A young woman pressed her face and hands to the window. She was wearing a tattered dress smeared with blood, which also dripped from the corner of her crimson mouth. That mouth contorted with an unheard moan as she scratched at the glass.
Mark Manger
Location Info
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Edge Restaurant
Colorado lamb chops $39
Edge signature steak (bison ribeye) $44
English bubble
& squeak $7
Pancetta and balsamic-roasted Brussels sprouts $7
Short rib Benedict $17
Croque Madame $15
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Zombie or Occupy Denver protester?
"Has to be a zombie," my friend said. "Too much blood to be a 99-percenter."
On the night of Denver's pre-Halloween zombie crawl, we were sitting on the other side of the glass at Edge Restaurant in the Four Seasons, dining with 1-percenters who were carefully avoiding looking directly at the bloodied hordes.
Aside from the occasional glass-pounding, the world inside the Edge felt like a separate universe...one that didn't have much connection to zombies, or even Denver. The expansive, high-ceilinged space was partitioned by banquette-lined walls, with dark furniture under the golden lighting. A pair of glassed-in, conference-room-like private dining enclaves were hung with what looked like stock photos of figs, and the rest of the art — including a tall, pointy sculpture that looked like a big scribble and blocked our way to the bar — appeared to have been plucked from a corporate boardroom. We could have been in any elegant restaurant in any luxury hotel in any city in the world.
A restaurant that was packed with people who belonged. A woman nearby was wearing a dead animal, which was draped — un-ironically — over her shoulder in a way that made her look like she had a bushy tail. Men in suits and designer glasses loudly pointed out wallet-sucking selections from the overpriced, label-whorish wine list while their dates, clad in tight black dresses and stilettos, pretended to listen, their faces arranged in sultry pouts. Women in expensive jeans and Frye boots collapsed into seats, their shopping bags fanned out around them. Businessmen filled one of those private dining rooms, working (or, um, team-building over copious amounts of alcohol) on a Saturday night. And the staff, dressed head to toe in black, spoke with service-warm hospitality accents that masked their origins.
Photos: A brief menu tour of Edge
While one member of that staff filled our water glasses, another answered our questions about the upscale steakhouse fare that made up the menu, telling us about appetizers and cuts of meat while making subtle up-sells, suggesting the crab Hollandaise on top of the filet mignon or a side of bubble and squeak, a very British touch from the British chef. (As at all steakhouses at this price point, sides and sauces are sold separately.) And after we'd ordered, we continued to be attended by an army of people working together to be sure my glass of jammy, oversexed pinot noir was never empty, our bread sculpture always erect, and our water glasses never in danger of being drained. As a group, they were efficient and non-intrusive — just as the international standards of high-end service dictate, and just as the patronage no doubt expected.
The Four Seasons opened in Denver exactly a year ago, another sign of the city's evolution from a cowtown to a tourist destination, complete with moneyed visitors who now had a place to stay if the Ritz was booked. And with the opening of Edge, they also had a place to eat.
The luxury chain brought on a company veteran to run the kitchen: British-born executive chef Simon Purvis has helmed Four Seasons restaurants since 1990, starting in Vancouver and then moving on to Melbourne, Berlin, Bali, Singapore, Scottsdale and Jackson Hole. For his Denver menu, he drew on the experience he'd gained in those places but also gave his board a Colorado twist, filling it out with steak, lamb and bison.
But my first stop at this restaurant wasn't inspired by the promise of a huge hunk of medium-rare beef. I was more excited by the prospect of a Four Seasons brunch. I've eaten in a few of the hotel's restaurants around the globe, and those visits were always prompted by the same circumstance: A long stint in a foreign country eventually makes me long for that peculiar American amenity, a weekend brunch loaded with a week's allotment of calories. On my first big trip abroad, I was sad to discover that most of the world doesn't partake in this tradition. And after avoiding rich American tourists for months, I realized that the Four Seasons was the only place where I could get stacks of pancakes, fluffy eggs and French toast — all at once, if I wanted. So it was only a matter of time before I finally broke down and grabbed a table there, indulging in a morning of binge-eating and English-speaking. I left with a side stitch, a much lighter wallet and a slightly guilty conscience.
Since then, every Four Seasons brunch I've experienced has been magical, a priceless, albeit pricey, taste of home. And after Denver's Four Seasons opened, I'd wondered if brunch there would have the same effect when I was home.
The morning crowd that day was meager, composed largely of hotel guests soothing a hangover or meeting the rest of their party in anticipation of a day visiting tourist attractions. I perused the menu while waiting for a friend, forgoing the bottomless Bloody Mary for a bottomless cup of coffee and mowing through housemade strawberry cream cheese and apple-cinnamon pop tarts that I'd ordered as an appetizer. The treats had the crusty, colored sugar topping and ultra-sweet, gooey centers of the real thing; fortunately, the pastry was flakier and more buttery, making them an ideal pairing for the coffee.
