking-new Denver branch. Think I’m falling for The Kitchen all over again.

Distilling her experience as a globe-trotting contestant on Bravo’s new series Around the World in 80 Plates down to 5 courses over 3 hours, Jenna Johansen led a hell of a posse at Studio F last week, including chef-owner James Mazzio (far left) & Il Mondo Vecchio maestro Mark DeNittis (aka Mr. Johansen to be, second from left); the tall drink of water in the middle, Iain Chisholm, is the proud papa of soon-to-open Amerigo. This pop-up being the sequel to the inaugural, Charles Dale-cheffed blowout last month (which I also had the fortune to attend), it might well shed light on the kind of wild ride guests of The Inventing Room’s Ian Kleinman, whose 9-night run starts tomorrow, are in for. I’ll keep it brief.

Kicking off the whirlwind culinary world tour (enhanced by piped-in music from each featured country) was a trip to Spain: we started with a light rosé sangria

& 3 passed apps, including my favorite, the skewer of tangy marinated beef heart, tomatoes & croutons

as well as chorizo empanadas

& blistered pimientos de padrón.

The first sit-down course took us to Thailand via a cocktail based on mekhong (a sugar cane-&-rice based spirit) & flavored with lime, pear & papaya, as well as a salad combining cucumber, onion, cilantro, peanuts &, above all, abundant slices of Il Mondo Vecchio’s addictively spiced lap cheong (a Chinese sausage known in Thailand as kun chiang).

The second found us in Italy: Johansen paired a biodynamic Pinot Grigio from Friuli with a springtime risotto swirled with a huge dollop of risotto, chive pesto & bits of green garlic & asparagus.

Next up was France: a superb hunk of beef cheek prepared bourguignon-style (& accompanied, of course, by a glass of red Burgundy).

Last stop, Morocco: a type of coiled pastry called m’hanncha—flavored with orange-flower water & almonds & garnished with a honey-&-almond-stuffed Medjool date—alongside a potent mint-tea cocktail.

Check out the lovebirds at work.

As for Kleinman’s gig, here’s a sneak preview:

Cocktails
· Lemondrop martini with blueberry caviar
· Rosemary vodka, St. Germain & grapefruit juice with rosemary foam
· “Maple Mark”: Maker’s Mark, lime juice & ginger beer poured over maple-syrup cotton candy
· Jalapeño-cucumber “rita” with jalapeno bubbles

Small Plates
· Liquid nitrogen bruschetta popcorn
· Marinated tomatoes & strawberries with tandoori mozzarella sheet, whipped burnt balsamic & candied micro-basil
· Lump crab crème brûlée with soy sugar, ginger-poached pears & habañero tobiko
· Strawberry yuzu sorbet with frozen olive oil & goat-cheese jelly
· Sous-vide spiced beef shoulder with baked potato-stuffed mushroom, candied shallot & smoked pudding
· Lobster crêpe with black truffle caviar, Mornay & saltwater bubbles
· Berbere-fried pork belly with Israeli couscous carbonara, poached egg & smoked spinach

Sweets
· Apple pie ala mode: 20-hour apples, warm green-apple gel, brown-butter pie-dough wafers, crème fraîche streusel & liquid ice cream
· Vanilla-encased carrot cake with orange cream-cheese crisps, dry-salted rosehip caramel & buckwheat-honey almond cubes

Well, from the 10-second glimpse I got around the media preview before I had to bail, this should be good.

The 2nd annual Colorado Urban Winefest, held on June 9 to cap off Colorado Wine Week (June 3-9), is a fundraiser for CAVE, a taste-around of pours from 42 state wineries—& as someone who spends a lot of time researching regional wine festivals, I can tell you that’s a whole hell of a lot—& an educational extravaganza. Digging on the “interactive wine wheel”—

a lineup of ingredients whose aromas you’ll find in the featured wines. When you’re wondering how wine writers come up with this stuff—(“pencil shavings”? “horse blanket”? “cat urine”? etc.), this is how: the some 2000 compounds that can be found in wine are also found in jillions of other Things in Our World. The more you smell, the more you taste, the more you learn & appreciate, repeat.

And you’ll have plenty to see you through that cycle, judging by tonight’s event, which was just for starters:

Of course, there’ll be plenty of industry folk on hand to further lead you on the path to oeno-enlightenment, including Row 14 Bistro & Wine Bar’s bright & shiny Jensen Cummings.

So, ya know, be there, otherwise be 4-sided.