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The defining characteristic of peasant cooking is the creative use of those less attractive bits of an animal so that absolutely nothing goes to waste. And the big secret of peasant cooking is that a lot of these cuts, scorned by the casual carnivore, are actually the tastiest bits there are. Exhibit A: the tacos cabeza at Taquería Patzcuaro. The kitchen takes beef cheek meat -- as tender as filet mignon, but even tastier -- and gives it a quick burn on the grill, then lays it medium rare on a fresh corn tortilla with a little lettuce and pico de gallo.


The defining characteristic of peasant cooking is the creative use of those less attractive bits of an animal so that absolutely nothing goes to waste. And the big secret of peasant cooking is that a lot of these cuts, scorned by the casual carnivore, are actually the tastiest bits there are. Exhibit A: the tacos cabeza at Taquería Patzcuaro. The kitchen takes beef cheek meat -- as tender as filet mignon, but even tastier -- and gives it a quick burn on the grill, then lays it medium rare on a fresh corn tortilla with a little lettuce and pico de gallo.
For regulars at El Taco de México, the brain taco is nothing strange. It may not be something they eat every day, but it's no odder to them than it would be for someone else to see tongue in the cold case at a European deli, or escargot on the board at a French restaurant. The thinking goes like this: the cow is food; the brain is in the cow; therefore, the brain is food. Served hot and fresh off the flat-top, the ropy, grayish brains are slapped onto a double tortilla with shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes and cilantro; add a squeeze of lime and open wide. While we can't promise that El Taco de México's brain tacos will be pleasing to the average American palate, we can say that eating them will be an experience you won't soon forget.


For regulars at El Taco de México, the brain taco is nothing strange. It may not be something they eat every day, but it's no odder to them than it would be for someone else to see tongue in the cold case at a European deli, or escargot on the board at a French restaurant. The thinking goes like this: the cow is food; the brain is in the cow; therefore, the brain is food. Served hot and fresh off the flat-top, the ropy, grayish brains are slapped onto a double tortilla with shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes and cilantro; add a squeeze of lime and open wide. While we can't promise that El Taco de México's brain tacos will be pleasing to the average American palate, we can say that eating them will be an experience you won't soon forget.
Like sex or a good accountant, a breakfast burrito is one of those things you don't give much thought to until the first time you have it, and afterwards you wonder how you ever lived so long without it. Happily, there are about 17 million places in Denver where you can get a breakfast burrito. And while almost all of those breakfast burritos are the same -- eggs, potatoes, cheese and meat wrapped in a flour tortilla -- Sam's No. 3 offers a surprise variation. Its corned-beef-hash breakfast burrito is as big as a fat kid's forearm, stuffed dangerously full of scrambled eggs, sliced potatoes and chunky corned beef; and upon request, the whole thing will come smothered in Sam's tame green chile, which serves to keep everything soft and warm and gloppy no matter how long it takes you to work your way from one end to the other.


Like sex or a good accountant, a breakfast burrito is one of those things you don't give much thought to until the first time you have it, and afterwards you wonder how you ever lived so long without it. Happily, there are about 17 million places in Denver where you can get a breakfast burrito. And while almost all of those breakfast burritos are the same -- eggs, potatoes, cheese and meat wrapped in a flour tortilla -- Sam's No. 3 offers a surprise variation. Its corned-beef-hash breakfast burrito is as big as a fat kid's forearm, stuffed dangerously full of scrambled eggs, sliced potatoes and chunky corned beef; and upon request, the whole thing will come smothered in Sam's tame green chile, which serves to keep everything soft and warm and gloppy no matter how long it takes you to work your way from one end to the other.
Chipotle started out as one lone outpost on East Evans Avenue, then grew to stretch across metro Denver -- and now, with McDonald's as its partner, can world domination be far away? Frankly, Chipotle deserves to be a global power. The eateries offer good, fast service, which is always competent and sometimes downright cheerful. They all use high-quality ingredients, absolutely fresh on the assembly line. And then there's that killer guac. But most of all, we're wowed by Chipotle's consistency. We've never had a bad burrito from this place -- or any of this place's places. Add any meat to the fresh lettuce, loads of cheese and cold, thin sour cream over warm black (or pinto) beans and cilantro-lime rice, and Chipotle gets it right every time. While our favorite is the carnitas burrito made with tender shreds of Niman Ranch pork and chili-corn salsa, we've tried each of the half-dozen varieties available and have never found a single one lacking.
Chipotle started out as one lone outpost on East Evans Avenue, then grew to stretch across metro Denver -- and now, with McDonald's as its partner, can world domination be far away? Frankly, Chipotle deserves to be a global power. The eateries offer good, fast service, which is always competent and sometimes downright cheerful. They all use high-quality ingredients, absolutely fresh on the assembly line. And then there's that killer guac. But most of all, we're wowed by Chipotle's consistency. We've never had a bad burrito from this place -- or any of this place's places. Add any meat to the fresh lettuce, loads of cheese and cold, thin sour cream over warm black (or pinto) beans and cilantro-lime rice, and Chipotle gets it right every time. While our favorite is the carnitas burrito made with tender shreds of Niman Ranch pork and chili-corn salsa, we've tried each of the half-dozen varieties available and have never found a single one lacking.
Before burritos the size of dachshunds became the rage, before tortillas started wrapping everything in sight, Rosa Linda's Mexican Cafe was selling great shredded-beef burritos from the window of its tiny storefront. Well, the more things change, the more they stay the same: Over the past eighteen years, Rosa Linda's has expanded, absorbing more space along the block, adding tables and menu items even as the Aguirre family, which owns the operation, added family members. But the shredded-beef burrito remains a constant: a soft flour tortilla stuffed with succulent shredded beef, then smothered in a verde redolent with onions, tomatoes and chunks of chile.


Before burritos the size of dachshunds became the rage, before tortillas started wrapping everything in sight, Rosa Linda's Mexican Cafe was selling great shredded-beef burritos from the window of its tiny storefront. Well, the more things change, the more they stay the same: Over the past eighteen years, Rosa Linda's has expanded, absorbing more space along the block, adding tables and menu items even as the Aguirre family, which owns the operation, added family members. But the shredded-beef burrito remains a constant: a soft flour tortilla stuffed with succulent shredded beef, then smothered in a verde redolent with onions, tomatoes and chunks of chile.

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