Best Of :: Food & Drink
Fruition is not yet as good as it will one day be. But since chef Alex Seidel and Paul Attardi, both ex of Mizuna, opened their restaurant just a couple of months ago, it's already proven itself more than good enough to deserve top honors as Denver's best new restaurant. And as it grows into its space, its neighborhood and its place in the ever-changing Denver restaurant scene, it will be even better. At first glance, Fruition might not seem like anything special. The space is small and crowded, the board of fare simple New American cuisine. But look closer, and you'll you see a room that's being milked for every inch of its homey, comforting advantage. While the menu is New American in its presentation of pork shoulder confit, beet salad, chicken noodle soup and pork belly carbonara, those dishes work as though that overused phrase had just been invented. And the crew is already so professional and polished that they're dancing a six-hour ballet every single night -- and for the most part, making it look fun. There will come a night when Fruition will cross the line from good to truly amazing, of that we have no doubt. But so far, so good.
You might recognize the name "Tacos D.F." It was painted on the side of a great lonchera that once prowled the streets of Denver. Now all the pleaures of that taco truck can be found in the same spot night after night, in a little joint in the middle of a strip mall along Parker Road. The space is warm and comfortable, with one wall covered floor to ceiling with black-marker graffiti scrawled by legions of satisfied customers. Service is exceptionally quick, incredibly friendly and eager to please. There are specials written out longhand on construction paper -- but anything from the regular offerings of pork and asada tacos, tacos cabeza, sopes de bistec and a short list of tortas is bound to be good. It helps to speak a little Spanish here, but you can usually get by with some phonetics, a little mime and a lot of pointing at the menu hung above the window where orders are taken, paid for and delivered.
Tonti's is an enigma. It's a tiny strip-mall joint, almost always empty except for a couple of employees hanging disconsolately around the counter. And while about half the time what we get off the short, predictable menu (pizzas, calzones, stromboli, meatball sandwiches) is completely forgettable, the other half it's
fantastic beyond any rational explanation. At its best, Tonti's makes the kind of stromboli you just can't stop eating, the kind of New York-style pizzas that wake you up in the middle of the night -- calling you from inside the refrigerator, demanding that you eat a leftover slice cold, standing there in your socks and boxers. So, yes, sometimes Tonti's makes the best strip-mall Italian food in the city and sometimes it doesn't. Just ask yourself one question before you go in: Do you feel lucky?
If you wanted to give people a true taste of Denver, where would you send them? For us, Elway's -- Big John's eponymous temple of meat -- comes out on top every time. For the scene, the service, the staff and the sly humor implicit in the menu's design, Elway's is that single restaurant that defines what it is to eat in Denver today. There's money here, but there are also plenty of people in blue jeans. Although the restaurant is in Cherry Creek, it could be picked up whole and successfully transplanted to almost any other neighborhood in the city (as proven by the recently announced expansion into the new downtown Ritz-Carlton). And while chef Tyler Wiard and everyone in Elway's kitchen certainly know how to handle a piece of meat, the little flourishes and big hospitality are what set this place apart. Oh, yes, and then there's that connection to a certain quarterback...
Legislators and local union leaders, cowboys and cooks. You never know who'll end up at Brewery Bar II on any given day, because everyone who knows and loves Denver for its less cosmopolitan charms passes through here eventually, looking for cold beer, hot chile, gloriously sloppy Meximerican grub of no discernible geographical provenance and that certain dim-lit and rough-edged temper that's the solid base from which all of Denver's uptown glitz and glamour have grown. Though Brew II has recently spawned a passel of polished suburban offspring, they're bastards born of opportunism and sprawl psychology. You want the real thing? Head down to the blue-collar part of town, grab a seat at the bar and order a Tiny.
Cafe Star isn't a French restaurant -- though some of the preparations (like the duck confit) are certainly Continental in origin -- and given the worldliness of its cuisine, it isn't a completely American restaurant. It isn't a fine-dining restaurant -- it's too fun for that -- but neither is it just a neighborhood restaurant, because there are nights when even the neighbors can't get a seat. No, on this food frontier, Cafe Star is blazing its own trail, building on the failures of California cuisine, the innovations of immigrant cooks and the decades of dining dominance enjoyed by the big cities on the coasts. This is a New West restaurant through and through, and a great star on the local scene.