Food & Drink

The last thing Denver needed was another French-Asian fusion restaurant. But the folks behind Opal opened it anyway. The last thing Denver needed was another up-market sushi bar. But they opened it anyway. Everything about Opal — from the original triumvirate of owners and the over-staffed (and over-starred) kitchen, to the space and the concept — seemed like a bad idea at the time, but they opened it anyway, and now, after six months of honing its concept and culling its staff, Opal has fought its way to the top of the heap. With the kitchen firmly in the hands of executive chef Duy Pham — whose attention to every detail has lifted his fusion cuisine to a level beyond all but its most brilliant exemplars — and day-to-day business overseen by veteran operator Jay Chadrom, Opal has emerged as the restaurant we always hoped it would be: a brilliant, bold house unafraid of pushing the boundaries of Denver’s changing tastes. The space is understated and soft, forgoing the austerity of Asian design for a more flowing, supper-club feel. The traditional sushi menu is beautiful in its pursuit of the classical ideals of balance, freshness and harmony; the full menu maintains a sense of humor and adventure without compromising the natural tastes of the best ingredients available, and the staff seems honestly in love with everything coming from the kitchen. It took some time to get it right, but the results speak for themselves: Opal stands as a shining example of where we hope Denver’s fine-dining scene is headed in the years to come.

Why is Sean Kelly Denver’s best celebrity chef? For doing what a chef was born to do: cook. After closing Aubergine and the Biscuit, Kelly could have done just about anything. By his own admission, there were people lining up, just waiting to throw bags of money at him. But for reasons of his own, rather than taking the devil’s bargain and becoming one of those pressed-chef-coat clipboard-checkers and wrangling for a spot on the Food Network, he turned back to his roots and back to doing what he loved best. So now when you come to Clair de Lune, it’s Sean Kelly who’s cooking your dinner — not Sean Kelly’s sous chef or Sean Kelly’s line cooks. For that, this year’s Gold Chef Knife goes to you, Sean.

No need goes unmet nor any desire unfulfilled at Mizuna, where the service on the floor runs as smoothly and professionally as the business behind the line. From the minute you step through the doors of this comfortable French-Mediterranean eatery, you are folded into a complete dining experience that includes perfectly timed courses and flawless table-side service rendered by a staff that is well educated in the nuts and bolts of every menu item, and always seems delighted to see you, whether you’re the first table or the last. For this, Mizuna’s more-than-capable front-of-the-house crew is awarded the Gilded Corkscrew Medal of Valor.

Seth Black, Sean Kelly’s right-hand man and, in fact, the only other pair of hands in Clair de Lune’s kitchen, is the hardest-working garde-manger in show business. All the salads, all the cold apps — all those antipasti plates and plateaus de fruits de mer that come banging out of Clair’s kitchen — come straight from Seth to you. For duking it out solo in claustrophobic confines, with a menu that changes daily and a dining room that’s fully committed most nights of the week, Seth is awarded the Silver China Cap Award of Excellence.

Fried cheese, fried onion rings, fried pickles. No matter how good something is in its natural state, it can only be improved by a dunk in the fryer. And it’s for his unfailing dedication to this simple fact that we award Dick Lande — a 25-year veteran of the kitchen at 2052 Stout Street, now home of the Stout Pub — the Gold Fryolator Lifetime Achievement Award.

The Iron Skillet Medal of Honor goes to chef Michael Long’s sauté crew at Opus, for conspicuous and sustained gallantry in the face of a chef who’s been known to change his menu by phone from the golf course just a few hours before the start of service. Granted, Long’s particular brand of ironic culinary artistry is a welcome addition to Denver’s high-end restaurant scene, and we’re supposed to forgive the quirks that come along with such creativity. But, Chef, we think you owe the fellas a drink.

Chef Matt Selby’s grillardins at Vesta Dipping Grill win the Fire-Eater Award. Not only do they deserve it just for hanging tough in a restaurant where damn near every menu item has to come (at least in part) off their station, but they also put out some of the best, most butter-tender and flawlessly temped tenderloin we’ve had anywhere.

Cheese whiz Jeremy Myers takes home the Cheesehead Trophy this year, for capably arranging the globe-trotting cheese board at Cook’s Fresh Market, and for having more milk-related trivia stored up in the old melon than any other human being should ever need in ten lifetimes.

Artisan cheeses from around the world come together beautifully on the cheese plate at Vesta Dipping Grill. Far from the plain, cutting-block cheese presentations of yesterday, this new-age version of the old standby is pumped up by the inclusion of fresh strawberries, raspberries, figs, candied walnuts, and salad greens laced with aged balsamic vinegar. And knowing full well that a properly arranged cheese course can do double-duty either as a jumpstart for the tastebuds or a gentle cap to a great meal, Vesta offers its plate both as an appetizer and as a dessert.

Who says there’s no place left for the classics? At the Fourth Story, pastry chef Syd Berkowitz blows us away with his towering, spongy, cream-cheese-frosted and achingly sweet carrot cake with coconut-rice-pudding ice cream and warm bourbon-raisin sauce. The first time we tried it, it made us want to get up, make new reservations and eat a second meal just so that we could taste its goodness all over again.

Triana warmed our hearts — and stomachs — with its molten chocolate cupcake. It’s just what it sounds like: a spongy, dark-chocolate cupcake, dusted with confectioners’ sugar, with milky chocolate lava inside that oozes out to mix with sweet macerated strawberries, vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of thick caramel sauce. While it may take a while for your cupcake to reach the table (the menu suggests you order it before your entrees so that it will be ready when you’re done with dinner), it’s so good, so devilishly decadent, that we’ll never again look at the cellophane-wrapped Hostess variety with anything but pity.

There’s nothing that Clair de Lune doesn’t do well, but the one thing Sean Kelly’s place does better than anyone else in town is appetizers. Picture the plateau de fruits de mer — one of the few mainstays on a menu that changes according to the whims of the chef and the winds of commerce — with its spiced shrimp, half a lobster and immaculately fresh Littleneck clams and Malpeque oysters lying like knobby gems on a bed of ice. Or the antipasti misti — a wildflower sketched in food with bright-orange persimmon, powerful house-cured sardines, roasted red peppers, caper berries, black olives, tiny cubes of marinated chèvre, homemade bracciole and crisp-fried baby artichokes drizzled with basil aioli. Yes, Clair de Lune puts out some wonderful dinner plates. Yes, it does great desserts. But in his starters, Kelly is painting a picture. To every diner who sees one of these plates in front of him, he’s carefully explaining, in the best way he knows how, what that diner can expect from the rest of his meal: excellence, and nothing less.

It was a noble experiment, what Pat Perry tried to do with her Highland’s Garden Cafe: turn it into a mostly private dining facility, available for parties and, occasionally, dinners open to the public. But all the public could remember was how much they loved eating at Highland’s Garden — loved eating there, and hated having to remember when they could. Fortunately, Perry took pity on foodies and reopened the restaurant to everyone in the evening, as well as at Friday lunch. So now you never have to wait more than a few hours before you’re sitting down in an elegant Victorian-era dining room, or perhaps Highland’s exquisite garden patio, with one of Perry’s interesting, innovative dishes sitting before you. Welcome back.

Thomas Nesler told the neighborhood he was going to put a cool new bar/tapas restaurant/neighborhood hangout in a run-down space on 15th Street — in a building that was a firehouse back in 1879, then a grocery store, then a saloon for fifty years, most recently the Highland Bar — but no one envisioned how very cool his Forest Room 5 would be. The chic tavern is a fitting gateway to the newly hip Highland neighborhood, full of big TVs, artsy patrons and lots of attitude.

Single-handedly saving South Pearl from the yuppie invasion, Hanson’s Grill and Tavern offers a comfortable oasis amid all the SUVs and boob jobs. After its opening last summer (in the former home of the beloved Oak Alley Inn), this mellow neighborhood eatery quickly became a favorite of construction workers and corporate types, frat boys and professors on hiatus, drunken poets and families out for a night on the town at a place where they don’t have to show off their new nipple piercings just to get through the door. With its deep, snug booths and dark-wood tables, its rough brickwork and exposed pipes, Hanson’s has the feel of a perfect post-grad college bar — the kind of place you want to become a regular at in your twenties and still be a regular at twenty years later. The food is surprisingly good, too, with a fairly creative menu offering everything from simple pastas and burgers to herb-rubbed grilled salmon steaks, green-lip mussels and po’ boys, at prices even a po’ boy can handle.

Elvis used to send his private plane to Denver to pick up his favorite food: fried peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches. When it opened last year, the Pour House Pub, a great spot for beer guzzling and shooting pool, honored the King with its own peanut-butter-and-banana concoction. But you can’t stop progress. The Pour House recently replaced the brewski-soaking treat with an even greater homage to the ’70s: a grilled fluffernutter sandwich so gooey and sweet it’ll make your teeth squeak.

Don’t worry, folks: No animals were harmed in the making of your barbecue at WaterCourse Foods. While everyone probably expects the casual coifs and generalized ennui that pervade this funky collegiate hangout, what comes as a surprise are the big-ass helpings of honestly good food that’s good for you, too. WaterCourse has veggie stir-fries and a half-dozen breakfast offerings all involving scrambled tofu. The kitchen makes its own granola and slaps together one mean stack of buckwheat pancakes — and even though sunflower seeds abound and the dress code is BYOB (bring your own bandanna), WaterCourse can make even tempeh taste decadent. And that’s saying something.

Yes, there’s a place for deli favorites named after Hollywood stars and sandwiches stacked so high you’ve got to unhinge your jaw like a python just to take a bite — but this isn’t that place. Salvaggio’s depends on quality rather than gimmicks to keep people coming back, and its sandwich of red bells and mozz is a great example. For this sandwich, the kitchen takes slices of fresh milk mozzarella, layers them on a soft, chewy sandwich roll, adds strips of roasted red bell pepper — and that’s it. Ask the counterman to add a couple slices of tomato, some olive oil and a shake of salt and pepper, and you’ve got yourself one of the best sandwiches this side of Sardi’s.

Simone Parisi, a native of Florence, and his wife, Christine, a native of Boulder, always wanted to open an authentic pizzeria in Denver, and that’s exactly what they did a few years ago. But Parisi, a charming neighborhood spot in northwest Denver, is much more than a pizzeria: It’s also an Italian market and deli that cooks up great lunch specials. The offerings change daily and range from salmon salad to steak to numerous pasta dishes, all with a very authentic Italian accent.

There’s just one problem with Venice: So many people came to love this place so fiercely and so soon after it opened that it outgrew its modest, twenty-table location just days after opening. Since Venice has no lobby or bar, would-be diners had to gather in the parking lot and wait for a table to open up. And if they had to wait an hour? That was just fine. Once people tasted the authentic, high-class Italian cuisine being put out by Alessandro Carollo (who trained at the Grand Hotel in Florence and the Italian Culinary School in Venice) and his kitchen, they’d set up tents if they had to, waiting all night like Star Wars fans for Venice to open its doors. Such rabid loyalty was inspired not by one dish, but by whole menu: pasta fruiti di mare, beautiful pale-pink carpaccio drizzled with olive oil and buried under a mountain of parmesan Reggiano, even just a simple plate of spaghetti in an honest, slow-cooked sauce. No matter what you tried, you were hooked. This spring, the best will get even better when Venice opens a second spot. Until then, show up early or pack a sleeping bag.

Adega’s chef, Bryan Moscatello, doesn’t mess around. Caviar, rare wild mushrooms, Plugrá butter — nothing but the best of everything goes into what ultimately comes out of his kitchen. Adega featured a $300-per-plate dinner on New Year’s Eve, offers seasonal prix fixe truffle-tasting menus that run $170 a head before the wine, and is one of the very few houses in town that can keep $30 entrees on their menus and still put butts in the seats on a Tuesday night. How can Adega get away with this? Because Moscatello is that good, and his bright, French-infused, New American style is winning converts all over town. So mortgage the house, sell the car, use up Junior’s college fund — do whatever you must, but give Adega a try. It’s worth every penny.

Le Central is the sort of place everybody pictures when they’re daydreaming of a meal at the perfect French cafe. And Le Central doesn’t just look that way; it tastes that way, too. In Robert Tournier’s cozy bistro, the true heart of French cuisine is honored every night by a kitchen that knows exactly what it’s doing. Escargot en brioche, soup à l’oignon, steak frites, sandwiches des lardons — all the classics are here, at both lunch and dinner, and even though the menu changes every day, we’ve never had a bad meal inside these walls. From the house-baked breads and decadent desserts to the incredible mussels, everything tastes like it’s coming directly to your table from a Parisian street cafe. Since the kitchen is cooking straight from an un-garnished version of the French culinary rulebook, don’t expect to see a lot of lemongrass or frisee on the menu. There’s no fusion here, no influence other than a thousand years of gastronomic research. Le Central serves pure French food done extraordinarily well.

Bastilla is a Moroccan party food, but there’s no reason you can’t use it to celebrate everyday life. Made up of several layers of delicate, crisp phyllo dough filled with saffron-spiced chicken, onions, crushed almonds and herbs held together with an egg batter, bastilla is pan-cooked into a round pie and topped with powdered sugar and an ornamental design drawn in ground cinnamon. You may need to recalibrate your tastebuds to fully appreciate the true depth of these last flavors, which bring so much more to this dish than they would your average slice of French toast. Listed as an appetizer on Cafe Paprika’s menu but easily a meal in itself, this is a festive dish worthy of fanfare.

This University of Denver neighborhood hangout with its ramshackle patio doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it’s one of Denver’s most beloved restaurants. And what’s not to love? Jerusalem serves spicy hummus, fat little stuffed grape leaves, crisp and lemony falafel, tender shawarma sandwiches folded up in fluffy pitas that overflow with onions, tomatoes and parsley in tzatziki sauce, and a hundred other Middle Eastern delights. Everything is made fresh, never frozen (it says so right on the menu and tastes that way on the plate), and delivered to your table faster than you can say “baba ghanouj.” Considering the slightly claustrophobic closeness of the tightly packed tables and the almost constant crowds on the weekends, a meal at Jerusalem sometimes seems on the edge of dissolving into a chaotic nightmare — but it never does, thanks to the quick turns, grace and friendly service of the floor staff.

Although there’s a lot of great Indian food in town, Maruti Narayan’s takes top honors. From its humble beginnings as a coffee shop to its current incarnation as a sit-down lunch and dinner destination, Narayan’s has consistently impressed Denver’s Indian and Nepalese communities and wowed many adventurous local diners along the way. Never straying too far from classic preparations into territory that would be either too hot or inedibly bland, the kitchen puts out perfectly spiced potato and vegetable samosas, well-balanced curries and succulent meats. Like the baby bear’s porridge, everything at Narayan’s is just right. And the Nepalese additions to the menu — especially the fun-to-pronounce meat momo — are a tasty bonus.

Aside from the name, there’s no fusion at Thai Basil. The cuisine of Thailand is the primary focus at this groovy little Wash Park eatery, and while a scattering of Vietnamese and Chinese dishes can be found on the menu, it’s the curry — calibrated for the adventurous eater, with plenty of spice and heat to spare — that has us coming back again and again. Several varieties are available, with old favorites like panang and massamun sharing menu space with house specials. Thai Basil also offers an excellent grilled chicken satay served with a peanut sauce so thick it’s more for scooping than for dipping. And unless you’ve recently come off a hunger strike, one order of pad thai is usually enough to feed two — although it’s so good you’ll be tempted to polish it off yourself.

There are a lot of things to love about the T-Wa Inn. In season, it serves great soft-shell crabs, breaded and fried in butter. When the kitchen isn’t going nuts with the mint, it makes a great spring roll. And on a good night, the stuffed quail is worth killing for. But there’s one thing T-Wa does perfectly every time: Vietnamese coffee. Just stepping through the doors is like walking off a plane and straight into a foreign cafe, making T-Wa the ideal spot for a lunch-break vacation. Watching the thick, strong French coffee drip through the battered filter on top of your glass forces your mind and body to slow down, to adjust to a different tempo. Smelling the rich brew as it slowly fills the glass, mixing in the sweetened condensed milk, pouring the coffee over ice and listening to the cubes crack — it’s like a half-hour of Zen relaxation therapy all for a buck and a half. One taste and we’re already gone.

A tiny eatery housed in the same space as an Asian market in a Boulder strip mall, the Asian Deli is like a pearl — a spectacular find in dubious surroundings. Almost anything on the menu can be had for less than seven bucks, and there are nearly 150 items on that menu, including two dozen soups. But a bargain is only a bargain if quality is as high as prices are low, and from simple goi cuon (Vietnamese spring rolls) and plain bowls of pho to deep-fried pampano fish and stuffed quail, Asian Deli surpasses all expectations.

The ramshackle structure that is the entirety of Kim’s kitchen is about as out of place in Boulder as a fish in a tree, but it’s a welcome sight in the dining landscape. Even though open kitchens — those stages on which smiling cooks in starched whites glide around under dramatic point lighting, showing off for a room full of ravenous diners — are quite trendy these days, they don’t have anything on Kim’s. At Kim’s, there’s nowhere to hide and no need to, since nothing is more natural, nothing more authentic, than the cooking being done here. The curries are delicate and sweet. Vietnamese egg rolls — hot, right out of the oil, packed with chewy glass noodles and bits of sweet onion — are just as good as you’d find for lots more money in a sit-down establishment. And the typical Chinese sesame chicken on the menu is anything but typical, with a surprising, superior maple-y glaze.

While the humble DiDi Deli serves unexpectedly good chicken salad sandwiches and cheeseburgers, its Korean menu really steals the show. The Korean barbecue, for example, is nutty in flavor, tender and a little sweet. Bi bim bop — a useful yardstick for measuring Korean food — is a traditional dish of mild barbecued beef, fresh bean sprouts, lettuce, mushrooms, shredded cucumber, sliced zucchini, stewed greens and a fried egg, all kept separate but piled on a big mound of white rice, served with go choo jong, a thick, heavy, red-pepper paste you can use to your liking; DiDi’s version is impeccable, with an ideal blend of textures, tastes and temperatures.

Once upon a time (actually, just a couple of months ago), the space at 711 Grant Street was home to China Hill — a small Chinese restaurant known in the neighborhood for its reasonable prices and flaming pu-pu platters. But now, thanks to a little good luck and a lot of hard work by Frank Bonanno and Doug Fleischmann, what was once a humble Asian hangout has been transformed into the much-anticipated Luca D’Italia. In these funky, colorful digs, customers are treated to rustic Italian family fare served in multiple courses from antipasti straight through to dessert, with everything from the pasta to the salami to the mozzarella made in-house and from scratch. What is it they say is the secret to opening a successful restaurant? Location, location, location. Well, Luca has the best location the partners could hope for — not only is it in a great restaurant neighborhood and in a space that’s been proven successful, but it’s also so close to the partners’ first restaurant, the wonderful Mizuna, that they can almost be in two places at once.

Family-style pig’s-ear salad, sauces thickened with pork blood, whole baked tilapia swimming in dark, sweet soy reduction — if you want to eat real Chinese food, your best bet is the green menu at Ocean City. If you follow the kitchen crews from other Chinese restaurants come closing time, they’ll invariably head to the parking lot of Ocean City, an unassuming spot at the corner of South Federal and Mississippi. Here crabs and lobsters are pulled from the murky live tank by the door, cheap eats are offered in reduced-size portions after 9 p.m., and while neon-lit dry-erase boards list the day’s specials in Cantonese and Mandarin, have no fear: The green menu is translated into English for culinary risk-takers sick to death of the bland, candy-coated crap being passed off as Chinese food out in the ‘burbs.

Crack open one of the elegant, foil-wrapped cookies at Little Shanghai Cafe, and what message do you find? “Confucius say you’ll keep coming back to Little Shanghai, a Denver institution for almost three decades.” Oops, wrong cookie: Little Shanghai would never do anything that blatant. Instead, it keeps its customers coming back by serving quality Chinese dishes, both Americanized and authentic; offering daily specials and incredibly friendly service; and ending each meal with the town’s best fortune cookies — complete with a bonus slick of white-chocolate icing on the outside that gives added emphasis to the sweet message waiting inside.

Let’s face it: Americanized Chinese is, well, Americanized Chinese. But when it’s done well — and Imperial Chinese does it very well — it’s still good food. Imperial ups the ante by recommending wines to pair with the dishes, by not hiding its meats under thick batter and molasses-sweet candy glazes, and with dining-room decor that’s an elegant improvement over the usual stark strip-mall walls hung with giant backlit photos of what your kung pao might look like. You won’t take any big risks here — but you really didn’t expect any, did you?

The tiny, almost unbelievably cute Moongate Asian Grill restaurant offers a culinary exploration of Asian foods. Even a package tour of the Pacific wouldn’t let you try this many cuisines — and Moongate saves you not just the time and expense, but also the malaria shots required for such a venture. Where else can you have chicken satay and panang curry, Vietnamese egg rolls and rice bowls, tempura and udon, broccoli beef and kung pao chicken — all under one roof? More important, where will they all taste so good?

Why a Japanese country restaurant — not to mention Zen garden, museum and complete Japanese cultural center — is located in this industrial part of Denver is anybody’s guess. What Domo’s doing here, however, is very clear: Chef/owner Gaku Homma Domo’s serving the town’s best Japanese food — both authentic provincial fare and sushi — in a setting that’s a marked contrast to all the sushi-chic spots in town. Walk into those places, and you feel like you’re stepping into the pages of GQ; step into Domo, and you’re in another country altogether: the land of the rising sun. In the summer, you’re greeted by outdoor gardens where the train whistles sounds like nightingales; in the winter, glasses of sake steam from the tables. Arigato, Domo.

When the sheer drudgery of haggling through “low, no haggle prices,” test-driving and penny-pinching gets to you, take a break. The interior of Sushi Uokura is incongruously reminiscent of the most casual of beach houses, and the sushi is excellent, without an ounce of the precious pretention that’s befallen so many Denver favorites. And when you’ve finally hammered out an automotive deal, Sushi Uokura will be happy to pour you some premium sake. By that time, you’ll have earned it.

In Japan, a sushi chef will study for years just to learn the proper way to use a knife. He will apprentice himself to a master chef, work insanely long hours, learn everything he can about rolling fish up with rice — and then spend a lifetime getting better and better at it. For hundreds of years, the Japanese have labored to refine the art of sushi, and while there are dozens of places in and around Denver where you can experience the fruits of all this obsessive attention, there’s one that stands out: Opal. Executive chef Duy Pham is a freak for freshness and perfection, sometimes getting in three shipments a day from suppliers so that nothing ever sits, nothing ever ages. He keeps a close eye on his two sushi chefs — Herry Fnu and Mario Moscoso — and makes good and goddamn sure that every plate, every roll, every scrap of fish and grain of rice is exactly where it belongs. Since even something as simple as a cucumber roll takes on an element of the divine when this much attention is lavished upon it, imagine the heights to which something as delicate as sea urchin or complex as the Golden Dragon roll can be raised when subjected to such scrutiny. No matter what your passion, trust in the traditional rigor and exacting hands at Opal to do it better than anyone else.

“Running a successful fish house is like juggling ice cubes on a hot day,” says Jax chef/owner Dave Query in the preface to the new Jax Fish House Book of Fish. And while he might be right — doing fresh fish properly in a state that doesn’t even border a state that borders an ocean — can be rough, Query and co-author Jill Zeh Richter give away a lot of the house secrets in this comprehensive guide to all things tasty and aquatic. In addition to roughly a hundred recipes (which include saucing directions and plating hints for the Martha Stewart in all of us) culled from Jax menus past and present, the Book of Fish is also a treasure chest of food history, lore and terminology. For example, who knew that before industrialization of the area around the Caspian Sea, sturgeon used to live up to 200 years — and that now all caviar must be processed through the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species? Or that many species of grouper undergo sex-reversal in middle age, producing sperm when they’re young and eggs when they get older? For food nerds, this is all pretty cool stuff. And for those who don’t particularly care about the sexual peculiarities of their dinner and just want to know how to cook it, the recipes are simple, straightforward, brightly illustrated and accompanied by directions for making dozens of sides and sauces.

Sometimes simple is best. Sometimes getting right to the point is better than a whole lot of fancy-pants messing around. And when you’re talking about seafood, this is almost always the case. At Lola, Dave Query and Jamey Fader (both also associated with Jax, a longtime Best of Denver fave) have taken this wisdom to heart and come up with a coastal Mexico-themed restaurant where sea critters are the stars. Tender salmon mopped with a barbecue sauce that enhances but never overpowers the fresh, delicate flavor of the fish; rock shrimp ceviche kicked up with candy-sweet mango; a rustic Spanish estofada, a deeply but gently seasoned stew in which the huge shrimp and a half-lobster split like a biology illustration take center stage — these are just a few of the straightforward and rough-edged dishes that draw huge crowds to Lola. It’s nothing fancy — not artsy or overly gussied up, just good food that speaks for itself.

Although the obliging staffers are happy to serve you anything off Sullivan’s menu in the clubby, boxing-themed bar, there’s plenty to chew on in the bar menu alone. The cheeseburger, steak sandwich and blackened New York strip are particularly worthy of your attention: big, big portions of quality meat, cooked as requested, served with the ideal spud sides, and just the thing to munch as you listen to a jazz combo or dish the dirt with your companions.

Prepare to meat your maker. In some circles, a dinner at Morton’s of Chicago is considered a reasonable sacrifice to the gods, a way to thank them for your good luck. Drop a few hundred clams on a chunk crabmeat cocktail, on a perfectly cooked Porterhouse steak, on a potato bigger than your head, on a chocolate soufflé — you’re crediting your karma account at the same time you’re downing some very good food. Morton’s gives testimony to the power of a great steak, and the downtown restaurant is our favorite place to worship. From the cozy bar (get there early and enjoy a few gratis steak sandwiches) to the plush booths deep in the back of the intimate dining room, from the morgue cart-presentation of the menu offerings to the last sweep of the crumb catcher, a meal at Morton’s is the gift that keeps on giving.

Yo, Philadelphians know that most “Philly-style” steaks are crap. Gourmet steaks loaded with fancy veggies served on a toasted baguette may be what we’d like to think they’re eating in the City of Brotherly Love, but they’re not. They’re devouring crumbly grilled meat, American or Provolone cheese, and maybe some fried onions or peppers piled high on a soft, chewy roll. And at Taste of Philly, which is owned by some Pennsylvania transplants, they know that. Their uncomplicated steaks and cheese ring true with diners from the Delaware Valley. In Philly, a cheesesteak rivalry still rages between Pat’s and Geno’s. But in Denver, Taste of Philly takes the prize.

They’ve been listed as one of the “Top Ten Hidden Treasures in America.” They’ve gotten the nod on the Food Network’s Best Of. Folks from all over the world can see their place talked about in-flight on Delta Airlines. And now you can frequent the Philadelphia Filly — the little cheesesteak cart that could – not only at lunch, at 16th Street and Broadway, but also at night, at 16th and Market Street. For years, Philly natives Sally Rock and Dale Goin have been feeding an ever-growing legion of Denver faithful, slapping together authentic Philly cheesesteaks and serving up fresh soups for the lunchtime crowds; now Rock’s son, Willy Killhour, wraps up monster double-meat, double-cheese sandwiches for LoDo bar-hoppers. They may not have fancy silver, linen tablecloths or even tables, but if you’re looking for the real deal — for honest American street cuisine that’s hot, fast and filling enough to keep you going all afternoon (or well into the next morning) — Philadelphia Filly is tops.

El Tejado serves great, authentic Mexican fare — camarones cocktails, whole red snapper, carne asada tacos — as well as such north-of-the-border innovations as a thick, hot, gravy-like green chile. But somehow, everything tastes better at Sunday brunch and on Wednesday nights — when meals are accompanied by strolling mariachis, who walk between tables and take requests. How about “Strum Enchanted Evening”?

Hunter Thompson once said of Circus Circus in Las Vegas, “This is what the whole hep world would be doing on a Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war.” Well, that was then — and today, Casa Bonita is the place to see what would really become of the world if the radical fun police ever had their way. Sure, we all know the food is, er, questionable. But that can be said of a lot of places where there aren’t strolling mariachi bands and teenage cliff divers, so everyone just give Casa Bonita a break, okay? Will anyone who’s ever been there soon forget the smell of the swampy, chlorinated backsplash that could grace your gooey tacos if you’re lucky enough to get a seat behind the waterfall? For sheer “I can’t believe this place is real” thrills, nothing beats Casa Bonita — the closest thing in Denver to a Terry Gilliam film come to life. And hey, any place where you can buy Coronas by the bucket can’t be all bad.

Hungry throngs from all sides of town flock to La Fiesta’s cavernous dining room for the chips and powerhouse salsa, for the crisp chiles rellenos, for enchiladas so big they come hanging off the edge of the plate, and for verde done not in the raw, unadulterated fashion popular on the southern end of the green-chile trail, but in a more gooey, Mile High fashion. The service is fast, the crowd is loud and laid-back, and while the vibe is pure Juarez, the grub will be recognizable even to a native who’s never ventured any closer to Mexico than a drive down Federal Boulevard on a Sunday afternoon. Fair warning, though: La Fiesta is only open for weekday lunch.

Mmm…botanas. If there’s any better bar food than tapas, it’s botanas — the little bites and appetizers served with firewater all over Mexico proper. At Tamayo — Richard Sandoval’s upscale Larimer Square homage to the Mexican Riviera of his youth — you can sample the flavors of Acapulco and beyond for free during the hora feliz (happy hour) that runs from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m. Monday through Friday, and then, emboldened by a couple of sharp nips at the fancy-pants margarita menu, dive deeper into this rich culinary territory with dinner. Tamayo is only expensive when compared with other Mexican restaurants in town, but with entrees running in the twenty-dollar range, some people tend to get spooked. Rather than pay two bucks for a squishy enchilada all glopped up with Cheez Whiz somewhere else, though, we’d rather save up our nickels and dimes for tacos de camarón, with shrimp sautéed in achiote paste and a black-bean puree, or the costilla de cordero — rack of lamb, marinated in adobo and huitlacoche (a corn fungus that tastes much better than it sounds), then roasted and served with wild-mushroom risotto and sweet potatoes. Tamayo also does a wicked mahi-mahi ceviche, offers a three-course prix fixe lunch menu in under sixty minutes for $16.95, and puts out beautiful plates that would have done the late Mexican artist Rufino Tamayo (after whom both the Denver and Palm Beach locations were named) proud.

For decades, El Taco de México has been the place to go in Denver for a real taste of Old Mexico. It’s a gathering place for the Spanish-speaking community, an after-church destination for big bowls of menudo, a hot spot for wasted musicians looking for some quick grub after the gig, and a jumping lunch joint that attracts a generous cross-section of Denver diners. The big menu, which runs the whole length of the long counter, details offerings as tame as tacos al carbón and chicken fajitas, but also offers some peasant classics like the aforementioned menudo (an excellent version, thick and spicy and served with a half-dozen sides in tiny three-footed bowls), and tacos made with cheek meat and brains. The small army of deadly serious ladies working in the big, open kitchen pound out hundreds of hot, solid meals a day using spice mixes, recipes, mops and marinades straight out of an abuelita‘s playbook. This stuff puts the Mark Millers and Bobby Flays of the world to shame, and it’s as close as you’re gonna get to authentic Mexican cuisine without crossing international borders.

Ah, Benny’s, how do we love thee? From your sprawling expanse of dining rooms to your potent margaritas to your gringo-friendly menu, it’s no wonder you pack ’em in from morning to night. Straddling the fence between the old-world Mexican of Chihuahua and the modern culinary horrors of Taco Bell and squeeze-bottle salsa, you stand firm, giving legions of hungry Denverites Mexican food with the Rocky Mountain twist they crave. In particular, we love you for your green chile. There’s nothing better for burning off a low-grade hangover than a plate of thick, almost stew-like verde with its big chunks of chewy pork and hotter-than-hell afterburn. Give us a couple of tortillas, maybe a side of chewy chicharrones, and we’re ready to face the worst the world has to throw at us. We love ya, Benny’s. Don’t ever change.

As good as any you’d find in New Mexico — and better than most — the green chile at Jack-n-Grill is a work of commendable simplicity. Green chiles from Socorro are melded with salt, pepper, tomatoes, garlic and cubed pork to create the perfect topper for any of the restaurant’s entrees. If you’ve been raised on the gloppy, gravy-like chile you find at most of Denver’s Mexican restaurants, New Mexico’s version is a real switch. But your tastebuds will quickly adjust — and once you’ve had Jack’s, you’ll never go back.

Now that the flavors of Old Mexico have made their indelible mark on the tastes of American gourmands, it’s no surprise that south-of-the-border influences keep showing up in the darnedest places — resulting in some pretty damned bad dishes. But the Parlour cooked up a winner with its blue-corn-tortilla shrimp enchiladas served with salsa verde, chile-lime cream, Monterey Jack cheese and chunky mango salsa.

Sweet Jesus, these things are addictive! Sweeter than potatoes but less sweet than you might imagine given the plaintain’s close relationship with bananas, Cuba Cuba’s deep-fried plátanos fritos, served with a tart garlic-citrus mojo, are the most munchable chips in town.

The best chips are made in-house. And the kitchen at Luna’s, a humble, friendly Highland hangout, keeps pumping out fresh, crisp, light tortilla chips. Still hot from the fryer, they’re perfect for dipping into the thick, gooey, chile-spiked homemade queso or just munching alongside your Cuervo.

The salsa’s always fresca at the Chubby Burger Drive-Inn, a ramshackle takeout joint known to all Mexican-food lovers as “the original Chubby’s.” Over the past thirty years, Chubby’s has built its reputation on the back of sloppy, big-ass burritos, solid tamales and hot, hot green chile — but what we really love is Chubby’s fresh, rough-chopped salsa, which the kitchen preps by the gallon. Although the chips are just average, the salsa gets extra credit. It’s a killer combination of sweet veggies kicked up with exactly the right amount of spicy heat, so that the balance is maintained among the natural flavors of tomato, onion and chile, and a burn that sets your tongue to smoldering but never catches fire outright.

Vega, Sean Yontz’s upscale Latin/New American restaurant in the old Sacre Bleu space, has a lot of good things going for it. It’s a great space, done in cool earthtones with high-backed booths. It has a comfortable bar that’s rarely too crowded; friendly, attentive service; and a kitchen that’s turning out some of Denver’s most innovative cuisine. But perhaps the best thing Vega currently has going for it is an oxtail tamal that fills a corn husk with fresh, creamy masa, then adds oxtail meat and tender white hominy, covering everything with a spicy adobo sauce. Are these tamales just like the ones abuelita used to make? Far from it — but once you’ve tried Yontz’s take on this Mexican classic, you’ll wish more people thought about food the way he does.

A fish taco is serious business. There are so many ways to screw it up, so many ways to do it wrong, and — in our judgment, anyhow — a strict set of rules for doing it right. Jalapeo Mexican Grill does it very, very right. It starts with batter-dipped and fried chunks of mild, fresh whitefish on a thick flour tortilla, adds shredded cabbage (not lettuce) and a few soft, incredibly ripe pieces of tomato, and laces the whole thing with a thin, chilled buttermilk ranch sauce. Add a couple wedges of fresh lime and you’ve got the closest thing Denver has to the beachside grub served all along coastal Mexico. Simple, quick, cheap and delicious.

Jack-n-Grill takes top honors in several categories, because its food is just that good. And why is it so good? “We cook with love,” explains general manager Jack Martinez II. And, in fact, you can taste the love — but you also taste the flavorful grilled meats that serve as the basis for Jack-n-Grill’s tacos. Succulent shrimp, juicy chicken and exceptionally potent shredded beef are all served on flat corn tortillas with some pico de gallo, cheese and a side of lime for the best tacos in town. The best of the bunch? The vaquero tacos (available in chicken or beef) with barbecue sauce and cooling sour cream served on a flour tortilla. One taste, and you, too, will feel the love.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Anthony Sarlo, owner and top pizza guy at Vita Bella, has a lot of history in the pie game. His father (owner of Armando’s in Cherry Creek) and grandfather (who owned the Continental and the Oriental Manor in New York) have spent their lives in the business; his grandmother has spent her whole life cooking for the clan; his aunt owns Cafe Jordano. And all of this know-how comes together at a fine point: the double-crust fresh-leaf spinach pie with sliced black olives, garlic, romano and mozzarella for which the family restaurants are rightly famous. And how can we be sure that young Tony is sticking to his Sicilian roots? Because Grandma is right there just about every day, working the register and keeping a close eye on the kitchen to make sure he does.

Up-and-comer Papou’s Pizza has cornered the Denver market for Connecticut-style pizza — primarily because it’s the only place in town making pies this way. The toppings are high-quality and laid on with a generous hand, but what really sets this pizza apart is the way it’s cooked: pan-baked in a brick oven. With thick, soft, chewy crusts on the bottoms and crisp bones, Papou’s pies fill that space on the pizza spectrum between the thin-crust New Yorker and the deep-dish Chicago variety.

It’s tough to find a good taste of the Windy City out here on the wrong side of the Midwest. A decent vendor’s-cart hot dog with ballpark mustard and all the trimmings? Good luck. Pepper and sausage (pronounced “sassage”) like old Ma used to make? Forget it. But if you’re looking for a good Chicago-style deep-dish pizza and aren’t quite ready to hop a flight for a real Gino’s East double-cheese pie, try Nicolo’s Chicago Style Pizza. With a thick, chewy crust loaded deep with toppings, sweet tomato sauce with just a little bite, and fresh ingredients laid on all the way out to the rolled edges, Nicolo’s is doing the Second City proud. Plus, Nicolo’s offers a margherita (white) pie layered with provolone, extra virgin olive oil, fresh basil and tomato; a thirteen-inch EBA (Everything But Anchovy) version for just $13.95; and a whole host of other Italian specialties for those of you who think that man can’t live on pizza alone.

For East Coast transplants, there’s only one way to do pizza properly — and that’s the way they’ve been doing it since day one at NY Pizzeria. The hands-down favorite of many ex-pat Big Apple kitchen crews in Denver, this slightly run-down strip-mall pie joint does everything right. The crusts are thin — a little crispy, but pliable enough to fold. The toppings are basic, but they’re the real McCoy — real shredded mozzarella rather than mozzarella-flavored cheez product, Italian sausage and pepperoni, fresh veggies — and the sauce is mild, a little sweet and not messed up with a lot of spices or chile powder. Most important, the ‘za at NY Pizzeria has the grease: that mysterious orange oil that oozes out the back of every folded slice, burns your hand and ruins your best party shirt as soon as you take a bite.

Sometimes you just have to go with a classic. Beau Jo’s invented the concept of Colorado-style pizza, and since 1973 has been serving mountain pies with its slightly spicy signature sauce, heaps of toppings and fresh braided crusts. You can use those bones to mop up honey, making a slice both a main course and dessert. Whether you’re rewarding yourself after a rigorous day at the office or one on the slopes, Beau Jo’s pizza is a Colorado staple worthy of its reputation.

Twinkies are good. Twinkies drizzled with chocolate sauce and piped with whipped cream are better. Now take that same Twinkie and dunk it in 350-degree fryer oil for a few seconds, and what you have is a dessert so ridiculously sweet and mind-numbingly bad for you that no life can be considered well-lived until you try one. And now,

thanks to restaurateur and certified mad scientist Derrol Moorhead, you can, because he offers them at Wingin’ It, his little sports-themed wing joint. Trust us on this one: A deep-fried Twinkie isn’t as gross as it sounds. The hot fryer oil crisps the outside by caramelizing the sugars in the yellow-cake shell and turns the cream filling into sweet, white lava; other than that, though, the Twinkie itself is pretty much unchanged. If the deep-fried Twinkie isn’t extreme enough for you, Moorhead has recently started serving a full range of battered and deep-fried candy bars as well. And, of course, Wingin’ It also puts out a nice spread of chicken wings, with a dozen-odd gourmet sauces that range from just plain hot to sweet mango.

Frank Bonanno and his crew at Mizuna do just about everything pretty darn well, but the one thing they do far and away better than any other kitchen in town is sweetbreads. Thymus glands are devilishly hard to cook right; they require careful handling and perfect timing in the pan. But in expert hands, the result can be a sublime bit of charcuterie that — like the preparation of foie gras or the proper handling of truffles, both of which Mizuna also does admirably well — can be held up as a benchmark achievement. Mizuna’s sweetbreads are a fine measure of a galley and crew that consistently bring their A-game every night of the week.

Think you’re not a calamari kind of person? That just might be because you’ve never had your squid done south-of-the-border style. Jalapeo Mexican grill takes thick-cut rings of squid, rolls them in finely ground herbed breadcrumbs, then sends ’em down for a quick swim in the deep fryer, where they’re in the oil just barely long enough to cook through, but not so long that they shrivel and turn rubbery. The tender rings come with creamy buttermilk ranch sauce for wimps who want to cover up the fresh, ever-so-slightly funky seafood taste, but all you really need is a squeeze or two of lime juice to make for some great finger food.

The fabulous pan-fried chicken at the Rocky Mountain Diner and its southern sibling, the Castle Cafe, is enough to fry you to the moon. Pieces of tender bird are coated in a spicy, super-secret-recipe batter, then fried in heart-healthy canola oil until they’re tender and juicy inside, golden-brown and crisp outside. With other places dropping fried chicken off their menus, the fact that these restaurants continue to offer fried chicken — and such good fried chicken — is something to crow about.

At the Main Street Tavern, the mozzarella stick has finally grown up and gotten some class. The mozzarella-and-prosciutto spring rolls here put real mozzarella, thick-sliced prosciutto and whole basil leaves inside a crisp spring roll skin for an updated, mature take on the late-night bar-food classic. The rolls come out piping hot, gooey and deliciously salty thanks to the prosciutto, and because no one should ever fuss too much with a proven favorite, each order comes with a little dish of plain, slightly spicy red sauce for dipping. Sit back, call for another round, and enjoy.

Egg whites, dried kiwi, a little brown sugar, a little cinnamon, a little vanilla, a few other little things — that’s all that Bruce Harrison, owner of Sweet Bob’s, will say when you ask what’s in the sauce that comes with his sweet-potato fries. But those words don’t even begin to describe these frites, which become as sugary as candy and as addictive as heroin once they’re set to soaking in Harrison’s secret sauce. Imagine a kiwi cake frosting melted over soft, fried sweet potatoes. Or your grandmother’s best sweet-potato pie topped with warm syrup. Hell, imagine anything you like — but get down there and give these spuds a try.

So many indignities have been heaped on the humble potato. So many wrongs have been done in its name. So many cooks have been content to just dunk fistfuls of frozen potato pieces in hot oil and shovel the resulting pasty, greasy fries out to diners who don’t expect much more. But not Joe Sinopoli. First at Adde Brewster and now at Bistro 250 (in Adde’s old location), Sinopoli has elevated the maligned tuber, putting out plate after plate of perfect pommes frites — the Apollonian ideal of a potato’s existence. Blanched first in hot oil, left to sit, then dunked again until golden brown, this process results in crisp, nutty, even slightly sweet fries — thin as shoestrings and lightly touched with salt — that will forever ruin you for the limp, oily and pallid fare of the local drive-thru.

Mark Wolfe, owner of Wingman (formerly Woody’s Wings), is a brave guy. Not only did he open a hopping little spot dedicated (almost) entirely to the art — nay, the majesty — of cooking the humble chicken wing, but he then took his wings and carefully crafted sauce to Buffalo, the temple of the chicken wing. And was he laughed out of town during the first annual Chicken Wing Festival? Was he sent packing simply because he came from the wrong side of the Mississippi? Nope — he did Colorado proud. And we couldn’t have picked a better ambassador, because Wingman’s wings are the best in town.

Finding a great classic drive-thru on Route 66 wouldn’t be a surprise — but in the middle of busy Broadway? Still, the traffic on this artery can make you feel like you’re on an interminable road trip without even leaving the city limits, so pull over and treat yourself. Griff’s serves up burgers wrapped in waxed paper, along with fries and shakes at prices better suited to a time when the cost of gas didn’t make just idling in the drive-thru lane the most expensive part of dinner.

Go on. You know you want to. Forget the squawking of your self-righteous vegetarian ex-girlfriend, forget your waistline, screw PETA and just order the Royal Burger at Crown Burger. One chopped-beef patty, lettuce, tomato and “special sauce” — that’s good for a start. But add roast beef, ham, pastrami and bacon, and now we’re really talking. This burger is a true carnivore’s dream, wrapped up nice and neat in waxed paper for the bargain price of $4.25.

Ted Turner will be remembered for CNN, colorizing movies and the Tomahawk Chop — but the bison burgers served at Ted’s Montana Grill are his true bid for immortality. Big, juicy patties of ground bison (not buffalo) are cooked to your specs (and better specify them rare or medium rare — this is bison, not E.coli-ridden beef), then served on soft buns with an assortment of sides and condiments. Wash your bison burger down with beer, wine (no hard liquor at Ted’s) or Coke — served in two six-ounce glass bottles. For an added dose of flavor, try the Ted’s in Larimer Square, where the turn-of-the-century setting actually dates from the turn of the last century.

There’s a lot of talk these days about the hamburgers in Manhattan out-pricing each other, but why hop a plane to taste the Big Apple’s beef when we’ve got a perfectly elegant version right here in Denver — and for less than $10? The Kobe beef burger at Opal — which uses shoulder-cut American Wagyu rather than the purebred, pampered Japanese Kobe — is served blood-warm, with only red-leaf lettuce on the soft roll to accompany the rich, fatty, roundly flavored meat. No matter how you cut it, it’s the juiciest thing we’ve encountered between two buns.

This town is full of celebrated burgers, but none are as worthy as the burgers served at the Stout Pub, a great neighborhood tavern that took over the space that had been the

Punch Bowl. Even a plain burger’s great, but we drool over the Stout Hearty burger, your basic double stack of meat on a toasted roll with a combination of American, Swiss, cheddar, Monterey Jack, bleu and provolone cheeses, sautéed onions, mushrooms, bacon, guacamole, Italian sauce and chopped jalapeos. This beefy beast has the heft of a small dog, and its arrival at your table should be accompanied by a drumroll. The burger’s so plump and juicy that it leaves you wondering: Is the burger named after the pub, or is the pub named after the burger?

Delivery drivers are the most forgiving of God’s creatures. They bring us vital suste-

nance without comment or criticism, then leave as quickly as they come. They see us at our worst — at those moments when we’re too drunk, too lazy, too miserable or too whatever to face the outside world. And the outside world would be a much more difficult thing to face without the occasional order of Chinese BBQ ribs from Szechuan Express. Far from the dinky, dried-out dog biscuits that come with most pu-pu platters, these are huge, meaty and drenched in ridiculous amounts of sticky-sweet sauce. A single order is easily a pound and a half of ribs, and a double is enough to make your standard Styro-

foam takeout box bulge. Save some for the next morning, when the ribs are even better cold. Barbecue: It’s what’s for breakfast.

The Shead family has a lot of history in the barbecue biz, but when you get right down to it, all that matters is the meat. And with that as the sole defining characteristic of good ‘cue, we can confidently say that these folks know how to whip up a batch of small ends that’ll have you begging for more once you’ve licked your fingers clean. The flavor is a cross between a thin Carolina tidewater sauce and a muscular KC-style mop, and the slow-smoked ribs are tender but solid — none of that fall-off-the-bone baby food that some joints inexplicably brag about. The service is brisk, the dining room spare, and while you sometimes have to wait for your order to get it done right, it’s worth it.

Bruce Harrison, the owner of Sweet Bob’s, is a man on a mission. Single-handledly, he’s going to reverse the curse on his doomed storefront location on Broadway by introducing his brand of BBQ to the world. Although he has dreams of nationwide franchises, for now we can be thankful that he started his first joint right here in central Denver, where he serves up the best ‘cue this side of Kansas City. Harrison fruit-smokes his meats with cherry, apple, kiwi and what have you, finishes them in the shop on a rotisserie, and can have your order bagged and ready at the counter in a minute flat on a good day. But be warned: The addictive potential of his sauce and sides is high. Try them once and you may never look at another rack of ribs the same way again.

Not too heavy and not too light, the meatloaf at Kathy and Bill’s Diner will satisfy your loaf lust. A perfect blend of meat, bread and tiny, harmless veggies — a smattering of mushrooms, onions and peppers that enhances the experience without threatening to upset the balance — is crowned with a tomato glaze, then blanketed with brown gravy. Accompanied by its only proper neighbor — homemade, lumpy mashers — meatloaf doesn’t get any better than this. Neither does lunch.

There are only two ways to do mashed potatoes: the right way and the wrong way. Most people think theirs are done the right way, and — sorry to say — most people are wrong. Potatoes, butter, cream and salt: These are the only necessary elements in making proper mashers, and at Astoria Restaurant — an unbelievably authentic Eastern Russian joint — proper mashers are what’s being served on nearly every plate of good, solid Russian comfort food. There may be a place for Maytag bleu, chives and bacon, but a mound of spuds sitting beside a simple rack of lamb or thick, meaty stroganoff is not that place. So in praise of simple pleasures, this year the Oscar goes to Astoria for its uncomplicated ‘taters: thick, lumpy, warm and filling, folded in with cold butter and nothing else.

We don’t even want to know how many grams of fat might be in Bob’s Favorite, a gigantic, creamy-cheesy-buttery mess of a culinary masterpiece, but with a taste this good, who cares? The thick cream sauce (made with American, real mozzarella and shaved parmesan cheese) is the kind you want to mop up with your fingers before they take away your plate. If it makes you feel better, pretend you ordered Bob’s Favorite for the two chicken breasts and asparagus spears that happen to come with the sauce. But whatever you do, don’t let those despicable dietetic dictators keep you from enjoying this dish. Eat well and be happy…like Bob.

These days it seems like everyone’s trying to remake the classics, and while there’s nothing wrong with adding the occasional hip twist to a perennial favorite, sometimes you just want good, old-fashioned mac ‘n’ cheese. And when you do, Cracker Barrel still makes the best. No Gruyère, no truffles, no bell-pepper brunoise or anything else weird: This simple, savory side dish consists of nothing trickier than a gooey yellow cheese sauce over soft elbows. Sure, Cracker Barrel is a chain, but it’s a chain that does nothing but try to cook like grandma used to – so it’s bound to get something right once in a while.

From its little outpost in Five Points, Tom’s serves up the most comforting lunches in town. Mom-style meatloaf, Dixie-fried catfish and thick slabs of various meats are accessorized with wholesome sides; the choice extras include jalapeo corn bread, banana pudding and sweet-potato pie. Tom’s wonders draw loyal diners of every demographic, proof that down-home cooking is one of society’s great cultural unifiers.

We know: The world can be a scary place sometimes. And whether you’re eating to

dull the pain of a broken heart, your vanishing 401K or just the sorry state of the world in general, Sam’s No. 3 is sure to have something in the kitchen that’ll fill you up right. The menu is the size of a dimestore romance novel, and it’s filled with comforting chow from places as disparate as Coney Island and the Baja Strait. Sam’s does chili dogs, breakfast burritos, mashed potatoes, fried chicken, sloppy burgers, root beer floats and Mile-Hi banana splits — all cheap and deeply satisfying. Plus, they whip up a thick caramel milkshake so good you should be able to charge it to your health insurance as a form of therapy.

Here’s the straight skinny: When you arrive at the Thin Man, you may have this narrow bar to yourself. But sit awhile, and other people are bound to show up. We’ve found ourselves sharing the bar with bikers and think-tank types, drunken poets, the young and the restless, the old and the restless, and at least one professional bounty hunter on the mend. The one thing all these disparate characters had in common: a serious interest in just drinking. No one goes here for a fashion show; it’s not a meat market, and no one cares what you just had pierced. But if you want to kill a couple of hours (and a few of those weaker brain cells) with some long-pour highballs and a little adult conversation, the Thin Man is where it’s at.

While the very first day of 2003 saw the venerable Little Russian Cafe rolling up its carpets after two decades in Larimer Square, owner Eugene Valershteyn’s newer Russian Cafe in Littleton is still going strong. It serves plenty of the simple fare that Valershteyn grew up with, but we really love this spot for its comprehensive list of chilled vodkas available by the shot. In addition to all of the usual high-octane suspects, both foreign and domestic, the Russian Cafe also stocks an impressive spread of artisan vodkas in flavors like black currant, lemon, pepper and cranberry.

We know what you’re thinking. The world was a much simpler place when tequila came in only three varieties: yellow, clear and embalming fluid. But guess what, amigo? Now that tequila is hip, we’ve discovered that it comes in more varieties than there are colors in the big box of Crayolas. The best place to indulge in a liquid voyage of discovery is Aztec Sol, a cavernous, cement-floored bar at the edge of Highland, where Sol man Jose Lara serves a grande selection of 200-plus perception-shattering tequilas that will make you swear off Cuervo for good. The list includes wood-aged brands and boutique breeds that rival the best single-malt scotches. Looking to expand your drinking horizons south of the border? Here’s the place.

With its vast collection of tequila and its hipper-than-thou setting, Lola has elevated the lowly margarita to an art form. Although even the house version is acceptable, by skipping the sweet-and-sour for fresh juice and choosing your own tequila — from the more than eighty that Lola has on hand — you can make yourself a margarita masterpiece. The drinks aren’t cheap, and unless you’re out partying like a rock star, this is not the place to come if you simply want to tie one on. But if you’re curious about all the blends of cactus juice available these days and want to see what a capable mixologist can do with them, Lola is the place for you.

Pints Pub keeps building its reputation as one of America’s premier single-malt spots by adding to its offerings. Owner Scott Diamond now serves over 200 of the world’s best scotches, from long-loved standards to long-lost obscurities and rare, one-off vintages. For the lover of scotch, a session here is a head-spinning delight, a trip to Scotland’s distilleries without the airfare.

Year after year, Falling Rock is the stone leader for bar-beer selections. Chris and Steve Black offer over seventy taps (and dozens of bottles) of the best beers not just in Colorado, but across the U.S and around the globe. The combination makes the Rock one of the world’s great beer destinations.

In a state rich with craft brewers, Adam Avery and his crew stand out by making no-holds-barred beers aimed at beer aficionados, not the masses. Avery’s catalogue holds world-class everyday beers (India Pale Ale, ESB and Elle’s Brown) and heady seasonals (Old Jubilation, New World Porter); better still is Avery’s year-round roster of over-the-edge beers, including Hog Heaven and Belgian hybrids like The Reverend and Salvation. Avery is Colorado’s true king of beers.

Mountain Sun sets the standard for area brewpubs. Its homemade beers are some of Colorado’s most adventurous creations, lofty wonders that cut no corners. To show how confident it is of its own brews, Mountain Sun also welcomes a roster of guest beers. Add a menu of low-priced/high-value bar fare, devoted regulars and occasional live entertainment, and you’ve got the making of a great pub.

Cask-conditioned beer remains a small niche treat, but the Painted Bench and the Wynkoop Brewing Co. have teamed up to change that. The Bench hosts Wynkoop’s lone off-site hand pump, dispensing delicious pours of cask-style ESB for visitors to the restaurant’s antique Fountain Room. The beer engine gives real ale lovers an extra option for old-school beer; it’s a move more breweries should embrace.

Serious beer nuts dream of a home draft box, but few can swing the space and expense. Quoin Industrial to the rescue! The Golden-based business invented the 2.25-gallon Party Pig, a plastic device that fits in the fridge and serves fresh drafts in premium condition. It’s great for home brewers, too. Oink oink.

Chimay is brewed in Belgium by Cistercian Trappist monks who apparently have a direct line to God when it comes to the more ethereal matters of the beer-maker’s art. This champagne of beers goes down smooth, follows its creamy head with a silky mouth-feel and fruity aroma, and packs a serious wallop. While full-sized bottles of the lesser breeds are stocked at a few shops around town, Above the Rim carries Chimay Red (the best of the best, in our opinion) by the four-pack. Sure, this great little shop stocks other stuff, too, and the guys who run it are wine-biz veterans who’d be more than happy to sell you fine bottles of other beer and wine. But when the choice comes down to Chimay Red or anything else, we’ll take the Chimay damn near every time.

The light, crisp, unfiltered taste of Tommyknocker’s Jack Wacker pairs well with Asian food, perhaps because of the subtle late addition of lemongrass. Whatever the reason, it’s a good excuse to drink local and eat global, so grab a six-pack to go with your pad thai and do your part for Colorado’s economy.

Flying Dog bottles up a whole line of brews — from a deep chocolate porter to crisp lagers. But even without the Ralph Steadman label, Old Scratch would come out head and shoulders above the competition. An amber ale with a sharp bite and stinging, peppery aftertaste, Old Scratch has much more punch than the lagers. No doubt about it: This dog can hunt.

Sure, there are beer vendors who carry more brands, at lower prices, than the Wine Company, a tiny retailer in Littleton. But those outlets can’t touch this store’s thoughtfully chosen, well-tended selection of gourmet suds. The experts here know (and drink) the beers they carry and bring in treasures they crave and can sell. Go on, step into the cooler and indulge your beer-drinking fantasies.

When you’re truly needy, there’s always a way to get around Colorado’s pesky blue laws. Dave Tewksbury, tobacconist and owner of Tewksbury & Co., happily sells Sunday libations to desperate souls, offering a small but distinguished collection of Colorado wines — from a Carlson Vineyards Shiraz to a Plum Creek Cellars Merlot — alongside cigars and hand-tied flies. His ABC focus gets him a pass with the state liquor board and ensures that you never have to show up to a dinner party empty-handed.

Karin Lawler, who handles the stock for Clair de Lune’s small, perfectly paired list, has turned away more grape-juice salesmen than she’s talked to. Working closely with chef/owner Sean Kelly, Lawler keeps on board only those bottles that will blend elegantly with the ever-changing roster of plates coming out of Kelly’s kitchen. Worried about not finding something drinkable? Don’t be. The selections are well-chosen and interesting — and if you have any questions at all, the waitstaff at Clair de Lune is always ready with a smart suggestion. In a pinch, they have bomber bottles of Chimay Red or Grand Reserve on hand — and those go with everything.

With a list including thousands upon thousands of bottles covering just about every grape, vintage, brand and growing area available, it’s hard to imagine anyone not finding something drinkable on Adega’s racks. But you know what they say: Size isn’t everything. In Adega’s case, we’re talking quality as well as quantity in the green-tinted aboveground wine room (called an adega in Portugal), originally filled by master sommelier Ken Fredrickson and now ably tended by Chris Farnem. Whether you’re looking for a rough and ready Burgundy, a boutique South African Cab or a pricey bottle of Château Lafitte-Rothschild to celebrate with, odds are good that Adega will have what you’re looking for.

No one in Denver has a wine palate quite like Pete Marczyk who, along with wife Barbara MacFarlane, has made Marczyk Fine Foods and Wine one of the great additions to the Denver landscape last year. Humbly claiming to be a wine neophyte himself, Marczyk personally samples every vintage that comes into his store, bravely tasting all the good, the bad and the ugly that the wine world has to offer before deciding whether it deserves a space on his shelves. This means that you could walk into Marczyk’s wine shop blindfolded, pick a bottle at random and still be confident that you’ll walk out with something good. What’s more, Marczyk has arranged his shelves not by grape or growing region, but by what food each bottle would go best with, so you never have to worry again about embarrassing yourself by bringing a Zinfandel to a wienie roast or a spicy Shiraz to a tea party. And even if, after all of this, you still can’t decide? Just ask: The only thing Marczyk likes more than tasting his stock is talking about it, and all humility aside, this guy really knows his grapes.

There was a time in Rockwellian America when things were simpler, when reality TV was The Ed Sullivan Show, when the bad guys were all Russians and screenwriters, and when the soda fountain was the focal point of wholesome teenage activity. Those halcyon days may have gone the way of Ovaltine, hula hoops and the living wage, but you can still find a genuine soda fountain in downtown Lyons. The Lyons Soda Fountain and Bakery has been in operation since 1921, and current owner David Chilson keeps tradition alive by offering old-time malts, shakes and fountain drinks, as well as more contemporary espresso drinks. The food (sandwiches, pizza and pies) is fine, but it’s the nostalgia of the soda fountain drinks that makes this a required stop on the road to Estes Park.

Some would say Only in Boulder, but we say About time! The old populist/hippie notion of mixing business and community is back at the Boulder Co-op Market, where members, who pitch in by paying an annual fee (after ten years, you’re eligible for a lifetime membership), run the show and have a say in both how the store is run and what items it stocks. The emphasis, though, is on bulk foods and locally produced items, from fresh produce to soaps; the co-op also features a vegetarian cafe and serves as community hub by offering yoga classes, film nights, poetry readings and other activities.

Yes, reading is an important and entertaining activity. The written word helps to remind us of the complexity of our fascinating world, even when we’re bored out of our gourds. And yet there are many instances when reading is inappropriate. You should never read while driving, swimming, lovemaking or (dare we suggest it) standing in the checkout line of a grocery store. Sure, we’ve all tried it, what with all those magazines teasing with their headlines and maddening lack of numbered pages — and then comes the frantic flipping to find the desired story (about the paralyzed office worker who commutes by hand dolly), the frustrated failure and the hurried stuffing into the wrong slot of the display rack because suddenly it’s time to check out. Save yourself the torture by shopping at Avanza, where checkout-line boredom is chased away with America’s favorite pastime: TV! Depending on your preferred shopping hours, you can enjoy fine broadcast programs that range from deportes (weekends), to Sala de Parejas (weekdays), to Primer Impacto (weekday evenings). Save the People to read at work.

Easily overlooked in the Russian Plaza strip mall, the oddly named, unassuming California Bakery does things with pastry that should probably be illegal, they’re so good. Operating primarily for the benefit of the local ex-pat Eastern European community, this bakery stocks many baked goods you’ll never see at your run-of-the-mill neighborhood spot. Fortunately, since all of the wares are right there staring you in the face, all you have to do is pick something that looks good and point. Among the don’t-miss items: little horns filled with light-as-air pastry cream, dark and powerful tiramisu, flaky, layered squares of dough and sweet sabayon, and the absolute best piroshkis we’ve ever tasted.

Most people are a little hesitant when they walk into Paradise Bakery for the first time. It’s missing all those little things that people identify with the retail buying experience: bakery cases, counters, a cash register. All there is on the other side of the door is a working bakery full of bread ovens, stainless work tables and Michael Bortz — head baker and one of the most knowledgeable bread guys we’ve ever met. But trust us: You can walk right in. Bortz wants you to. He wants you to get flour on your shoes and the smell of yeast in your nose. He wants you to have a personal connection with your bread, to see where it comes from and who’s making it. Whether you’re just after a couple of his powerfully fragrant rosemary boules, a dozen crusty baguettes or one of Bortz’s specialty breads (like his decadent, dark and sinfully sweet sour cherry and chocolate loaves), Paradise has real flour power.

Lawrence Pierre recently sold his namesake supper club, but his packaged fish treatment means you can continue to savor his magic not only at Pierre’s Supper Club (which is continuing business as usual), but at your own supper table, too. Pierre’s secret blend — available at Pierre’s and select grocers — is lean on the cornmeal and heavy on the red pepper, spices and flavor, creating a piquant, savory coat for any slab of swimmer.

No, not that kind. Oliver’s Meat Market is probably not the place to go when you’re looking for love, but it’s the spot we think of when meat is on our minds. The same family has been running this same market at this same location since 1939, and in all those years, they’ve only gotten better at doing what they do. High-quality meats, dry-aged in-house, are Oliver’s specialty, but the shop also offers an array of deli selections and a small dry-goods market for the discriminating gourmet. Don’t see what you want? The counter is backed by real butchers who know their business and will cut to order depending on your needs. If you’re after something weird like veal cheeks, trotters or oxtails, Oliver’s should always be your first stop. It’s like having a friend in the meat business.

You’ve got mail! And what mail it is — teeth-tearing, sodium-sucking, protein-packing jerky. Sign up with Rick Spencer’s Steamboat Springs-based Jerky of the Month Club and you’ll get a four-ounce portion of a specialty jerky every month for six months, all for the low, low price of $58. Or try a sampler pack for just $28. (Okay, there’s some shipping and handling involved in both.) Don’t calculate the cost per pound; instead, imagine your delight at finding such delectable snack items in your mailbox each month. Where’s the beef? As close as your next postal delivery.

If it isn’t K, it’s not okay: That’s the rule in Denver’s kosher households. And that’s not always an easy rule to comply with, as anyone up against it can tell you. (You know the ones — those poor folks often spotted studying labels at the grocery store for the oft-hidden symbol announcing that the food is, indeed, prepared according to ancient Jewish law.) But at Lynn Zwerdlinger’s Kosher Konfections, tucked away in a southeast Denver strip mall, you never have to look before you leap for the holiday goodies: All of the candies are certified locally by Scroll K — Vaad Hakashrus. And, oy, has she got candy: tried-and-true chocolates from Bartons and Barricini, lollipops, mints, nuts and every other sort of sweet imaginable, including a few errant cookies. The place is a veritable nosh pit!

Every Middle Eastern market has Dugh (a delicious yogurt/club soda drink), cardamom tea, saffron and the latest groovy Middle Eastern CDs. How Arash Groceries breaks out of the admittedly limited pack is by offering a fine selection of both common and exotic fruits and vegetables. Depending on the season, fresh figs, persimmons and pomegranates are available, and for more dangerous desserts, the market also stocks a good selection of Middle Eastern pastries and other confections flown in from California.

Feeling lucky? Then head down to Lucky Market, where you’ll find all those weird, freaky, Jesus-why-would-anyone-eat-that? ingredients you’ve been looking for. Need some pork pâté? Jackfruit chips? Frozen squid tentacles? Lucky’s got you covered. It boasts a wall stacked high and wide with dishes, bowls and all manner of Asian kitchen accessories; it has so much freezer space, you may need a team

of Sherpas to get you through; and it stocks such basics as Asian-export condensed milk, Cafe du Monde chicory coffee, Jahe Kopi ginger coffee and more canned goods than the most discriminating fan of Indochinese cooking could ever use.

Just over a year ago, Sharmilla Lalchandani and her family — son Ravi and daughter Laxmi — took over a failed convenience store at the east end of the Boulder Mall, then set out to transform the place. Sure, you can still buy cigs and a carton of milk here. But now the spicy aroma of chai hangs in the air, and there are glass cases holding food such as curries and savory Indian pastries, to be eaten on site or taken away. The store also carries a selection of ingredients and packaged items from around the world, including marmalade and digestive biscuits from England, olive oils from Italy and Greece, tamarind pulp, fish sauce and Indian spices. Fortunately, more often than not, a member of the Lalchandani family is around to help you figure out how to use them.

Forget the microwave burrito, the hurried Slim Jim, the ancient doughnut. When Lori’s Deli whips up a custom egg sandwich or a Reuben, you’ll vow never to go back to nasty road food again. Housed in a deli case at the back of a family gas station that’s been going strong for more than eighty years, Lori’s stocks only Boar’s Head meats and makes every sandwich to order. You’ll think you died and went to the Bronx — until the friendly Western ambience convinces you otherwise.

Tom Gillan’s corn is fresh enough to eat uncooked, and here’s why: “I literally wait at the end of the row while they’re picking, load it into my truck and rush home,” he says. Since it’s hard to imagine a summer barbecue without fresh corn, and since it’s harder still to find any such thing at the supermarket, Gillan’s produce stand is a lifesaver. Located in front of his excellent plant nursery — known for plants that can survive anything the Colorado climate throws at them — the stand changes its offerings according to the ripeness of local fruit and vegetables, then sells them at less than farmers’ market prices. Ah, summer!

Since farmers’ markets now abound throughout the metro area, ambience can be as big a draw as the more standard offerings — and it’s definitely the atmosphere that sets Pearl Street’s market apart from all the rest. This is a small, friendly affair with a strong community vibe, where folks can nosh on pastries and gossip, parents can push strollers, and helmeted kids can try out their training wheels without fear of being run over. And like any outdoor market worth its peaches and tomatoes, the South Pearl Farmers’ Market features dewy, farm-fresh produce and the kind of gorgeous cut flowers you usually find only in a backyard cutting garden, as well as homemade condiments, pastas and ice cream. Also in the community spirit, this year’s market, which debuts in mid-June, will increase its emphasis on fundraising for nonprofits by including informational booths. But even without the feel-good causes, the market is a lovely place to spend a Sunday morning among friends and neighbors.

It’s hard to explain the basic human urge to pursue microwave cheese puffs, cold cuts and toaster waffles, but admit it: You love the stuff. Since Costco sells items like these in mega-quantities, it hires food demonstrators to hand out tastes, and you can count on snacking on at least ten selections any afternoon of the week at this giant discount warehouse. Whether stuffing your face with such freebies will stop you from making impulse purchases — a new set of tires, say, or a big-screen TV — we can’t say. But at least you won’t be light-headed from hunger when you throw down your credit card.

Think there’s no such thing as a free lunch? Think again. On weekends at Whole Foods Market in Cherry Creek, you can watch groceryland’s most eclectic, entertaining crowd while snacking on enough bite-sized organic niblets to fill you up — and then some. On any given Saturday, you’ll find trays of sliced fruit, cups of deli delights or chunks of kalamata-laced bread, and to top it off, you’re always free to sample from that Mediterranean Mecca known to shoppers as the Olive Bar. The only downside to this lovely Saturday-morning excursion is that the parking can get a trifle hairy, but at least you can build up your appetite while waiting for that gas-guzzling Mercedes SUV to back out.

Four Mile House started life as a barn, back in the days when what’s now Glendale was filled with dairy farms dedicated to quenching Denver’s thirst for more wholesome beverages. But by the time Jack Casey bought the place in the ’60s, it was already a venerable tavern. Four decades later, it continues to provide its fans with many happy hours. The happiest, though, run from 4 to 7 p.m. on Friday, when the appetizers are absolutely free. So, of course, is the unbeatable camaraderie.

For decades, the Mexico City Lounge has been famous for its steak tacos, with lunchtime crowds lining up for plates slicked with oil and topped with three flour tortillas stuffed with tender chunks of steak, melted cheese and slices of avocado. Now all this greasy goodness is also available at Mexico City’s new happy hour, which runs from 5 to 7 p.m. Wednesday through Friday. The great deal on tacos (any two — chicken, beef or those legendary steak — for $3.50) and assorted beer bargains aren’t the only thing special about these hours: Mexico City used to lock up tight after lunch until the next morning.

Tapas menus have the potential to empty your wallet in record time. A taste of this, a bite of that, and before you know it, you’ve not only spent your parking-garage fees, but you’ve pretty much guaranteed that your kid won’t be going anywhere pricier than community college. That’s not the case with Triana’s happy hour, though, where seven days a week, you can drink yourself silly on $1 pints of sangría and sample a large range of small plates for a pittance — most of them running $2 or $3 each.

Everybody knows that Indian (and around these parts, Indian/Nepalese) restaurants have the best lunch buffets, and Namaste’s is exceptionally good. A half-dozen savory main dishes are well complemented by warm naan, cool salads and robust soups. Slightly sweeter than most Indian fare, Namaste’s take on classic curries and tandoori meats is guaranteed to please, with little risk of indigestion. The $6.95 buffet is worthy of its price tag — and definitely worth your time.

When you’re in the mood for a sit-down dinner someplace without an indoor slide but don’t want the other patrons clucking over your preschool dining companions, try Cafe Jordano. No matter if you’re six, sixteen or sixty, everyone is joyfully welcomed at this surprisingly comfortable strip-mall Italian joint, with its warm yellow walls and service staff ready for anything. Far from looking down their noses when Junior rubs spaghetti carbonara in his hair, the waitresses just smile knowingly and reach for the kitchen towels. We’ve seen the staff do everything short of singing Broadway show tunes to quiet a crying toddler while the adults at the table were busy stuffing themselves full of Jordano’s fat, homemade, cheese-stuffed manicotti and washing it down with red wine at one of the few places in town still serving sweet Italian Lambrusco by the glass.

Two words for you, pal: jazz club. Such spots are custom-made for big breakup scenes, and Dazzle — with its long, deep booths, chic crowds and high-volume background noise — is perfect for giving the ex-love of your life the big “goodbye and good luck” speech. Walk right in, order a couple stiff shots of liquid courage and get on with it. Don’t be a shlub. Don’t give her any of that “It’s not you, it’s me” crap. Just tell her: “It’s you and we’re done,” take the obligatory drink in the face with some élan, then sit back and try to look crestfallen and vulnerable while she stomps out the door and out of your life. With a live band on the stage, no one will have heard you tell her why it was over, and if you’re lucky, Ms. (or Mr.) Right Now will feel so sorry for you sitting there alone that he or she will help nurse your wounds with a few top-shelf martinis. If things go well, you can retire to the comfortable (and slightly quieter) lounge for a late-night nibble.

Cuba Cuba has the power to move you. No matter how gray the day or unpromising the night, the big Havana vibe at this little tropical oasis will transport you to more laid-back latitudes the minute you step through the door. The food is fun — from Cuban picadillo and rum-painted snapper to plantain chips and cigar selections with dessert — and the shoulder-to-shoulder weekend crowds of smart Denver diners out for a sophisticated mini-spring break give the whole place a humid, sexy edge that’s sure to break anyone’s ice. And hey, if the lively crowds, spicy Latin music and expertly casual floor staff orchestrated by Kristy Socarras Bigelow don’t loosen things up, have the bar mix up a few of its killer mojitos. After a couple of these, luck will have nothing to do with getting lucky.

For both the best- and worst-case blind-date scenarios, the Dark Horse Tavern has you covered. If things look bad, there are plenty of visual distractions and easy conversation starters to lessen the awkwardness. If things look good, you can show off your prowess at pinball and pool. And if things look really good, there are lots of dark nooks for privacy. Throw in cheap, reliably good eats, and you can see why this Dark Horse is a winner.

The upstairs seating at the elegant 1515 has two very important benefits when you’re trying to make like a big shot. First, it feels exclusive: You and your date stroll right past all the lonelyhearts and single drinkers at the downstairs bar as you’re led up the staircase and into the comfortable, classically styled second-floor dining room. Second, there’s Gene Tang — owner, manager and floorman extraordinaire, who spends all night, every night swanning between the tables, pressing the flesh, pouring the wine and making everyone feel like the most important person in the house. The wine list (assembled by Tang, who’s also a trained sommelier) is ambitious but easy to navigate, and the seasonal menus are designed by executive chef Olav Peterson with an eye toward the casual fine-dining palate. With dinner at 1515 running so smoothly, you have nothing to worry about but the goodnight kiss.

Situated on a quaint stretch of Littleton’s old Main Street, Opus is far from the trendy fuss, maddening crowds and catch-it-if-you-can parking headaches of downtown. Chef Michael Long’s smart, inventive and ever-changing menu is filled with high-class treats, updated lowbrow eats and lots of Colorado fare, so both courageous eaters and those somewhat more picky are sure to find something to their liking. Rather than dragging your parents along to the neighborhood brewpub where everyone knows you as Booger, why not show some class, make the reservations and impress them with your taste and refinement? Trust us: After dinner at Opus, they might even forget about that “lamp” they saw your pothead roommate hiding when they dropped by your apartment last week.

Top toque Kevin Taylor may be down to just three restaurants, but his namesake in the Hotel Teatro remains a powerhouse. When you’re out to overwhelm a client, Restaurant Kevin Taylor will do the job. From the refined, restrained setting to the elegant, attentive service to a menu filled with top-quality ingredients in spectacular combinations, this restaurant is dressed to impress.

Sports bars come and sports bars go, but the Denver ChopHouse remains the hands-down favorite for professional athletes’ post-game

dining and drinking, the place to celebrate big wins or drown their sorrows. Of course, booze and athletes (and their groupies) can be a volatile combination. More than one tipsy Avs player has gotten himself in trouble at the bar, and Broncos players commiserating over lost games have been spotted crying in their beer. One starter, gathered with a group of players following a big loss, pointed to a vat filled with the ChopHouse’s own microbrewed beer and uttered these immortal words: “See that big tank? That’s exactly where I’m headed.”

Every Monday night after Denver City Council adjourns, you can see your city government at work at the Cherokee, a longtime hangout in the Golden Triangle (it even predates the neighborhood’s nickname). Councilmembers, their staff and assorted lobbyists head for the bar or order late-night suppers, sulking after a losing vote or offering up a victory toast as deals are made or unmade, coalitions cemented or taken apart. Politics rules at lunchtime, as well, when the place is filled with city officials and bureaucrats. If you want the inside story from inside City Hall, grab a stool and get an earful.

The venerable Denver Press Club — one of the few journalism organizations in the country with its own building — has been lubricating the lips of Denver’s ink-stained wretches since 1905 and received a much-needed makeover last fall. But while the new bar (complete with martini glasses featuring the likeness of late Rocky Mountain News columnist Gene Amole), restored fireplace and updated dining room are lovely, they haven’t changed the antics of the press club’s patrons one iota. Notorious hacks and flacks alike gather to swap stories, trade lies and occasionally take a swing at each other. If only the publications they put out were as lively!

The Palm, the Denver link in a chain of classic steakhouses, is ground zero for watching the city’s legal establishment (those members who don’t mind being watched, at least). Attorneys from the city’s top firms hold down reserved tables, where they entertain clients and keep tabs on their rivals. Seeing a legal eagle in an Armani suit make the rounds at the Palm is both fascinating and horrifying — but always entertaining. Extra points to the Palm for good food, a well-stocked bar, and wall-hung sketches of Palm regulars, which give this place something lawyers aren’t always known for: a sense of humor.

Appropriate, isn’t it, that the best dive in town is a subterranean spot? When you walk down the stairs into Rodney’s, you know you’re really going somewhere. This place is a landmark, the sort of joint that Charles Bukowski was talking about every time he opened his mouth. Rodney Utz, who opened his namesake spot over twenty years ago, makes sure the lights are dim, the drinks are strong, the steaks are cheap, and all those folks settled in around the rectangular bar are treated well. Although Rodney’s may not be the place to bring a date, it’s the perfect spot for forgetting how long it’s been since you’ve had one. If you want to spend a little time with the beautiful, the bungled and the botched, look no further.

Wolfe’s Barbeque, a jewel-box-sized restaurant on Colfax, feels like a Southern lunch place. But head cook and bottle washer Louis Wolfe is a Kansan by birth and a Denverite by choice. So much so that his walls are lined with collectible postcards of area buildings that date back to the 1900s — and he can tell the story of each one. The Section 8 housing at Colfax and Grant used to be the Grand Argonaut Hotel, for example, and Temple Emmanuel was stunning in its early glory. As Wolfe gives his colorful and entertaining history lesson — served up with a slice of great pecan pie — you can stick your head out the door and still see the remains of what he’s describing.

There’s no better way to check the pulse of a town than to sit for a while in one of its diners. You hear the news, trade a little gossip and see how people from all walks of life come together when — and where — status is irrelevant. Taking a seat at the Denver Diner’s long counter is a democratizing experience; you never know who might be on the next stool. Construction workers and councilmembers, bums and bus drivers: All men (and women) are created equal here. They all receive the same polite but hurried service and the same solid grub from a short-order kitchen that makes everything hot, fast and greasy, just the way it should be. The coffee is strong and plentiful; the chicken-fried steak is crisp, salty and veiled in wonderful, artery-clogging white country gravy; and the breakfast burrito smothered in green chile meal is enough for two. Whether you’re dropping in for a quick cuppa joe with the morning paper, a big plate of fries to help you sober up on a Saturday night, or a discussion of the liberal Zionist media conspiracy with a total stranger, there’s always room for you at the Denver Diner.

A three-hour liquid lunch? Why not? Anyone who’s anyone has done some time on this pine, so just belly up to the bar and start working on it. CityGrille is the place to go when you want to see exactly how your local legislator or councilman behaves when there’s not a TV camera being poked in his face. It’s the place where smart lobbyists go to stake out their prey and where smart reporters hang out to try and catch a little of the hush-hush action going on in the booths along the walls. Whether you’re stopping in for a solid burger, some of the gringo green chile or just to watch the wheels of city government getting well-lubed, you’re certain to be in good company at City Grille.

Someone should do a business-school thesis on how many big decisions have been made and how many million-dollar deals closed in the casual, funky Racines and its younger LoDo sibling, Dixons. The number is probably pretty high. For twenty years now, Racines has attracted movers and shakers, lawyers and lobbyists, artists and neighbors — and while at first glance it might not seem like the sort of place where futures are being negotiated, all you have to do is look a little closer at the cell phones, fancy suits and expensive gold watches flashing around the pastel-colored dining room to realize that this neighborhood joint is the real deal. The power brokers at Dixons are a little more obvious, but the deal is every bit as real.

Breakfast is supposed to be the most important meal of the day — and given the size of the breakfasts at Kathy and Bill’s Diner, it could be the only meal of the day. If you want to get the most for your money in our sour economy, head over to this genuinely friendly eatery, where that buck — and your waistline — will stretch like a bungee cord. The kitchen cooks up six breakfasts for just $3.49 and doesn’t skimp on them, either: they include three — count ’em, three — eggs with meat, potatoes and toast; monstrous pancakes; and the Havana muffin (covered with ham, cheese and eggs, and big enough to eclipse the sun). Kathy and Bill will satisfy every hunger pain — and they’ll do it with a smile.

For those with a serious case of insomnia, Pete’s Kitchen is like the land of the midnight sun. No matter what the clock says, on the weekends you can always rise and shine with breakfast at Pete’s, a late-night oasis serving a unique blend of Greek, gringo-Mexican and American dive cuisine — griddle-fried eggs, homemade pies, excellent gyros cut from a giant meat stick rotating in front of the grill — to drunks, punks, suits and fruits in equal measure. The poised and patient waitstaff has probably seen more of Denver’s late-night underbelly than the cops and cabbies who number among Pete’s regulars.

It’s late, and you’re in the mood for a little something, but Taco Bell just isn’t going to do the trick. Instead, head to Adega, where a chic but surprisingly comfortable wine bar borders the most upscale dining room in town. Although that dining room stops serving after 10 p.m., a short menu featuring the best collection of small plates in town — plus dozens of vintages available by the glass to wash them down – is available at the bar until midnight every night but Sunday. Lobster, shrimp and black truffles baked in phyllo, a high-class charcuterie sampler, duck confit with pears, mussels provençal, almond-stuffed dates wrapped in bacon….You’ll never need to make another run for the border. Because for the young and still restless, Adega is your final destination.

Chef Matt Selby and his crew of fire worshipers at Vesta Dipping Grill know how to turn up the heat on a Saturday night. Whether you’re out with the gang bar-hopping through LoDo or looking for a late-night rendezvous with that significant someone, the kitchen’s sophisticated, globe-trotting menu is sure to impress. The decor is stunning — super-cool twisting lamps that hang over deep, horseshoe-shaped booths, and enough wrought iron to come perilously close to ludicrously chic — but what truly sets Vesta apart as an after-hours destination is the food. Anyone can attempt to create a hip atmosphere, but they’d be crazy to try to pull off a full menu (available until 11 p.m. on the weekends) in which skewers of beef tenderloin as soft as butter share space with brown-sugar-smoked duck breast, potato samosas and mango-braised pork ribs. Combine these dishes with more than two dozen dipping sauces, and even the most discriminating nightcrawling foodies are sure to find something worth staying up for.

Roosters Bar & Patio is fun central in suburbia, full of hot chicks serving cheap beer and plenty of strutting, bantamweight lotharios. In winter, Cher is the karaoke model of choice; in the summer, the action moves to the outdoor volleyball pit, which is always in use — as are the patio porta-potties. Get down with your bad self, Broomfield!

It’s spring, and in Denver, that means it’s time to enjoy the crisp, fresh air of an outdoor patio and lots of crisp, fresh beverages. So head straight for My Brother’s Bar, but don’t be lulled into sitting in the dark, cozy confines of one of the bar’s dining nooks. Continue on to the patio out back — the perfect secluded enclave for everything from first dates to family dinners to hanging out with friends. With moonlight and mountains peeking through the trees — and the I-25 traffic gentled to the level of the surf — an evening here is an ideal urban experience.

While some people are content to simply feed their imaginations — or cater to their animal passions — on Colfax Avenue, thanks to Solera, it’s also possible to satisfy more elevated appetites. You can thank Christian “Goose” Sorensen for that: He’s a talented chef who’s raised the level of cooking in this kitchen to match the cozy yet dignified surroundings. Expect good fish dishes, excellent mashed potatoes and an overall eye to quality.

Hookers and junkies and bums, oh my! One night at Tom’s is better than a whole week’s worth of Cops on cable. True connoisseurs of dive culture will appreciate both the window seats looking onto one of the funkiest street corners in Denver — the intersection of Colfax and Pearl — and the sort of nightlife that creeps, crawls, slinks and stumbles right inside and sits down next to you. While the scenery is fantastic (in every sense of the word), the menu offers all your standard diner fare, with the classics done better than most. But even a cup of coffee will cover the price of admission. So grab a seat: No matter what time you wander into Tom’s, the show is about to begin.

It could be the solid, never-gonna-wash-it-out blue of the collars; the funky, unnatural orange-colored trim around the windows; the acetylene glow of headlights through the front windows at 3 a.m.; or just the way those two long-haul drivers keep looking over at you. But at Breakfast King, there are definitely moments when, if Quentin Tarantino’s cameras aren’t already rolling, someone had better yell “Action!” Quick. Whether you’re there with a whole crew planning your next big bank job or alone after leaving the woman what done you wrong, Breakfast King has atmosphere oozing from every cracked-vinyl seat and style to spare. Plus, the grub is exactly what you’d expect from a place just off the interstate: served hot, fast, and in trucker-friendly portions.

There are three qualifications for a true hole-in-the-wall: It has to be tiny, locals-only, and do something so surprisingly well that it earns the lifelong loyalty of its regulars. The 20th Street Cafe hits the mark on all three. First, it’s definitely small — a dozen or so tables and a six-seat counter in a luncheonette-style storefront. Second, no tourists are going to stumble across it while looking for a Denny’s, and if they do, odds are they’ll just turn up their noses and keep on walking. And third, the food — from the chicken-fried steak to the meatloaf and mashed potatoes — is solid, hearty American diner fare so stick-to-your-ribs good that after one taste, you’ll never look at a California veggie plate the same way.

A true joint has a little funk, a little style hidden underneath whatever else it is. And while on most nights of the week the Skylark Lounge is simply a great bar — and a neighborhood hangout for nearly sixty years — on those evenings when they pull back the tables and wire up the mikes for some live rockabilly, the ‘Lark really takes wing. Sure, its age is beginning to show in the scuffed bar top and the patched vinyl booths, but come the weekends, when the crowds are packed leather-on-leather tight, the Skylark proves that age really is nothing but a state of mind.

The last thing Denver needed was another French-Asian fusion restaurant. But the folks behind Opal opened it anyway. The last thing Denver needed was another up-market sushi bar. But they opened it anyway. Everything about Opal — from the original triumvirate of owners and the over-staffed (and over-starred) kitchen, to the space and the concept — seemed like a bad idea at the time, but they opened it anyway, and now, after six months of honing its concept and culling its staff, Opal has fought its way to the top of the heap. With the kitchen firmly in the hands of executive chef Duy Pham — whose attention to every detail has lifted his fusion cuisine to a level beyond all but its most brilliant exemplars — and day-to-day business overseen by veteran operator Jay Chadrom, Opal has emerged as the restaurant we always hoped it would be: a brilliant, bold house unafraid of pushing the boundaries of Denver’s changing tastes. The space is understated and soft, forgoing the austerity of Asian design for a more flowing, supper-club feel. The traditional sushi menu is beautiful in its pursuit of the classical ideals of balance, freshness and harmony; the full menu maintains a sense of humor and adventure without compromising the natural tastes of the best ingredients available, and the staff seems honestly in love with everything coming from the kitchen. It took some time to get it right, but the results speak for themselves: Opal stands as a shining example of where we hope Denver’s fine-dining scene is headed in the years to come.

Why is Sean Kelly Denver’s best celebrity chef? For doing what a chef was born to do: cook. After closing Aubergine and the Biscuit, Kelly could have done just about anything. By his own admission, there were people lining up, just waiting to throw bags of money at him. But for reasons of his own, rather than taking the devil’s bargain and becoming one of those pressed-chef-coat clipboard-checkers and wrangling for a spot on the Food Network, he turned back to his roots and back to doing what he loved best. So now when you come to Clair de Lune, it’s Sean Kelly who’s cooking your dinner — not Sean Kelly’s sous chef or Sean Kelly’s line cooks. For that, this year’s Gold Chef Knife goes to you, Sean.

No need goes unmet nor any desire unfulfilled at Mizuna, where the service on the floor runs as smoothly and professionally as the business behind the line. From the minute you step through the doors of this comfortable French-Mediterranean eatery, you are folded into a complete dining experience that includes perfectly timed courses and flawless table-side service rendered by a staff that is well educated in the nuts and bolts of every menu item, and always seems delighted to see you, whether you’re the first table or the last. For this, Mizuna’s more-than-capable front-of-the-house crew is awarded the Gilded Corkscrew Medal of Valor.

Seth Black, Sean Kelly’s right-hand man and, in fact, the only other pair of hands in Clair de Lune’s kitchen, is the hardest-working garde-manger in show business. All the salads, all the cold apps — all those antipasti plates and plateaus de fruits de mer that come banging out of Clair’s kitchen — come straight from Seth to you. For duking it out solo in claustrophobic confines, with a menu that changes daily and a dining room that’s fully committed most nights of the week, Seth is awarded the Silver China Cap Award of Excellence.

Fried cheese, fried onion rings, fried pickles. No matter how good something is in its natural state, it can only be improved by a dunk in the fryer. And it’s for his unfailing dedication to this simple fact that we award Dick Lande — a 25-year veteran of the kitchen at 2052 Stout Street, now home of the Stout Pub — the Gold Fryolator Lifetime Achievement Award.

The Iron Skillet Medal of Honor goes to chef Michael Long’s sauté crew at Opus, for conspicuous and sustained gallantry in the face of a chef who’s been known to change his menu by phone from the golf course just a few hours before the start of service. Granted, Long’s particular brand of ironic culinary artistry is a welcome addition to Denver’s high-end restaurant scene, and we’re supposed to forgive the quirks that come along with such creativity. But, Chef, we think you owe the fellas a drink.

Chef Matt Selby’s grillardins at Vesta Dipping Grill win the Fire-Eater Award. Not only do they deserve it just for hanging tough in a restaurant where damn near every menu item has to come (at least in part) off their station, but they also put out some of the best, most butter-tender and flawlessly temped tenderloin we’ve had anywhere.

Cheese whiz Jeremy Myers takes home the Cheesehead Trophy this year, for capably arranging the globe-trotting cheese board at Cook’s Fresh Market, and for having more milk-related trivia stored up in the old melon than any other human being should ever need in ten lifetimes.

Artisan cheeses from around the world come together beautifully on the cheese plate at Vesta Dipping Grill. Far from the plain, cutting-block cheese presentations of yesterday, this new-age version of the old standby is pumped up by the inclusion of fresh strawberries, raspberries, figs, candied walnuts, and salad greens laced with aged balsamic vinegar. And knowing full well that a properly arranged cheese course can do double-duty either as a jumpstart for the tastebuds or a gentle cap to a great meal, Vesta offers its plate both as an appetizer and as a dessert.

Who says there’s no place left for the classics? At the Fourth Story, pastry chef Syd Berkowitz blows us away with his towering, spongy, cream-cheese-frosted and achingly sweet carrot cake with coconut-rice-pudding ice cream and warm bourbon-raisin sauce. The first time we tried it, it made us want to get up, make new reservations and eat a second meal just so that we could taste its goodness all over again.

Triana warmed our hearts — and stomachs — with its molten chocolate cupcake. It’s just what it sounds like: a spongy, dark-chocolate cupcake, dusted with confectioners’ sugar, with milky chocolate lava inside that oozes out to mix with sweet macerated strawberries, vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of thick caramel sauce. While it may take a while for your cupcake to reach the table (the menu suggests you order it before your entrees so that it will be ready when you’re done with dinner), it’s so good, so devilishly decadent, that we’ll never again look at the cellophane-wrapped Hostess variety with anything but pity.

There’s nothing that Clair de Lune doesn’t do well, but the one thing Sean Kelly’s place does better than anyone else in town is appetizers. Picture the plateau de fruits de mer — one of the few mainstays on a menu that changes according to the whims of the chef and the winds of commerce — with its spiced shrimp, half a lobster and immaculately fresh Littleneck clams and Malpeque oysters lying like knobby gems on a bed of ice. Or the antipasti misti — a wildflower sketched in food with bright-orange persimmon, powerful house-cured sardines, roasted red peppers, caper berries, black olives, tiny cubes of marinated chèvre, homemade bracciole and crisp-fried baby artichokes drizzled with basil aioli. Yes, Clair de Lune puts out some wonderful dinner plates. Yes, it does great desserts. But in his starters, Kelly is painting a picture. To every diner who sees one of these plates in front of him, he’s carefully explaining, in the best way he knows how, what that diner can expect from the rest of his meal: excellence, and nothing less.

It was a noble experiment, what Pat Perry tried to do with her Highland’s Garden Cafe: turn it into a mostly private dining facility, available for parties and, occasionally, dinners open to the public. But all the public could remember was how much they loved eating at Highland’s Garden — loved eating there, and hated having to remember when they could. Fortunately, Perry took pity on foodies and reopened the restaurant to everyone in the evening, as well as at Friday lunch. So now you never have to wait more than a few hours before you’re sitting down in an elegant Victorian-era dining room, or perhaps Highland’s exquisite garden patio, with one of Perry’s interesting, innovative dishes sitting before you. Welcome back.

Thomas Nesler told the neighborhood he was going to put a cool new bar/tapas restaurant/neighborhood hangout in a run-down space on 15th Street — in a building that was a firehouse back in 1879, then a grocery store, then a saloon for fifty years, most recently the Highland Bar — but no one envisioned how very cool his Forest Room 5 would be. The chic tavern is a fitting gateway to the newly hip Highland neighborhood, full of big TVs, artsy patrons and lots of attitude.

Single-handedly saving South Pearl from the yuppie invasion, Hanson’s Grill and Tavern offers a comfortable oasis amid all the SUVs and boob jobs. After its opening last summer (in the former home of the beloved Oak Alley Inn), this mellow neighborhood eatery quickly became a favorite of construction workers and corporate types, frat boys and professors on hiatus, drunken poets and families out for a night on the town at a place where they don’t have to show off their new nipple piercings just to get through the door. With its deep, snug booths and dark-wood tables, its rough brickwork and exposed pipes, Hanson’s has the feel of a perfect post-grad college bar — the kind of place you want to become a regular at in your twenties and still be a regular at twenty years later. The food is surprisingly good, too, with a fairly creative menu offering everything from simple pastas and burgers to herb-rubbed grilled salmon steaks, green-lip mussels and po’ boys, at prices even a po’ boy can handle.

Elvis used to send his private plane to Denver to pick up his favorite food: fried peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches. When it opened last year, the Pour House Pub, a great spot for beer guzzling and shooting pool, honored the King with its own peanut-butter-and-banana concoction. But you can’t stop progress. The Pour House recently replaced the brewski-soaking treat with an even greater homage to the ’70s: a grilled fluffernutter sandwich so gooey and sweet it’ll make your teeth squeak.

Don’t worry, folks: No animals were harmed in the making of your barbecue at WaterCourse Foods. While everyone probably expects the casual coifs and generalized ennui that pervade this funky collegiate hangout, what comes as a surprise are the big-ass helpings of honestly good food that’s good for you, too. WaterCourse has veggie stir-fries and a half-dozen breakfast offerings all involving scrambled tofu. The kitchen makes its own granola and slaps together one mean stack of buckwheat pancakes — and even though sunflower seeds abound and the dress code is BYOB (bring your own bandanna), WaterCourse can make even tempeh taste decadent. And that’s saying something.

Yes, there’s a place for deli favorites named after Hollywood stars and sandwiches stacked so high you’ve got to unhinge your jaw like a python just to take a bite — but this isn’t that place. Salvaggio’s depends on quality rather than gimmicks to keep people coming back, and its sandwich of red bells and mozz is a great example. For this sandwich, the kitchen takes slices of fresh milk mozzarella, layers them on a soft, chewy sandwich roll, adds strips of roasted red bell pepper — and that’s it. Ask the counterman to add a couple slices of tomato, some olive oil and a shake of salt and pepper, and you’ve got yourself one of the best sandwiches this side of Sardi’s.

Simone Parisi, a native of Florence, and his wife, Christine, a native of Boulder, always wanted to open an authentic pizzeria in Denver, and that’s exactly what they did a few years ago. But Parisi, a charming neighborhood spot in northwest Denver, is much more than a pizzeria: It’s also an Italian market and deli that cooks up great lunch specials. The offerings change daily and range from salmon salad to steak to numerous pasta dishes, all with a very authentic Italian accent.

There’s just one problem with Venice: So many people came to love this place so fiercely and so soon after it opened that it outgrew its modest, twenty-table location just days after opening. Since Venice has no lobby or bar, would-be diners had to gather in the parking lot and wait for a table to open up. And if they had to wait an hour? That was just fine. Once people tasted the authentic, high-class Italian cuisine being put out by Alessandro Carollo (who trained at the Grand Hotel in Florence and the Italian Culinary School in Venice) and his kitchen, they’d set up tents if they had to, waiting all night like Star Wars fans for Venice to open its doors. Such rabid loyalty was inspired not by one dish, but by whole menu: pasta fruiti di mare, beautiful pale-pink carpaccio drizzled with olive oil and buried under a mountain of parmesan Reggiano, even just a simple plate of spaghetti in an honest, slow-cooked sauce. No matter what you tried, you were hooked. This spring, the best will get even better when Venice opens a second spot. Until then, show up early or pack a sleeping bag.

Adega’s chef, Bryan Moscatello, doesn’t mess around. Caviar, rare wild mushrooms, Plugrá butter — nothing but the best of everything goes into what ultimately comes out of his kitchen. Adega featured a $300-per-plate dinner on New Year’s Eve, offers seasonal prix fixe truffle-tasting menus that run $170 a head before the wine, and is one of the very few houses in town that can keep $30 entrees on their menus and still put butts in the seats on a Tuesday night. How can Adega get away with this? Because Moscatello is that good, and his bright, French-infused, New American style is winning converts all over town. So mortgage the house, sell the car, use up Junior’s college fund — do whatever you must, but give Adega a try. It’s worth every penny.

Le Central is the sort of place everybody pictures when they’re daydreaming of a meal at the perfect French cafe. And Le Central doesn’t just look that way; it tastes that way, too. In Robert Tournier’s cozy bistro, the true heart of French cuisine is honored every night by a kitchen that knows exactly what it’s doing. Escargot en brioche, soup à l’oignon, steak frites, sandwiches des lardons — all the classics are here, at both lunch and dinner, and even though the menu changes every day, we’ve never had a bad meal inside these walls. From the house-baked breads and decadent desserts to the incredible mussels, everything tastes like it’s coming directly to your table from a Parisian street cafe. Since the kitchen is cooking straight from an un-garnished version of the French culinary rulebook, don’t expect to see a lot of lemongrass or frisee on the menu. There’s no fusion here, no influence other than a thousand years of gastronomic research. Le Central serves pure French food done extraordinarily well.

Bastilla is a Moroccan party food, but there’s no reason you can’t use it to celebrate everyday life. Made up of several layers of delicate, crisp phyllo dough filled with saffron-spiced chicken, onions, crushed almonds and herbs held together with an egg batter, bastilla is pan-cooked into a round pie and topped with powdered sugar and an ornamental design drawn in ground cinnamon. You may need to recalibrate your tastebuds to fully appreciate the true depth of these last flavors, which bring so much more to this dish than they would your average slice of French toast. Listed as an appetizer on Cafe Paprika’s menu but easily a meal in itself, this is a festive dish worthy of fanfare.

This University of Denver neighborhood hangout with its ramshackle patio doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it’s one of Denver’s most beloved restaurants. And what’s not to love? Jerusalem serves spicy hummus, fat little stuffed grape leaves, crisp and lemony falafel, tender shawarma sandwiches folded up in fluffy pitas that overflow with onions, tomatoes and parsley in tzatziki sauce, and a hundred other Middle Eastern delights. Everything is made fresh, never frozen (it says so right on the menu and tastes that way on the plate), and delivered to your table faster than you can say “baba ghanouj.” Considering the slightly claustrophobic closeness of the tightly packed tables and the almost constant crowds on the weekends, a meal at Jerusalem sometimes seems on the edge of dissolving into a chaotic nightmare — but it never does, thanks to the quick turns, grace and friendly service of the floor staff.

Although there’s a lot of great Indian food in town, Maruti Narayan’s takes top honors. From its humble beginnings as a coffee shop to its current incarnation as a sit-down lunch and dinner destination, Narayan’s has consistently impressed Denver’s Indian and Nepalese communities and wowed many adventurous local diners along the way. Never straying too far from classic preparations into territory that would be either too hot or inedibly bland, the kitchen puts out perfectly spiced potato and vegetable samosas, well-balanced curries and succulent meats. Like the baby bear’s porridge, everything at Narayan’s is just right. And the Nepalese additions to the menu — especially the fun-to-pronounce meat momo — are a tasty bonus.

Aside from the name, there’s no fusion at Thai Basil. The cuisine of Thailand is the primary focus at this groovy little Wash Park eatery, and while a scattering of Vietnamese and Chinese dishes can be found on the menu, it’s the curry — calibrated for the adventurous eater, with plenty of spice and heat to spare — that has us coming back again and again. Several varieties are available, with old favorites like panang and massamun sharing menu space with house specials. Thai Basil also offers an excellent grilled chicken satay served with a peanut sauce so thick it’s more for scooping than for dipping. And unless you’ve recently come off a hunger strike, one order of pad thai is usually enough to feed two — although it’s so good you’ll be tempted to polish it off yourself.

There are a lot of things to love about the T-Wa Inn. In season, it serves great soft-shell crabs, breaded and fried in butter. When the kitchen isn’t going nuts with the mint, it makes a great spring roll. And on a good night, the stuffed quail is worth killing for. But there’s one thing T-Wa does perfectly every time: Vietnamese coffee. Just stepping through the doors is like walking off a plane and straight into a foreign cafe, making T-Wa the ideal spot for a lunch-break vacation. Watching the thick, strong French coffee drip through the battered filter on top of your glass forces your mind and body to slow down, to adjust to a different tempo. Smelling the rich brew as it slowly fills the glass, mixing in the sweetened condensed milk, pouring the coffee over ice and listening to the cubes crack — it’s like a half-hour of Zen relaxation therapy all for a buck and a half. One taste and we’re already gone.

A tiny eatery housed in the same space as an Asian market in a Boulder strip mall, the Asian Deli is like a pearl — a spectacular find in dubious surroundings. Almost anything on the menu can be had for less than seven bucks, and there are nearly 150 items on that menu, including two dozen soups. But a bargain is only a bargain if quality is as high as prices are low, and from simple goi cuon (Vietnamese spring rolls) and plain bowls of pho to deep-fried pampano fish and stuffed quail, Asian Deli surpasses all expectations.

The ramshackle structure that is the entirety of Kim’s kitchen is about as out of place in Boulder as a fish in a tree, but it’s a welcome sight in the dining landscape. Even though open kitchens — those stages on which smiling cooks in starched whites glide around under dramatic point lighting, showing off for a room full of ravenous diners — are quite trendy these days, they don’t have anything on Kim’s. At Kim’s, there’s nowhere to hide and no need to, since nothing is more natural, nothing more authentic, than the cooking being done here. The curries are delicate and sweet. Vietnamese egg rolls — hot, right out of the oil, packed with chewy glass noodles and bits of sweet onion — are just as good as you’d find for lots more money in a sit-down establishment. And the typical Chinese sesame chicken on the menu is anything but typical, with a surprising, superior maple-y glaze.

While the humble DiDi Deli serves unexpectedly good chicken salad sandwiches and cheeseburgers, its Korean menu really steals the show. The Korean barbecue, for example, is nutty in flavor, tender and a little sweet. Bi bim bop — a useful yardstick for measuring Korean food — is a traditional dish of mild barbecued beef, fresh bean sprouts, lettuce, mushrooms, shredded cucumber, sliced zucchini, stewed greens and a fried egg, all kept separate but piled on a big mound of white rice, served with go choo jong, a thick, heavy, red-pepper paste you can use to your liking; DiDi’s version is impeccable, with an ideal blend of textures, tastes and temperatures.

Once upon a time (actually, just a couple of months ago), the space at 711 Grant Street was home to China Hill — a small Chinese restaurant known in the neighborhood for its reasonable prices and flaming pu-pu platters. But now, thanks to a little good luck and a lot of hard work by Frank Bonanno and Doug Fleischmann, what was once a humble Asian hangout has been transformed into the much-anticipated Luca D’Italia. In these funky, colorful digs, customers are treated to rustic Italian family fare served in multiple courses from antipasti straight through to dessert, with everything from the pasta to the salami to the mozzarella made in-house and from scratch. What is it they say is the secret to opening a successful restaurant? Location, location, location. Well, Luca has the best location the partners could hope for — not only is it in a great restaurant neighborhood and in a space that’s been proven successful, but it’s also so close to the partners’ first restaurant, the wonderful Mizuna, that they can almost be in two places at once.

Family-style pig’s-ear salad, sauces thickened with pork blood, whole baked tilapia swimming in dark, sweet soy reduction — if you want to eat real Chinese food, your best bet is the green menu at Ocean City. If you follow the kitchen crews from other Chinese restaurants come closing time, they’ll invariably head to the parking lot of Ocean City, an unassuming spot at the corner of South Federal and Mississippi. Here crabs and lobsters are pulled from the murky live tank by the door, cheap eats are offered in reduced-size portions after 9 p.m., and while neon-lit dry-erase boards list the day’s specials in Cantonese and Mandarin, have no fear: The green menu is translated into English for culinary risk-takers sick to death of the bland, candy-coated crap being passed off as Chinese food out in the ‘burbs.

Crack open one of the elegant, foil-wrapped cookies at Little Shanghai Cafe, and what message do you find? “Confucius say you’ll keep coming back to Little Shanghai, a Denver institution for almost three decades.” Oops, wrong cookie: Little Shanghai would never do anything that blatant. Instead, it keeps its customers coming back by serving quality Chinese dishes, both Americanized and authentic; offering daily specials and incredibly friendly service; and ending each meal with the town’s best fortune cookies — complete with a bonus slick of white-chocolate icing on the outside that gives added emphasis to the sweet message waiting inside.

Let’s face it: Americanized Chinese is, well, Americanized Chinese. But when it’s done well — and Imperial Chinese does it very well — it’s still good food. Imperial ups the ante by recommending wines to pair with the dishes, by not hiding its meats under thick batter and molasses-sweet candy glazes, and with dining-room decor that’s an elegant improvement over the usual stark strip-mall walls hung with giant backlit photos of what your kung pao might look like. You won’t take any big risks here — but you really didn’t expect any, did you?

The tiny, almost unbelievably cute Moongate Asian Grill restaurant offers a culinary exploration of Asian foods. Even a package tour of the Pacific wouldn’t let you try this many cuisines — and Moongate saves you not just the time and expense, but also the malaria shots required for such a venture. Where else can you have chicken satay and panang curry, Vietnamese egg rolls and rice bowls, tempura and udon, broccoli beef and kung pao chicken — all under one roof? More important, where will they all taste so good?

Why a Japanese country restaurant — not to mention Zen garden, museum and complete Japanese cultural center — is located in this industrial part of Denver is anybody’s guess. What Domo’s doing here, however, is very clear: Chef/owner Gaku Homma Domo’s serving the town’s best Japanese food — both authentic provincial fare and sushi — in a setting that’s a marked contrast to all the sushi-chic spots in town. Walk into those places, and you feel like you’re stepping into the pages of GQ; step into Domo, and you’re in another country altogether: the land of the rising sun. In the summer, you’re greeted by outdoor gardens where the train whistles sounds like nightingales; in the winter, glasses of sake steam from the tables. Arigato, Domo.

When the sheer drudgery of haggling through “low, no haggle prices,” test-driving and penny-pinching gets to you, take a break. The interior of Sushi Uokura is incongruously reminiscent of the most casual of beach houses, and the sushi is excellent, without an ounce of the precious pretention that’s befallen so many Denver favorites. And when you’ve finally hammered out an automotive deal, Sushi Uokura will be happy to pour you some premium sake. By that time, you’ll have earned it.

In Japan, a sushi chef will study for years just to learn the proper way to use a knife. He will apprentice himself to a master chef, work insanely long hours, learn everything he can about rolling fish up with rice — and then spend a lifetime getting better and better at it. For hundreds of years, the Japanese have labored to refine the art of sushi, and while there are dozens of places in and around Denver where you can experience the fruits of all this obsessive attention, there’s one that stands out: Opal. Executive chef Duy Pham is a freak for freshness and perfection, sometimes getting in three shipments a day from suppliers so that nothing ever sits, nothing ever ages. He keeps a close eye on his two sushi chefs — Herry Fnu and Mario Moscoso — and makes good and goddamn sure that every plate, every roll, every scrap of fish and grain of rice is exactly where it belongs. Since even something as simple as a cucumber roll takes on an element of the divine when this much attention is lavished upon it, imagine the heights to which something as delicate as sea urchin or complex as the Golden Dragon roll can be raised when subjected to such scrutiny. No matter what your passion, trust in the traditional rigor and exacting hands at Opal to do it better than anyone else.

“Running a successful fish house is like juggling ice cubes on a hot day,” says Jax chef/owner Dave Query in the preface to the new Jax Fish House Book of Fish. And while he might be right — doing fresh fish properly in a state that doesn’t even border a state that borders an ocean — can be rough, Query and co-author Jill Zeh Richter give away a lot of the house secrets in this comprehensive guide to all things tasty and aquatic. In addition to roughly a hundred recipes (which include saucing directions and plating hints for the Martha Stewart in all of us) culled from Jax menus past and present, the Book of Fish is also a treasure chest of food history, lore and terminology. For example, who knew that before industrialization of the area around the Caspian Sea, sturgeon used to live up to 200 years — and that now all caviar must be processed through the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species? Or that many species of grouper undergo sex-reversal in middle age, producing sperm when they’re young and eggs when they get older? For food nerds, this is all pretty cool stuff. And for those who don’t particularly care about the sexual peculiarities of their dinner and just want to know how to cook it, the recipes are simple, straightforward, brightly illustrated and accompanied by directions for making dozens of sides and sauces.

Sometimes simple is best. Sometimes getting right to the point is better than a whole lot of fancy-pants messing around. And when you’re talking about seafood, this is almost always the case. At Lola, Dave Query and Jamey Fader (both also associated with Jax, a longtime Best of Denver fave) have taken this wisdom to heart and come up with a coastal Mexico-themed restaurant where sea critters are the stars. Tender salmon mopped with a barbecue sauce that enhances but never overpowers the fresh, delicate flavor of the fish; rock shrimp ceviche kicked up with candy-sweet mango; a rustic Spanish estofada, a deeply but gently seasoned stew in which the huge shrimp and a half-lobster split like a biology illustration take center stage — these are just a few of the straightforward and rough-edged dishes that draw huge crowds to Lola. It’s nothing fancy — not artsy or overly gussied up, just good food that speaks for itself.

Although the obliging staffers are happy to serve you anything off Sullivan’s menu in the clubby, boxing-themed bar, there’s plenty to chew on in the bar menu alone. The cheeseburger, steak sandwich and blackened New York strip are particularly worthy of your attention: big, big portions of quality meat, cooked as requested, served with the ideal spud sides, and just the thing to munch as you listen to a jazz combo or dish the dirt with your companions.

Prepare to meat your maker. In some circles, a dinner at Morton’s of Chicago is considered a reasonable sacrifice to the gods, a way to thank them for your good luck. Drop a few hundred clams on a chunk crabmeat cocktail, on a perfectly cooked Porterhouse steak, on a potato bigger than your head, on a chocolate soufflé — you’re crediting your karma account at the same time you’re downing some very good food. Morton’s gives testimony to the power of a great steak, and the downtown restaurant is our favorite place to worship. From the cozy bar (get there early and enjoy a few gratis steak sandwiches) to the plush booths deep in the back of the intimate dining room, from the morgue cart-presentation of the menu offerings to the last sweep of the crumb catcher, a meal at Morton’s is the gift that keeps on giving.

Yo, Philadelphians know that most “Philly-style” steaks are crap. Gourmet steaks loaded with fancy veggies served on a toasted baguette may be what we’d like to think they’re eating in the City of Brotherly Love, but they’re not. They’re devouring crumbly grilled meat, American or Provolone cheese, and maybe some fried onions or peppers piled high on a soft, chewy roll. And at Taste of Philly, which is owned by some Pennsylvania transplants, they know that. Their uncomplicated steaks and cheese ring true with diners from the Delaware Valley. In Philly, a cheesesteak rivalry still rages between Pat’s and Geno’s. But in Denver, Taste of Philly takes the prize.

They’ve been listed as one of the “Top Ten Hidden Treasures in America.” They’ve gotten the nod on the Food Network’s Best Of. Folks from all over the world can see their place talked about in-flight on Delta Airlines. And now you can frequent the Philadelphia Filly — the little cheesesteak cart that could – not only at lunch, at 16th Street and Broadway, but also at night, at 16th and Market Street. For years, Philly natives Sally Rock and Dale Goin have been feeding an ever-growing legion of Denver faithful, slapping together authentic Philly cheesesteaks and serving up fresh soups for the lunchtime crowds; now Rock’s son, Willy Killhour, wraps up monster double-meat, double-cheese sandwiches for LoDo bar-hoppers. They may not have fancy silver, linen tablecloths or even tables, but if you’re looking for the real deal — for honest American street cuisine that’s hot, fast and filling enough to keep you going all afternoon (or well into the next morning) — Philadelphia Filly is tops.

El Tejado serves great, authentic Mexican fare — camarones cocktails, whole red snapper, carne asada tacos — as well as such north-of-the-border innovations as a thick, hot, gravy-like green chile. But somehow, everything tastes better at Sunday brunch and on Wednesday nights — when meals are accompanied by strolling mariachis, who walk between tables and take requests. How about “Strum Enchanted Evening”?

Hunter Thompson once said of Circus Circus in Las Vegas, “This is what the whole hep world would be doing on a Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war.” Well, that was then — and today, Casa Bonita is the place to see what would really become of the world if the radical fun police ever had their way. Sure, we all know the food is, er, questionable. But that can be said of a lot of places where there aren’t strolling mariachi bands and teenage cliff divers, so everyone just give Casa Bonita a break, okay? Will anyone who’s ever been there soon forget the smell of the swampy, chlorinated backsplash that could grace your gooey tacos if you’re lucky enough to get a seat behind the waterfall? For sheer “I can’t believe this place is real” thrills, nothing beats Casa Bonita — the closest thing in Denver to a Terry Gilliam film come to life. And hey, any place where you can buy Coronas by the bucket can’t be all bad.

Hungry throngs from all sides of town flock to La Fiesta’s cavernous dining room for the chips and powerhouse salsa, for the crisp chiles rellenos, for enchiladas so big they come hanging off the edge of the plate, and for verde done not in the raw, unadulterated fashion popular on the southern end of the green-chile trail, but in a more gooey, Mile High fashion. The service is fast, the crowd is loud and laid-back, and while the vibe is pure Juarez, the grub will be recognizable even to a native who’s never ventured any closer to Mexico than a drive down Federal Boulevard on a Sunday afternoon. Fair warning, though: La Fiesta is only open for weekday lunch.

Mmm…botanas. If there’s any better bar food than tapas, it’s botanas — the little bites and appetizers served with firewater all over Mexico proper. At Tamayo — Richard Sandoval’s upscale Larimer Square homage to the Mexican Riviera of his youth — you can sample the flavors of Acapulco and beyond for free during the hora feliz (happy hour) that runs from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m. Monday through Friday, and then, emboldened by a couple of sharp nips at the fancy-pants margarita menu, dive deeper into this rich culinary territory with dinner. Tamayo is only expensive when compared with other Mexican restaurants in town, but with entrees running in the twenty-dollar range, some people tend to get spooked. Rather than pay two bucks for a squishy enchilada all glopped up with Cheez Whiz somewhere else, though, we’d rather save up our nickels and dimes for tacos de camarón, with shrimp sautéed in achiote paste and a black-bean puree, or the costilla de cordero — rack of lamb, marinated in adobo and huitlacoche (a corn fungus that tastes much better than it sounds), then roasted and served with wild-mushroom risotto and sweet potatoes. Tamayo also does a wicked mahi-mahi ceviche, offers a three-course prix fixe lunch menu in under sixty minutes for $16.95, and puts out beautiful plates that would have done the late Mexican artist Rufino Tamayo (after whom both the Denver and Palm Beach locations were named) proud.

For decades, El Taco de México has been the place to go in Denver for a real taste of Old Mexico. It’s a gathering place for the Spanish-speaking community, an after-church destination for big bowls of menudo, a hot spot for wasted musicians looking for some quick grub after the gig, and a jumping lunch joint that attracts a generous cross-section of Denver diners. The big menu, which runs the whole length of the long counter, details offerings as tame as tacos al carbón and chicken fajitas, but also offers some peasant classics like the aforementioned menudo (an excellent version, thick and spicy and served with a half-dozen sides in tiny three-footed bowls), and tacos made with cheek meat and brains. The small army of deadly serious ladies working in the big, open kitchen pound out hundreds of hot, solid meals a day using spice mixes, recipes, mops and marinades straight out of an abuelita‘s playbook. This stuff puts the Mark Millers and Bobby Flays of the world to shame, and it’s as close as you’re gonna get to authentic Mexican cuisine without crossing international borders.

Ah, Benny’s, how do we love thee? From your sprawling expanse of dining rooms to your potent margaritas to your gringo-friendly menu, it’s no wonder you pack ’em in from morning to night. Straddling the fence between the old-world Mexican of Chihuahua and the modern culinary horrors of Taco Bell and squeeze-bottle salsa, you stand firm, giving legions of hungry Denverites Mexican food with the Rocky Mountain twist they crave. In particular, we love you for your green chile. There’s nothing better for burning off a low-grade hangover than a plate of thick, almost stew-like verde with its big chunks of chewy pork and hotter-than-hell afterburn. Give us a couple of tortillas, maybe a side of chewy chicharrones, and we’re ready to face the worst the world has to throw at us. We love ya, Benny’s. Don’t ever change.

As good as any you’d find in New Mexico — and better than most — the green chile at Jack-n-Grill is a work of commendable simplicity. Green chiles from Socorro are melded with salt, pepper, tomatoes, garlic and cubed pork to create the perfect topper for any of the restaurant’s entrees. If you’ve been raised on the gloppy, gravy-like chile you find at most of Denver’s Mexican restaurants, New Mexico’s version is a real switch. But your tastebuds will quickly adjust — and once you’ve had Jack’s, you’ll never go back.

Now that the flavors of Old Mexico have made their indelible mark on the tastes of American gourmands, it’s no surprise that south-of-the-border influences keep showing up in the darnedest places — resulting in some pretty damned bad dishes. But the Parlour cooked up a winner with its blue-corn-tortilla shrimp enchiladas served with salsa verde, chile-lime cream, Monterey Jack cheese and chunky mango salsa.

Sweet Jesus, these things are addictive! Sweeter than potatoes but less sweet than you might imagine given the plaintain’s close relationship with bananas, Cuba Cuba’s deep-fried plátanos fritos, served with a tart garlic-citrus mojo, are the most munchable chips in town.

The best chips are made in-house. And the kitchen at Luna’s, a humble, friendly Highland hangout, keeps pumping out fresh, crisp, light tortilla chips. Still hot from the fryer, they’re perfect for dipping into the thick, gooey, chile-spiked homemade queso or just munching alongside your Cuervo.

The salsa’s always fresca at the Chubby Burger Drive-Inn, a ramshackle takeout joint known to all Mexican-food lovers as “the original Chubby’s.” Over the past thirty years, Chubby’s has built its reputation on the back of sloppy, big-ass burritos, solid tamales and hot, hot green chile — but what we really love is Chubby’s fresh, rough-chopped salsa, which the kitchen preps by the gallon. Although the chips are just average, the salsa gets extra credit. It’s a killer combination of sweet veggies kicked up with exactly the right amount of spicy heat, so that the balance is maintained among the natural flavors of tomato, onion and chile, and a burn that sets your tongue to smoldering but never catches fire outright.