Bite Me

But I'm being too harsh, because Isaacson honestly gushed about every single plate that our four champs put up. And if she was a little surprised? Well, then, hooray for lowered expectations. Our team packed the house, turned the tables and sent everyone away with an image of Denver dining that's perhaps a bit more in line with the truth -- more oxtail Rossini with foie gras than beans and wienies, more crème fraîche than creamed corn. So congrats to all four chefs. With every chance to fuck it up, these flyover-staters came through with flying colors.

How the West was fun: This is an exciting time to be working in food in the West. Cooking, serving, writing about it, selling it -- doesn't matter how you're in the game, just as long as you're in it. And for those of you out there eating? These are the best of times.

Three years ago, Denver was on a tear, with hot-shit chefs doing amazing things and stellar joints opening (and closing) every week. It seemed that everywhere I looked, someone was doing something brilliant with a sturgeon or a dumpling, and every phone call that came in to the desk here at Bite Me World HQ was from some wild-eyed, 29-year-old former hash-slinger who'd just opened his first restaurant and was doing something even more brilliant with his dumplings and sturgeon than the guy who'd opened next door the week before.

And then, of course, it all fell apart. The money dried up, and the diners vanished.

In the long view, the time Denver spent at the bottom of this restaurant oscillation was minimal -- two seasons, maybe three -- but let me tell you: It never seems fast when it's your restaurant that's hemorrhaging cash and your door that the collectors are pounding on. Still, the smart money persisted, talent survived, and now most of those old addresses are back in business.

Last Friday, for example, Nine75 opened in the former home of Moda, at 975 Lincoln Street. Test dinners earlier in the week had drawn in a bunch of Denver Nuggets as well as Lenny Kravitz, who stopped by for cocktails after dinner at Mao. According to chef Troy Guard, they put about one turn through the ninety-seat dining room each test night and didn't burn the place down.

"I do like how everything turned out," Guard says. "You know, everything's not perfect yet, but each night we'll get a little better."

Nine75 is running with a jumped-up comfort-food menu that borrows a trick or two from Guard's former post as chef de cuisine at Zengo. There's a raw bar, Kobe beef sliders, a small-plates menu, lobster tacos, cotton candy for dessert, and exhortations that all the food offered is meant for sharing and passing between friends.

And Guard tells me that he and owner-slash-father-in-law Jim Sullivan (who also owns Mao and the recently opened Emogene) are already talking about a new Asian restaurant sometime in the future.

Around the corner from Mao, the JW Marriott is rolling out a new and improved Mirepoix this week. Newly minted executive chef Thomas Baranoucky (who trained under former exec Brian Moscatello) is in command of the troops, and officially started showcasing his new menus and skills on May 18. (I'm reserving further judgment until the first convention passes through the place and I see whether or not I can get a table.)

And we've got more good eats and good times coming from Mark Tarbell and Brian Cauley, general manager at the Oven. They're looking at November 1 as the very tentative opening date for Home, which will be going in at the corner of Alaska Drive and Teller Street in Lakewood's Belmar complex. "But you know how it is with restaurants," cautions Cauley. "November 1 is a long way off."

The menu at Home will be "rooted in comfort food," he says, and upscale-casual -- meaning white linens, an extensive wine list and handcrafted food scarfed down by guys in flip-flops and T-shirts. Tarbell will essentially cram together the best of Tarbell's (his award-winning Phoenix home base) and Barmouche (a second Phoenix restaurant that he and Cauley closed before opening the Oven) in one space, offering mac-and-cheese, veal meatloaf, certified Angus pot roast, and spaghetti and meatballs, all executed with the kind of skill that's made the Oven a downscale sensation.

But still, why is a guy with a James Beard Award nomination, best-restaurant nods from the glossy-press commandos, and countless kudos, medals and accolades hanging out in Belmar, flipping pizzas? Because he wants to. Because he wants to cook food that people want to eat.

"Everybody who works at this company is very casual," Cauley explains. No matter what kind of place the company decides to open, the key is to "take the ideas and philosophies that back up fine dining -- any kind of fine dining -- and bring that into your business."