We don't care how many newfangled steakhouses open in this burg, we'll keep going to Bastien's. We don't care if one opens where the steaks are dipped in gold and served by waitresses booted from Hooters for being of too low a moral character, we'll still keep going to Bastien's. As a matter of fact, a steakhouse could open where naked women delivered filet mignons to us in the bathtub and then paid us to eat them, and we'd still find time to visit Bastien's, because there's simply no other place in Denver (or probably the world) that serves a great twenty-dollar sugar steak in an atmosphere as swingin'-'60s swank as this Colfax landmark.