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Fuse This

Making the most of the mash-up craze.

Denver is full of seriously screw-loose culinary mash-ups. For a time, fusion cuisine was the only thing this area produced more than microbrews and ski injuries. Remember Vega? French/Latino fusion in the jewel-box style, fish napoleons, albondigas in swooping white china bowls, oxtail tamales: It was doomed from the start, but a valiant attempt. And what about Opal? In its best moment (and it truly had only one good moment -- one for which I was in fortuitous attendance), Opal was a restaurant that could've competed with the big boys, a French/Asian wonder so overwrought, over-intellectualized and over the top that it looped around the world and came back to something like true. Flash-fried sea urchin, duck sashimi, quail eggs, chicken roulade, sturgeon in champagne and sunchoke foam, and a full sushi bar actually capable of plating a passable handroll? Those were the days.

I thought Indigo was brilliant, if a little odd, fusing God-knows-what with what-the-fuck and creating a freak-ass, hyper-modern fusion cuisine almost alien in the synthesis. Before the space was Indigo, it was Papillon-- which was technically French, but really not. Papillon was la cuisine de Radek Cerny, which should get its own designation in the cookbooks and Cerny his own evolved nation-state status, because he doesn't do fusion so much as amalgams of potato-laden fantasy. At his worst, he shatters. At his best, he steals with the skill of the most excellent professionals, and does it so smoothly it looks (and tastes) like native genius.

Fusion cooking is one of those things -- like writing poetry or getting tattoos of cartoon characters -- that seems like a good idea, maybe even an importantidea, when you're young. For chefs these days, it's almost a rite of passage. But like so many things, it becomes less attractive, seems less wise, the older you get and the longer you do it. Thus, Vega's Sean Yontz now consigns his wilder impulses to tasting dinners and special menus, focusing the Latino half of his talent at the Mexican restaurants under his care (Mezcal, Chama) and reserving the American/Continental influence for Sketch. Chef Duy Pham,who created that one best moment at Opal (which, come to think of it, occupies a space that once was home to another Radek Cerny enterprise, Radex) moved on long ago. He's done a lot of things since bailing out of Opal -- not all of them good or smart -- and is now an owner at Kyoto(7301 South Santa Fe Drive in Littleton), where he's getting weird in a whole new way. French technique, Asian flavors, Japanese influences, a multi-national crew. Pham's sous chef at Opal was Rebecca Weitzman, who's now exec'ing at one of the best restaurants in the city, Café Star (3201 East Colfax), which also happens to have one of the least fusion-y, most solidly built contemporary-American menus in the city. I guess the sunchoke foam was too much for her -- as well it should have been.

When Indigo was at its peak, it was run by executive chef Ian Kleinman and sous Ben Alandt. Alandt popped his chute early, heading for the Pacific Northwest (where I hear he's done quite well for himself). Kleinman hung on for the ride, staying long enough to cook at the restaurant that followed Indigo: Go Fish Grill. When that didn't work out, he signed on with the Sullivan Restaurant Group. When that didn't work out, he took a gig in Beverly Hills. And when that didn't work out, he came back to Denver: He's now in the kitchen at O's Steakhouse at the Westin Westminster. But that's not really such a strange move. Back in the mid-'90s, when fusion was being invented, one of its first, strangest Denver practitioners was Tyler Wiard, then exec at the Napa Café, at 2033 East Colfax Avenue. Wiard was in his twenties at the time, still fresh from his schooling under Cliff Young, and he freaked people out with his marinades, his shotgun weddings of international ingredients, his crusts. Over the next decade -- with stints as exec at both the very staid Fourth Story and the semi-staid Mel's -- Wiard cooled out. And now he, too, has gone the steakhouse route: running the line at Elway's (see Second Helping, page 61).

But it's not like Denver's fusion impulse has died: Something as generally ill-conceived and tantalizingly stupid as fusion cuisine will never go entirely away. Even now, it's being done in many forms across the city. Cowbobas,the Vietnamese/cowboy steakhouse and boba tea restaurant reviewed this week, is an example of fusion-for-a-cause -- that cause being to feed a fused neighborhood. Zengo, international restaurateur Richard Sandoval's Mexi-Asian restaurant/nightclub on Little Raven Street, is one of those rare survivors of the fusion explosion, a restaurant that occasionally defines the impulse itself. It's well-intentioned, wildly original, sometimes brilliant -- and sometimes not even smart. Sandoval's first Denver restaurant was the straight-ahead, white-cloth Mexican Tamayo, still going strong in Larimer Square; he's just added La Sandia at 8340 East 49th Avenue in Stapleton, which is not fusion at all, just Mexican with a nouvelle twist.

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