By Ben Landreth
By Isa Jones
By Isa Jones
By Cafe Society
By Cafe Society
By Constanza Saldias
By Lori Midson
By Cafe Society
My problems with Second Home went beyond the short and affectless menu, the sense of a kitchen running on autopilot, and really elemental mistakes in both prep and presentation of several dishes. I was also bothered by the apparent lack of any overarching concept, any theme (for lack of a better word, and not to draw comparisons between Second Home and the innumerable "theme" restaurants out there that exist for no other reasons than to sell hats and T-shirts and cram awful fried foods down the throats of dumb-ass tourists) that would string together, however tenuously, the room, the design and the food.
Yeah, I know: comfort food, home-away-from-home, American classical, blah blah blah. I got that. But these days, merely being a "comfort food" restaurant is not enough. Five years ago, a restaurateur could maybe get away with that and seem, if not original, at least in tune with the mashed-potatoes-and-chicken-soup zeitgeist. But today? Jesus, if I were an owner and some chef (who really ought to know better) presented me with the idea of a comfort-food board, my first question would be, "What else you got for me?" And my second, "Hey, so how's that sous chef of yours looking these days? He got any good ideas for the menu?"
I'm not saying that comfort food (or, for that matter, classic Americana) can't be done well. It can. On a pure menu basis, Fruition (1313 East Sixth Avenue) is both of those things. Chef Alex Seidel (ably seconded by Drew Inman) had a rather famous chicken soup on his menu. He does pasta carbonara and oysters Rockefeller, mashed potatoes and pan-roasted walleye pike. But no one is calling Fruition a "comfort food restaurant" — because no one has to. The food doesn't need a label. And it's the kitchen's small touches (those mashed potatoes are actually smashed fingerlings soaked down in olive oil, the chicken soup a master's thesis on prep and pantry work, on clarification and composition and the value of hand-making every fucking thing that goes on a plate) that elevate Fruition above the crowd — something that Second Home does not seem to understand.
150 Clayton Lane
Denver, CO 80206
Region: Central Denver
I could see intent in some spots. Second Home's lamb "French dip" was a nice plate — fairly original, well thought-out, certainly beautifully prepared, with lamb off the rotisserie, redolent with fresh rosemary, on a great, fresh roll. And even the trout that was so badly bungled by the crew had potential: Trout is a nice fish, too often overlooked in favor of flashier, more popular sea critters, and succotash is one of those great secret weapons that a chef can hold in his arsenal and then whip out in unexpected ways. But simply serving a big mound of the stuff, bulked out with badly chopped zucchini, was horrific. I've known hash-house line cooks who would've been embarrassed to serve that in their own joints, let alone in an ostensibly upscale dining room.
I expected better of Sage Restaurant Group. After all, this is the group that opened the Corner Office at the Curtis, that took over ops at the Rialto and O's Steak and Seafood when it snapped up the Marriott Courtyard on 16th Street and the Westin Westminster, respectively. Sage also has Mercat a la Planxa in Chicago (a Spanish/Catalonian restaurant specializing in tapas) and Temple in Providence (which, near as I can tell, has something to do with the Freemasons and their relationship to modern, street graffiti culture) — all powerfully individual and strongly rooted concepts. O's is a high-end chophouse with good steaks and fat businessmen throwing money around like it means nothing, and Sage could've gotten by quite nicely with nothing more than this — but instead it tapped into chef Ian Kleinman's penchant for molecular gastronomy and playing with liquid nitrogen in order to make a restaurant that is hotel-traditional, profitable (very...) and cutting-edge, all at the same time. The Corner Office's Mad Men-style, bang-your-secretary chic — with bowls of cereal at midnight and chicken and waffles at all hours — is the perfect example of a place defining its niche through careful manipulation of the menu. I went crazy for the chicken and waffles the minute I saw them, and being able to have a whiskey, neat, and a bowl of Cap'n Crunch at eleven o'clock on a Thursday night? Baby, that was just gravy.
But Second Home has no easy hook, no gestalt that drives it beyond bland, upscale comfort food. And that's unfortunate, because after eating at the Corner Office, I worshipped Sage's Peter Karpinski like a hero and would've given my left nut to work for him were I still wearing the white jacket. At the very least, I had high hopes for what would happen when Sage took over Mirepoix. After sex and Catalonia, Freemasons and graffiti artists, tapas and waffles and everything else that had come before, I couldn't wait to see where Karpinski could go next.
The fact that he chose to return home — to a five-years-dead fad and the lamest of catch-all concepts in the land — was bad enough. But to then execute the concept poorly, with no passion, and zero vitality in the back of the house? That was just unforgivable.