Food & Drink

The crew at Tom’s Home Cookin’ cooks up real comfort food, serving up plates of fried chicken and catfish as well as such typical Southern sides as sweet potatoes and peach cobbler. But one side definitely qualifies as the main event: the macaroni and cheese. You get a baseball-sized scoop of fat elbow macaroni swimming in creamy, orange cheese sauce that recalls butter, Velveeta and childhood. This dish isn’t fancy, but if you’ve got a hankering for the kind of mac and cheese your mom used to make, Tom’s does it exactly right. And that’s what comfort food is all about.

Making cassoulet, the bean-and-meat stew that’s chock-full of sausage and duck confit, is a days-long undertaking, and that’s why it only graces the menu at Masterpiece Delicatessen as a special. Still, the sandwich shop makes a near-perfect version of the stuff: toothsome white beans bathed in a thick, buttery broth, topped with a couple of crisp strips of bacon and overlaid with a crunchy, fat-roasted duck leg, tender meat falling off the bone. The kitchen finishes the dish with a handful of crisp greens to balance the heavy meat binge. It’s all so good that we want to eat bowl after bowl of the stuff until we’ve cleaned out the stockpot. Please, sir, may we have some more?

Chef Lon Symensma may tout it as a charcuterie board on ChoLon Modern Asian Bistro’s menu, but this platter of meat and bread is really an ingeniously deconstructed banh mi, an artfully arranged spread of the traditional elements of the Vietnamese street-food sandwich — bread, pâté, shaved meat, mayonnaise, pickles and microgreens — that very much belongs on a special-occasion table. The crisp, delicate toast points, peppery, bacon-wrapped duck terrine and whipped, decadently creamy foie gras and chicken-liver pâté, all sprinkled with salt, are balanced by the crunch of lightly pickled carrots and daikon radishes, as well as the sharp nip of a Chinese mustard-mayonnaise specked with micro cilantro. ChoLon opened in LoDo last fall, and it’s a welcome addition not just to the neighborhood, but to the entire Denver dining scene.

Part market, part sandwich shop, this bare-bones spot in a dilapidated strip mall boasts nothing more than a counter, a couple of refrigerators and a wall of self-serve frozen-yogurt machines. But that’s enough, because those refrigerators hold everything needed to make authentic banh mi. Ba Le offers almost twenty varieties of the Vietnamese sandwich, illustrated in backlit pictures on the wall above the counter and all prepared to order. A crunchy, house-baked baguette is warmed up and then stuffed with silky pâtés, shaved meats made of various parts of pig, a smattering of vinegary pickled vegetables, jalapeño slices, a smear of mayo and, in the true spirit of banh mi’s homeland, enough fresh cilantro (stems and all) and crisp cucumbers to make a salad. Once completed, the sandwich is wrapped in butcher paper and secured with a rubber band. And if you simply need more of one of the ingredients, Ba Le sells the pâté, the pickles and the baguettes in bulk.

The lines outside Carbone’s spill onto the sidewalk, a declaration of the devotion that cultists have for this decades-old, ramshackle purveyor of Italian meats and cheeses, spicy peppers plumped with Provolone and prosciutto, dried pastas, frozen pastas, meatballs and marinara sauce and, most important, sandwiches. Owner Rose Lonardo knows just about everyone by name, and everyone certainly knows hers. She’ll size you up faster than you can say “meatball,” and she’s a quick-witted master conversationalist. She also knows a thing or two about Italian sausage, which she makes in-house, flecking the ground pork with fennel and crushed red pepper. Her Italian-sausage sub, a flattened brick of pigginess sheeted with Provolone and tucked into a long, chewy roll smeared with an herb-specked marinara and dotted with pickled jalapeños, is one of the best sandwiches in Denver. So is the No. 2 Italian. Take our advice and get one of each.

Generation after generation of sandwich lovers stroll through the aisles of this market-cum-sandwich emporium, pausing to rap with neighbors and non-neighbors — most of whom are headed for the deli case, filled with cold cuts and cheeses, salads and spreads, olives and roasted peppers, shells and sauce. During the lunch rush, Spinelli’s Market is busier than a free day at the zoo, and the countermen, seasoned professionals who prefer that you order with rapidity, don’t waste any time assembling your order. But with nearly two dozen choices on the board, selecting a sandwich can be beyond daunting. Fortunately, it doesn’t really matter which way you roll: Everything — from the Reuben stacked with corned beef, lacy Swiss and sauerkraut to the hot Italian roast beef — is the stuff of daydreams.

For several years, Massimo Ruffinazzi, who was born and raised in Casteggio, Lombardia, Italy, was chef/partner at Il Fornaio, an Italian restaurant that once occupied prime real estate in LoDo and was always lauded for its breads. Ruffinazzi remains a bona fide bread-head, turning out loaves of love at Shangri-La, his groovy cafe in Highland. The menu — salads, a salumi plate and a pantheon of panini — is simple and small, but the panini, pressed in a tiny kitchen, ooze with big flavors. Ruffinazzi uses a custom-baked bread, filling the halves — properly baked so they yield the ideal amount of chew and crackle — with everything from arugula leaves and weightless shavings of Parma prosciutto to bresaola, imported Sicilian tuna and an exquisite wild-mushroom spread lightly whiffed with truffle. The panini are only available till 3 p.m., when Shangri-La closes its doors for the day — but at any hour, you are simply not going to find better panini in Denver.

While Buenos Aires Pizzeria is an Argentine restaurant, members of the family that owns it are from Cuba, and they recognize that the key to a really good Cuban sandwich is the bread. Cuban bread: a long baguette of white bread that’s similar to French bread, but richer, denser and chewier, thanks to the lard that goes into the dough. For its Cuban sandwich, Buenos Aires Pizzeria slices real Cuban bread, then stacks it with ham, fat-laced roasted pork and Swiss cheese, and presses it flat to the griddle. Once the cheese is melted, tangy flat slices of pickle and plenty of mustard provide the finishing touches.

If we lived in a perfect cheesesteak culture, every Philly cheesesteak would be constructed with a fresh roll that’s neither too hard nor too soft, but still has plenty of chew; enough cheese, preferably Cheez Whiz, to require more than a single napkin; and finely chopped ribeye that’s never too tough to chew. Not every cheesesteak subscribes to those rules — in fact, most fail epically — but at Large Marge’s, the Philly cheesesteaks follow the textbook rules to a T. They’re gleefully messy, served on Amoroso’s rolls and enlivened, if you want, with Flaming Poo, a tongue-searing hot sauce that captures the moxie of Marge, the affable owner who kindly brought brotherly love from Philly to Denver.

Biker Jim Pittenger used to repo cars for a living, but several years ago he ditched the lucrative life of dumping Dodge trucks to wrangle wieners — fat, juicy, flame-licked dogs that he dispatches from his downtown Denver carts, as well as his just-opened brick-and-mortar restaurant. The un-ordinary sausages — reindeer, elk, venison, yak and pheasant among them — are taut and thick-skinned, and when you sink your fangs into the plump flesh, smothered with grilled onions caramelized in Coca-Cola and squiggled with ropes of cream cheese, they combust in a culinary explosion that makes you wonder why you’d ever wrap your lips around anyone else’s wiener.

How do you make really excellent eggs Benedict? Perfect each element and then combine for peak perfection. Devil’s Food starts with a base of slightly sweet, lightly toasted, spongy challah bread, topping it with thick cuts of ham and a couple of quivering poached eggs, the yolks simultaneously runny and thick. All of that is smothered in the tangy, housemade, paprika-specked hollandaise, a sauce so bright, hearty and savory that we could eat it with a spoon. On the Benedict, though, it mixes with the yolk, creating a decadently rich and creamy combination — and you’ll want to use every morsel of bread you can spare to sop it up.

Cubs ticket stubs, Harry Caray photos and other Chicago sports paraphernalia line the walls of Mile High Vienna Stand, channeling the city that’s famous for a favorite sports snack: the Chicago dog. Naturally, that’s what Mile High Vienna serves. The bona fide Chicago dog starts with a pungent Vienna beef dog, then adds chopped white onions, pickled sport peppers squirting seeds and juice, nuclear-green sweet relish, a dill pickle spear, thin slices of translucent tomato, a ribbon of mustard and a healthy dusting of celery salt, all piled on a perfectly steamed poppyseed bun. Served with a clip of fries, it’s as close as you’ll get to the Windy City without leaving the Mile High.

The beauty of Steuben’s lies in its steadfast refusal to bow to those whose lives are dictated by calorie counters, hour-long infomercials pimping the latest and greatest way to turn no abs into abs of steel, and self-medicating cookbooks penned by the latest diet guru. Those people, sadly, will never experience the exhilaration of inhaling the gravy fries at Steuben’s. The retro diner already hustles some of the best hand-cut shoestring fries on the planet, but when they’re blanketed with cheese and smothered with a husky, pepper-specked gravy, it’s a quick trip to heaven punctuated by exclamation points. The plate is hilariously large, which means you’ll have late-night leftovers — and a car that smells like Main Street Americana.

“There’s coolness in doing that great dish that’s made everyone feel warm and comfortable,” says Leigh Jones, the restaurateur behind Jonesy’s EatBar (as well as the Horseshoe Lounge, Bar Car and the Stingray). And at Jonesy’s, that dish is the fries. Specifically, the mac & cheese fries, a pile of crispy, golden-brown strips of potato doused in enough creamy, savory roux to maximize satisfaction without saturating the dish. Cheddar is grated over that, and the entire concoction is studded with bits of smoky bacon for depth and crunch, then topped with chives for a fresh bite — as well as the illusion of balance against the richness. Jonesy’s has been famous for these fries since it opened, and they’re almost impossible to resist — even if you just stopped in for a post-dinner drink at the kitschy, well-worn bar. And yes, the fries are also fine on their own — but why wouldn’t you want to go all the way?

Tarbell’s is certainly not the first restaurant to elevate the burger to lofty, beasty, Herculean status, but while size is in the shoe of the beholder, Tarbell’s double-decker burger — all six, maybe even seven inches of it — is, buns down, the best burger in the city. The freshly ground beef, loose and hand-formed into two impossibly thick patties, is judiciously salted and peppered, drooling with juices that blush scarlet, grilled to a perfect mid-rare and shoved between a soft, slightly sweet bun that’s slathered with a secret sauce and platformed with lettuce, tomato slices and squares of American cheese that melt into the depths of your fluttering heart.

Park Burger’s housemade veggie patty is a mash-up of grains that’s smashed on the grill — giving it the juicy, messy characteristics of a smashburger, but without the beef. The burgers are served in wire baskets lined with paper and topped with lettuce, tomato, onion and a special burger sauce (which tastes a lot like Thousand Island dressing), and from there it’s up to you. Other vegetarian topping options include several kinds of cheese, a fried egg, guacamole, mushrooms, onions and jalapeños — and those watching their carb intakes can even order the burger on a whole-wheat bun for an additional charge. (Fair warning: It’s not vegan.) Served with Park Burger’s shoestring sweet-potato or regular fries (crispy and sprinkled with coarse salt), this is one veggie burger that doesn’t taste like a compromise.

Although on the surface it might seem easy to procure a vegetarian version of this popular Vietnamese soup, the deep, flavorful broth is traditionally made with beef. The ever-popular Pho 95 has the solution: pho that can be ordered either with beef broth (for culinary purists) or made-to-order vegetable broth (for dietary purists). Loaded with still-crunchy broccoli florets, carrot slices, sugar snap peas and a heaping helping of rice noodles, the vegan-friendly pho chay comes with crispy-on-the-outside, creamy-on-the-inside fried tofu and a giant pile of fresh add-ons — from Thai basil to crunchy bean sprouts to thick-sliced jalapeños and dandelion leaves — to further flavor your pho. This soup is so tasty that even tried-and-true carnivores might find themselves ordering the veggie version — just this once. We won’t tell.

There are some fantastic vegetarian restaurants in this town, but City, O’ City rises above them all, boosted by several things. The first? The atmosphere is that of a slightly divey neighborhood bar — albeit one with excellent food, a vast wine and beer list, free Wi-Fi and couches in the corner that make visitors feel free to spend hours tapping away on laptops while snacking on appetizers and sipping on beverages. The second: It’s open for breakfast, lunch and dinner, offering dozens of vegetarian and vegan options at all hours of the day. The third: The thin-crust pizza is oven-baked until black bubbles form on the crust — and with so many meat replacements and topping options (including vegan cheese), you can build your own dream pizza in ten- or eighteen-inch sizes. (There are also a half-dozen specialties.) And fourth: The WaterCourse bakery is attached, so there are always tasty baked goods at the front counter, where you can also take advantage of City, O’ City’s espresso machine. With new head chef Brendan Doyle on staff and an expansion into the former hair salon space next door, we see an endless stretch of reasons to love City, O’ City.

Sputnik’s fire-roasted, homemade green chile comes in both pork and vegan varieties, and although the pork version is tasty, the vegan green chile is spectacular. Served with corn tortillas on the side, it’s everything a green chile should be: thick, filling and mouth-watering, redolent with smoky green chiles and a mild heat that lingers on the lips. You can order it in a bowl, as a side dish or topping Sputnik’s infamous Hangover Breakfast (also vegan-optional), with no fear of chicken or beef broth lurking in the mixture. This is one green chile guaranteed to fill your belly and earn you karma points.

This is a city that loves its green chile in all forms, but the verde at Los Farolitos, a sincere Mexican joint shoehorned into a featureless Aurora mini-mall, is the most lovable of all. Tart with tomatillos, specked with oregano and unleashing an unrepentant hot flash of blistering heat, it’s the perfect cloak for everything it drapes, including the equally unassailable barbacoa burrito, filled with robust, long-stewed lamb. Everything here, including the Mexican buffet, is worthy of praise, but the green chile consistently delivers. The only bummer is the absence of alcohol to subdue the five-alarm fire, but you can waste away in Margaritaville elsewhere.

El Camino is known for several things, including stiff drinks and the joint’s near-bottomless bowls of queso — but the appropriately named grande nachos should be at the top of the heap. Whether you have the guts to down the entire platter on your own is debatable, but three amigos, maybe two, should have no problem plowing through the pile of chips, slightly toasted on the edges, draped with curtains of cheese, and elevated to near-ceiling heights with properly seasoned refritos, hefty dollops of sour cream and guacamole, a feisty jalapeño-laced salsa, and a generous push of meat — chicken, beef or crisp-edged carnitas. This is drunk-junk food at its finest.

The crew at Masterpiece Deli has really mastered the art of the sandwich, and this skill extends to breakfast, when the place turns out ten renditions of a morning meal that all involve gooey cheese, a runny-yolked egg and a toasted roll of some sort (as well it should). At Masterpiece, it doesn’t matter if the kitchen’s using cheddar or pepper Jack, thick strips of smoked bacon, slices of pastrami, sautéed mushrooms or a disk of spicy Taylor Pork Roll, and whether that’s going on an English muffin or an everything bagel. Because every breakfast sandwich comes stacked high and messily, satisfactorily salty and just a little greasy, ready to be paired with a cup of coffee — and inhaled.

The first basket of chips and salsa comes free at Casa Blanca, a Mexican restaurant tucked into an Arvada strip mall — and that first basket is so addictive, you’ll find it hard to resist ordering more. The kitchen makes batches of firm, crisp corn chips, hot and thick and grease-free. They’re served with a small bowl of tangy, piquant salsa, which has the bite of green and white onions, fresh cilantro and pungent oregano, all blended with tomatoes until smooth. The sauce incites a back-palate burn and leaves a sting of heat on the lips — the exact level of heat that entices you to keep taking bites in order to stave off the fire.

At promptly 4 p.m. every Friday, Saturday and Sunday, the graveled parking lot of Carniceria y Taqueria La Flor de Michoacán begins to fill up with a brotherhood of taco warriors: burly men drawn by the mingled scents of char and sizzle permeating the air from a makeshift, smoke-filled canvas tent. They occasionally glance toward the TV or give a cursory nod toward the kid trying to sell bootlegged CDs, but they mostly huddle around the affable taco chief who’s tending to a pineapple-crowned spit, slicing off marinated nubs of pork that he slides into griddled, grease-glossed corn tortillas, dusts with chopped onions, cilantro and radishes and splashes with salsa. All of the street tacos here are the best versions imaginable, flavored with undeniable street cred.

The chalkboard menu at this sparsely decorated strip-mall temple to tortas lists nearly two-dozen manifestations of the celebrated Mexican sandwich, including la mamalona, a hedonistic beast heaped with breaded steak, hot dogs, pork chops, ham, chorizo, chicken, Oaxacan cheese, pineapple, frijoles refritos, avocado, onions, tomatoes, a smear of chipotle mayonnaise (whew!) and whatever else you want lobbed between two slices of dense, house-baked bread. But it’s the much smaller la poblana torta, studded with nubs of whisper-tender chicken slicked with a terrifically smoky mole, that really separates this joint from the competition. That, and the fact that nothing except the refried beans and the pickled jalapeños comes from a can. “The way we make our tortas is authentic. We don’t make the Americanized versions. We cook them like they do in Mexico City,” insists owner JuanCarlos Wong. Authentic or not, we like the way they roll.

From the moment Pupusas Sabor Hispano opened five years ago in a dilapidated roadside shack in north Boulder, the citizens of the People’s Republic clamored for more. They clamored so hard, in fact, that last fall owner Nancy Reed shuttered the original Pupusas and relocated to a bigger, more contemporary spot across the street. But while the new space is larger and loftier, the pupusas — orbs of masa stuffed with everything from fiddlehead ferns and Anaheim chiles to chicharrones, beans, rajas, zucchini and molten cheeses — remain as humble and delicious as ever. They’re served with curtido, the tart and fiery slaw that’s a pupusa’s proverbial sidekick; if you want to take a ride on the wild side, you can dress them up from the well of flavor-bombed, fire-jolted salsas.

The buffet at this Mexican restaurant is a spectacular parade of chafing dishes swelled with just about every Mexican dish under the blazing sun: barbacoa; menudo; posole, one with pork, the other with shrimp; ceviche de pescado; tacos dorados; tinga de pollo; fried fish; enchiladas de roja and verde; fish and shrimp soup; costilla de puerco; nopalitos; a half-dozen salsas. At least three, maybe four dozen items vie for your attention, and they’re all stupid-good. It could take weeks to eat your way through all of the opportunities, which means only one thing: Start now. And finish with the pig-snout tacos, succulent and salty (and thankfully devoid of nostril hairs), scattered with diced onions, cilantro and splashes of tomatillo salsa.

In salsas, as in sex, it’s all about the spice. And at El Jakalito, a canary-yellow taqueria that serves up tacos, gorditas, tostadas, tamales and tortas, the salsa bar — actually a stainless-steel cart — is filled with exotic concoctions powerfully fragrant with the fruit of chiles, most of them lashed with fire. You’ll want to douse everything on your plate with a little of this and a little of that — a dab of red, a jolt of green, snapping up cucumbers, radish coins, ribbons of cabbage, marinated carrots and onions, and chubby pickled jalapeños, their seeds hotter than a Sunset Boulevard hooker — along the way.

In its most basic, blissful form, the margarita is nothing more than tequila, triple sec and lime juice — no orange juice, no sugar, and for God’s sake, no mix. And while it’s possible to achieve good results by gussying up that original recipe — using a premium añejo spirit and Grand Marnier, for example — our utmost respect goes out to those bars that follow the basic recipe and craft a kick-ass house beverage, sold at a house price. Enter El Camino. This spot has a tequila list three pages long, not counting the flights, and offers many varieties of margs — but we’re partial to the basic house drink: a mixture of lime juice concentrate, triple sec and El Jimador Blanco, a sexy, smoky 100 percent blue-agave tequila that goes down smooth. Served in a rocks glass rimmed with coarse salt, it packs a refreshing sweet-tart punch and is so easily quaffed that it’s almost impossible to say no to another round.

Any bar can ice down three ounces of vodka or gin and pour it in an up glass, but a true martini is a classic cocktail, made with care above all. It also contains gin, vermouth and maybe a dash of bitters, stirred and served up with a twist. If you order a martini at Encore, you’ll know you’re in the hands of a pro immediately: The bartender’s first question is “sweet or dry?” No matter your response, the bar makes a spot-on rendition of the drink, a balanced mix of one of a handful of gins and top-notch Dolin vermouth. Garnished with a fragrant lemon twist, the drink is crisp and refreshing — and might even make a martini lover out of a staunch non-believer.

Beer taps are our friends. They are utilitarian devices, often carefully and creatively adorned at the handle with a beer name and brand. But rarely do we give our friends their own names. At Hops & Pie, owners Drew and Leah Watson have a special tap, one that serves a house beer, Hops & PiePA, made just for the restaurant by Strange Brewing Company. Hoptymus Pryme, as they call it, pushes the beer through a water filter that has been filled with whole-flower Cascade hops, giving it a bright and pungent freshness. The handle, meanwhile, is hand-blown glass made by neighbor Shackman Glass Studio, also on Tennyson Street. Try it – you’ll be transformed.

More than forty years ago, Stella Cordova took over the Chubby Burger Drive-In on West 38th Avenue and started featuring the green chile she’d learned to make when she was a kid growing up in Colorado. That sauce — thick, savory and laced with enough spice to produce a slow, sweat-inducing burn — soon became iconic. Before she passed away two years ago, she handed that chile recipe down to several of her grandchildren, one of whom was Leonard Cordova. And though Leonard is now estranged from the rest of the Cordova family, he swears he’s using his grandmother’s original recipe at each of the spots in his rapidly expanding chain, using it to smother chile-cheese fries, burritos and Mexican hamburgers. In doing so, he’s channeling his grandmother — but for a decidedly different generation.

Founded by Tina and James Pachorek, the Cheeky Monk has always focused on Belgian beers. Over the past year, however, both the original Monk on Colfax and its new brother in Westminster have broadened that focus to include the new world of American craft beer. But their dedication to fine brews holds firm — and not just in what beers they serve, but what they will serve them in. You’ll find at least 35 styles of glassware at the Monk, most designed by breweries to hold their particular beer and each made to suit the nuances of a certain style of suds: tall and skinny, short and tulip-shaped, even a champagne-style flute and our favorite from Kasteel, which has a castle on the stem. What you won’t find are American-style pint glasses. Beer drinkers will never be bored at the Monk — and neither will the dishwashers.

No, these three beer oases don’t take credit cards, but they do take you at your word. If you don’t have cash and don’t want to use the ATMs on site, the staff will provide you with a self-addressed stamped “karma envelope” so that you can mail in your payment — and tip! — later. “I’d rather take that loss than pay credit-card fees,” explains Paul Nashak, managing partner of the company that owns all three places. And, no, they won’t make you wash the dishes.

Not all Mexican-style beers are created equal. And according to the owners of the Del Norte Brewing Company, they don’t need no stinkin’ limes, neither! To prove it, head to the Del Norte tasting room (call ahead first for hours), where the owners will pop the top on a mass-market Mexican cerveza like Corona so that you can compare it with one of the brewery’s own lagers: Mañana, Órale, Cinco or Luminaria. The difference will be claro.

Why, you might ask, does Oskar Blues Home Made Liquids & Solids, a bustling Longmont restaurant owned by one of Colorado’s most well-known craft breweries, offer Coors Light amid a draft lineup that not only includes its own stellar beers, but dozens of other craft-beer treats? Simple. It’s an intervention. If you order a Coors, the bartender will bring you a taster of Mama’s Little Yella Pils so that you can compare the two. The goal, of course, is to convince you to switch. It’s the first step to better beer drinking.

The only thing better than beer is free beer, and on occasional Thursdays — usually once or twice a month — the Rock Bottom in downtown Denver gives away free pints from 6 to 6:30 p.m. to introduce its newest beer on tap. And brewmaster John McClure is always working on a new brew, whether it’s a seasonal specialty, a twist on a classic or something completely different. The Colorado-founded Rock Bottom chain was rolled up into a much larger corporate entity last year, but maybe the suits won’t notice these priceless free-pint nights. Next up: Snake Spit India black ale, which will be tapped on April 14.

The Double Rainbow YouTube video that went viral last year was so inspiring to Jason Yester of Trinity Brewing in Colorado Springs that he and his team decided to brew a beer with Black Fox Brewing that was based on the colors of the rainbow. So intense! Double Rainbow Collaborative Saison included ingredients like turmeric, parsley, agave nectar, pumpkin and rosehips. It’s enough to make you cry with joy.

It’s hard to argue with an entire wall of taps representing some of the best breweries in Colorado, the country and the world — unless you’re drunk. Which you might be, since many of the rare and hard-to-find beers here have a nice, hefty alcohol level. For years, the tap list made Falling Rock Tap House the only place for beer geeks — local or visiting — to gather in Denver for a pint, before a Rockies game, during the Great American Beer Festival or for a special event. Thanks to Denver’s burgeoning beer culture, Falling Rock is no longer the only place. But with 75 brews on tap, some of which are nearly impossible to find elsewhere in Colorado, the beer list still makes it your happy place.

Rather than bringing in beers to fit its menu, Freshcraft’s menu of upscale comfort food and small plates was created around beer. The restaurant, owned and operated by the Forgy brothers, has twenty beers on tap — selections that are special enough to lure in even the most jaded beer geeks — but it also has around 120 beers on its bottle (and can) list, everything from Belgian specialties to Colorado rarities to hard to-find bottles from around the country. Don’t see what you want in the front cooler? There’s a cooler in the back as well. Freshcraft is the perfect place to pop your top.

If Denver were a brew kettle, then the Great Divide Tap Room would be the brilliant flame (or heating coils) that makes it cook. Drop in for a pint and you’ll find not only some of the best craft beer that this city has to offer, but rousing conversations about beer, bars and breweries from an ever-rotating roster of people who simply love hops, malt and yeast. Small and cozy on winter nights, relaxing and airy in the summer, Great Divide’s tap room is almost always packed with people who love to toast the city’s suds.

Like a fresh beer poured quickly, Dry Dock’s tap room has foamed up and over the sides in the past two years, attracting a regular clientele from Aurora as well as a steady stream of beer pilgrims who make the journey from the city to the suburbs. In fact, the brewery, tap room and attached home-brew shop are so popular that Dry Dock just doubled its size (to 170 seats), blowing out walls and adding space in the strip mall where it’s located. The tap house also installed a fireplace and a barrel-aging section proudly displayed along an entire wall. With an ever-rotating list of eight to ten beers on tap — made right on location — and a roster of special events, Dry Dock is the perfect place to make port.

Denver’s been in love with Chipotle ever since Steve Ells opened his first store on East Evans Avenue back in 1993. And with each passing year, Chipotle gives us more to love. Even as the homegrown chain opens more and more restaurants, it keeps working to improve its gourmet Mexican food, strengthening its commitment to sustainably raised meats and sourcing local produce, using its reputation to change the way people think about and eat fast food. Even if it does still come wrapped up in foil. Over the past year, Chipotle opened its 1,000th restaurant, expanded into London, teamed up with food crusader Jamie Oliver to promote the importance of real food — and got Ells face time as a judge on the Next Great Restaurant. Almost two decades in, life is still burrito-ful.

Celebrating forty years of independent family ownership this year, the Bull & Bush keeps getting better, whether it’s with award-winning beers like Man Beer and the Legend of the Liquid Brain Imperial Stout, its cellar parties that pull together vintage bottles of rare and hard-to-find brews from other breweries, or the layered atmosphere that mixes old-school Glendale regulars, families and downtowners looking for a night away from the madness. There’s an extensive menu of comfort food and a burgeoning beer list, so if you can’t hang out, you can at least grab a growler to go.

Denver is overflowing with wine bars — but when Cellar Wine Bar opened last year, it proved that there’s always room for one more. If it’s as good as this place, at least. Cellar Wine Bar, tucked into a cool, minimalist space in a triangle-shaped building at the edge of LoHi, has the feel of a favorite New York City enoteca. But you’ll soon remember that you’re in Denver, thanks to CWB’s relaxed, welcoming vibe. Sommelier Evan Williams greets you with near-giddy excitement; he’s quick to offer both a generous tasting pour and thoughtful recommendations. The bar serves up a mouth-watering 52 wines by the glass, along with particularly intriguing flights; oenophiles will swoon for sips from lesser-known producers. And in keeping it real with true wine bar credo, CWB’s menu is minimal — designed with the perfect assortment of meats, tapas and artisan cheeses to keep you just sober enough to drink more wine.

Nothing’s worse than getting all fired up for a decadent, wine-soaked meal, only to discover that the restaurant’s wine list is a total snooze. That’s why we woke up and took notice last fall when ChoLon Modern Asian Bistro opened. The array of sixty-plus modern selections (including eight sake offerings) might make you scratch your head initially (Côtes-du-Rhône? Chilean sauvignon gris?). But chef Lon Symensma and his wine director, Chris Todd, make sure that each wine on the list is a perfect foil for one of ChoLon’s tongue-tingling flavor combinations. The only thing that makes fans of both food and the grape happier than a stellar wine-and-dine experience is a stellar wine-and-dine experience at decent prices, and at ChoLon, you can score a kickass bottle for an average price of $48. We’ll drink to that.

If you’re certain to save more than a few bucks off your total check by ordering the bottle, then why would you ever choose to order wine by the glass? A few possible reasons: a) You’re afflicted with a rare, intense case of Wine Attention Deficit Disorder; b) You’re dining alone, and therefore only capable of consuming three glasses of wine in a single sitting (God forbid you waste the fourth); or c) You’re at a restaurant with so many tempting by-the-glass selections that you simply can’t resist snatching sips from all over the list. If you chose C, there’s a good chance you’ve been drinking (and eating) at Lou’s Food Bar, which is exactly where you should go when you’re searching for that elusive perfect glass of vino. Wine director Lynn Whittum did more than just pick good juice that goes with the restaurant’s eclectic fare; she made sure the pricing was right, too: The average glass runs just $9. Pinkies up!

Kevin Burke’s knowledge of everything behind the bar runs deep, and when he pours a patron a drink, it often comes with a side of vineyard history, a nugget of information about why he used one type of tequila over another, or a taste of something rare on tap that the drinker might otherwise have missed. His understanding of alcoholic beverages is broad, extending to beer, wine and spirits alike. But while his ability to educate about any of those is humbling, his strongest skill may be the precision with which he crafts cocktails, executing flawless classics, mixing up his signature drinks or, most impressive, actually listening to what really floats a drinker’s boat and making something new and exciting based on that information. A strong believer in the role of the barman as a service provider, Burke does it all with elegance, style and genuine concern that he sling a perfect drink for the drinker, every single time.

By 5 p.m. on most nights, the bar and lounge at Virgilio’s Pizza & Wine Bar is a sea of bodies, butts bumping into one another like bumper cars at an amusement park, but no one seems to mind the jostle, possibly because they’re all having too much fun getting tipsy — which is easy to do when the wine catalogue features more than fifty globe-trotting selections by the glass, in three- and six-ounce pours. The back-lit bar, complete with a 32-bottle Enomatic wine system imported from Italy, is also stocked with nearly thirty beers on draft and by the bottle, many of which are Italian. It’s a convivial scene, bolstered by two daily happy hours, live music on Friday and Saturday nights, and some of the best New York-style pizza, garlic knots and burrata in the area.

By last summer, the Recovery Room was a neighborhood joint in need of a nip and tuck — which is exactly what it got after Leigh Jones, the proprietress of Horseshoe Lounge, Jonesy’s EatBar and the new Stingray, took control of the space. Today the boxy little bar is one of the city’s most glorious watering holes. Antique brass chandeliers illuminate the rustically romantic space, which is filled with cherry-red stools, Victorian-era upholstered banquettes, an ornate tin ceiling, a pinball machine and one of Denver’s best jukeboxes. And that’s just setting the stage: Add convivial tenders, good bar grub and a swell beer, wine and spirits list, plus a nekkid pic of Burt Reynolds in his younger years, and you’ve got everything you could want from a bar…plus a whole lot more.

Frank and Jacqueline Bonanno’s subterranean speakeasy in Larimer Square is a show-stopper. “Fronted” by a diminutive pie shop that gives no indication of what exists beyond the swinging doors, the low-ceilinged, moodily lit space reeks of sensuality, romance and swank elegance, and the clever, highbrow liquid assets, all masterfully concocted by some of the city’s most renowned bartenders, who don’t miss a drink, complement the polished crowds that sip the night away. Yes, there are rules — no cell phones, no rowdiness, no standing, and a plea for conversation that doesn’t inflate the decibel level — but the thrilling cocktails more than compensate for them.

The lure of finding a young, impressionable female draws more than a few prowling males to Second Home, a clubby, perfectly lit Cherry Creek watering hole in the JW Marriott, where the day’s stresses are drowned in aggressively potent cocktails that pack a decisive punch. The long, narrow lounge, bedecked with cushy sofas and chairs, is simultaneously chic and understated, with model types on a mission moving through the room with confidence and a cool attitude, encouraging well-suited men to stop and stare. It’s a bustling oasis of flirting and flamboyance, of tourists and locals looking to sip, stretch out and, if the mood warrants, sin.

Dive right in! An utterly unceremonious spot that we’d never want to see in the light of day, the Kentucky Inn is a classic dive that’s never been anything but. A jukebox serves up drinker’s picks, which range from Eminem to Miles Davis to Metallica, depending on who’s in control. A pool table occasionally plays host to a group of Wash Park neighbors who wander in for drinks. But most regulars just cozy up to the bar, where amiable bartender Red pours all sorts of alcohol (including PBR, cider and fernet), engages everyone in conversation, and keeps us coming back when we’ve got nothing but time on our hands.

The Taco Wagon, crouching in the parking lot of El Mercado, a Mexican grocery in Lafayette, commands eye-rollingly long waits, but it’s worth missing whatever commitment you’ve got lined up — school, court, hell, even your nuptials — to first profess your love for the breakfast burritos. They’re delivered through a sliding glass window, behind which resides a couple with a no-nonsense sense of purpose: He takes your money; she creates Mexican magic. Her breakfast burritos, blazing hot green-chile-intensive packages bursting with scrambled eggs, nubs of spicy chorizo and slightly charred potatoes, are assembled by callused hands that take the morning ritual more seriously than most people take their marriage. The Taco Wagon takes its salsas seriously, too, offering two housemade creations: one green, the other red, both of which are worthy of their own ode to greatness.

From the moment Jesse Morreale bought the old First Avenue Hotel, he envisioned something special for the big space on the first floor that faces both Broadway and First Avenue. And he created it with El Diablo, a hellaciously clever tequila joint and Mexican restaurant. (Sean Yontz is in charge of the kitchen.) To one side are booths beneath Mexican-style murals lit by salvaged, red glass lamps, to the other tables flanking First Avenue, and at the edges are a handful of dark corners, suitable for all sorts of debauchery. But the center of the action, without a doubt, is the massive bar in the center of the space, which is always flanked with drinkers. That bar pours margaritas that run the flavor gamut from sweet to spicy, as well as Mexican beer and dozens of varieties of tequila and mezcal. And, as at any great bar, an air of naughty sexiness hangs over the entire scene, making anything feel possible. The devil you say!

The happy-hour menu may not be as cheap as at other spots, but at Root Down, you get what you pay for — and much, much more. This eccentric spot has a wonderful vintage-kitsch-meets-modern-funk vibe and a bar that’s always buzzing with good cheer — and booze, poured by talented bartenders who know just when we need another round. The happy-hour cocktails include spirited creations like the rosemary-lavender vodka lemonade poured with a heavy hand and a whole lotta love, and the list of happy-hour munchables has something that appeals to everyone’s palate. We’re partial to the sweet-potato falafel and duck confit sliders, which beat the hell out of mozzarella sticks and nachos any day.

Interstate has the best happy-hour deal in Denver — and not just because it offers the deal twice a day. And not just because the lineup includes a variety of delicious snacks, all of them a bargain. We’d brake at Interstate for the stovetop popcorn alone. Not only is the corn popped in wickedly rich bacon fat, but exec chef Andre Lobato then crowns a generous mound with crumbles of bacon and spice-dusted peanuts. At happy hour, is there anything better than peanuts, popcorn and bacon — especially when you get all three for just three bucks? “Ever since free bar food went the way of the dodo bird — about the same time that people forgot that a martini was a gin drink — we felt we had to do more than just offer straight popcorn if we were gonna charge any amount of money for it,” says Lobato. We’d happily pay double.

Late-night munchies often call for a hit of greasy Mexican food, and that’s when it’s time to cruise over to one of the two drive-thru Tacos Rapidos outposts. Under their red roofs, these kitchens turn out fat burritos full of creamy beans, melted orange cheddar, juicy carnitas and French fries (yes, French fries); tacos exploding with tongue, pork and beef; breakfast burritos stuffed with eggs and sausage (and available all day); French fries smothered with carne asada, guacamole and sour cream. Each dish hits the sweet spot of whatever you might be craving — which makes it particularly noteworthy that both Tacos Rapidos sling their gut-busting food 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Gone are the days when looking for a late-night meal meant finding the most palatable diner or drive-thru. Because Euclid Hall was envisioned as a beer hall and tavern, the place stays open as late as most bars, serving its entire menu until midnight Sunday through Thursday and until 1 a.m. on Friday and Saturday. Which means that after most chefs in this town have hung up their toques and closed their kitchens, diners with hunger pangs — or drinking munchies — can still head over to Larimer Square, where they can nosh on blood sausage, foie gras, bone marrow, schnitzel and pork chops. And it’s likely that the person at the next table or on the next bar stool will be one of those now-off-duty chefs, taking advantage not just of Euclid’s late-night menu, but its industry-friendly deals.

The sliver of a spot that holds Z Cuisine’s A Côté Bar à Absinthe is filled with lovely things: French art, a handmade chandelier, wooden tables topped with candles, and old French movies projected on one wall. The place is intimate without the blatant romantic air (or pricing) of its sibling next door, making it an ideal spot for a girls’ night out. Though absinthe is the noted spirit, the wine also pours freely, supplementing a board of bistro food — cheese, foie gras and crepes — that’s perfect for sharing between a group of girlfriends, gathered in good light to gossip without the distraction of bar TVs, a rowdy crowd or, worst of all, ogling men.

Bull & Bush is like a heavily fortified man cave, stocked with all things needed for a testosterone fest. Whether you’re holed up inside or enjoying the shaded patio, it’s a dark spot, full of heavy, masculine furniture and TVs tuned to sports. The menu boasts pub food and hefty burgers, and the list is paired with the dozens of varieties of whiskey that line the shelves, as well as a vast array of beers in bottles and on tap. Those tap lines support the brewery’s own concoctions, including Man Beer, a powerful IPA. While women are welcome to take a seat in the bar, Bull & Bush is just the spot for men who’ve gotten a hall pass to spend the night drinking with their pals.

When calling it quits on a romance, it’s best to do so in a casual spot — and the convivial atmosphere at Vine Street Pub, which has the feel of an ongoing college house party, is exactly right. After a rousing round of Cornhole, a couple of small-batch tap brews and an order of nachos, your about-to-be-dumped former darling might even buy your “it’s not you, it’s me” pitch. In fact, Vine Street’s feel-good vibe is so infectious that you may find you’re willing to share one last beer before going your separate ways. And if not, the bar is usually crowded enough that your now-insignificant other can’t do anything too crazy in revenge.

Steuben’s channels its namesake — a Boston nightclub that started in the 1940s and hosted such notable customers as the Rat Pack — and other hometown restaurants of yore into an irrevocably hip, casual American comfort-food spot that brings together every slice of the Denver social scene. And because the place is always packed, it’s a good spot for first-daters to meet at the chrome bar, cutting the tension with a few stiff, pre-Prohibition cocktails and maybe splitting an order of gravy fries. That bar is intimate enough to be conducive to conversation, and loud and busy enough to diminish the chance that anyone around suspects a blind date is in their midst. If things go poorly, you can always focus on ordering more food — or picking someone out of the crowd who looks like a more likely prospect.

Village Cork has an ultra-feminine appeal. With its exposed brick walls, antique glass lamps, mismatched floral-patterned plates and sound system playing the sultry voices of 1930s and 1940s jazz vocalists, a woman can easily envision herself here, charming the pants off a suitor while flipping her hair in good light. And that makes this just the spot for a first date, where the twosome can clink wine glasses and nibble elegantly from shared small plates in a private nook, telling each other their pertinent stats while stealing charged glances during pauses. Even after dessert has come and gone, it’s an easy place to linger and stretch the night as long as possible — until maybe, just maybe, she invites him home for one last drink.

It’s worth skulking into the office late in order to snag one of the plump breakfast burritos that La Fuente, a groovy, low-rent Mexican joint, cooks up in a tiny kitchen that turns out big flavors. There are nearly a dozen manifestations of the breakfast burritos, all of which feature soft scrambled eggs and shards of crisp-edged potatoes, as well as your choice of bacon, chorizo, steak, sausage, beans or beef. But the crowning glory is the fiery, pork-punctuated green chile, either tucked into the tortilla or poured over it. Seething with intensity, these gut bombs weigh only slightly less than a newborn, and in the event you can’t sink your teeth into one before the time clock calls you tardy, they’re available all day, every day.

In the jovial, cafe-style dining room of Parisi, the tables are littered with irresistible airy pizzas and housemade pastas, frilly salads and hearty sandwiches. But downstairs, in the rustic, subterranean hearth that’s Firenze a Tavola, the mood is flavored with the camaraderie of community. Every month, on sporadic Wednesday nights, owner and chef Simone Parisi turns this chamber into a full-blown family affair, handing out huge, shared platters of Italian-inspired dishes, usually paired with an abbondanza of wines. By the end of the night, the space has turned into a boisterous party of fat, full and deliriously giddy diners and drinkers already marking their calendars for the next go-around.

The Denver Restaurant Week deal lives on at Vesta Dipping Grill, one of the sexiest, best-dressed feedlots in the city. While many restaurants shutter on Mondays, Vesta, the Goddess of the Hearth, flaunts her prowess by offering a three-course meal — which changes every month, and often features past Vesta favorites — at the DRW price of $52.80 for two. And Vesta isn’t serving any rubber chickens: A recent Monday menu featured duck leg confit with tomato jam; skewered scallops with fingerling potatoes, fennel and bacon aioli; and a Riesling-poached pear dolled up with caramel and cinnamon ice cream. That’s a cheap date that delivers.

When cost is no object, there’s one restaurant in Denver that will consistently deliver on your expectations, no matter how high, and that’s Fruition. Chef Alex Seidel turns out flawlessly executed dishes, course after course, from the crisp, tender duck confit to the fat-laced pork belly and egg-topped housemade cavatelli to a soft, flaky cut of bass; a carefully constructed wine list offers the perfect wine for every plate. The staff is incredibly efficient and solicitous, catering to your every need in the tiny, cozy dining room. All told, Fruition is the ideal place to whip out the company credit card and impress the boss — or to use your per diem to do something nice for yourself after a very hard day.

Tucked into a dilapidated shopping area on Federal and flanked by an impossible-to-maneuver parking lot, Pho Duy has somehow managed to keep slinging pho for nearly two decades. Every seat in the sparse dining room is almost always filled, as staffers scurry through the crowd to take orders, unceremoniously deliver dishes and then clear away the remnants just in time to seat the next group of diners coming in. Save for a few appetizers and specials, this shop simply hawks pho, which starts with dark and pungent beef broth, with depth added by slices of onions cooked soft, their flavor infused into the liquid. The boiling broth is poured over a nest of rice noodles and your choice of peppery, tender flank steak, chewy chunks of tendon, textured strips of tripe and other meaty combinations; the diner tosses in fresh basil, bean sprouts, lime and spicy sriracha to taste. So pho, so good.

The two trucks that comprise the La Villa Real operation hold down two very different corners in Denver: one at Alameda and Raritan, the other at Fourth and Federal. But both attract a steady stream of regulars who shout their orders through a window over the noise of a sizzling grill, ordering tacos piled with spicy strips of carne asada or bits of grilled tripe or shredded beef, all drooling juice, all accompanied by fiery roasted chiles and sweet grilled onions, chunks of avocado and fresh cilantro. Or they might go for fat burritos, bursting with gooey beans and meat, drizzled with sour cream and salsa, the entire package wrapped tightly in foil for easy transport and consumption. But the specialty at La Villa Real is the gordita: a couple of flat corn rounds slightly thicker than tortillas sandwiching a filling of grilled meat, spicy peppers and white cheddar, the tidy package griddled until a golden-brown crust forms around the edges and the cheese oozes. Just about everything on the incredibly authentic menu is under $5 — which is why Villa Real has customers who stop by not just for the best lunch under $5, but the best dinner, too.

Last summer, a SWAT team of Denver street-food slingers gathered in a graveled parking lot just beyond the ballpark to play curbside hosts to hundreds upon hundreds of foodophiles, all of whom showed up to get a taste of the city’s best pavement cuisine. The fleet of trucks and carts — Biker Jim, Steuben’s, Pinche Tacos, Deluxe Burger and the Biscuit Bus among them — called themselves the Justice League of Street Food. We call them muscle-flexing superheroes and can’t wait to see what new powers they display this summer, as they turn out everything from bánh mì and biscuits with buttermilk fried chicken to pork-belly tacos and pulled-pork sandwiches, one mobile meal at a time.

Swine sultan Chad Clevenger’s humble stainless-steel cart, perched on a downtown corner, unleashes a snort of pig-centric street food in all guises: pork belly, pork cheeks, pulled pork slathered with barbecue sauce and heaped with slaw, grilled macaroni and cheese hog-wild with pig, and, on occasion, a simply incredible posole. It’s an unduplicated, indelible bowl of New Mexican warmth, tinted a ruddy complexion from the fiery red chile, laden with hominy, aromatic with onions, Mexican oregano, garlic and a whisper of orange, and generously packed with stewed pork. Even without the requisite garnishes — lime wedges, ribbons of radish and verdant cilantro leaves — it’s stupendous, as is everything Clevenger hustles. Go ahead, make a pig of yourself.

Pinche Tacos, one of the early businesses in the vanguard of Denver’s street-truck movement, turns out terrific Mexican street-food tacos bumped with everything from smashed potatoes and chorizo to carnitas, caramelized onions and beef tongue. Finer still are the vegetarian queso a la plancha tacos, good enough to compel carnivores to surrender to the green side. The tortillas — made locally — are slapped on the grill, surfaced with a lacy orb of salty cotija, griddled until golden, and topped with avocado and a lob of tart tomatillo salsa, with limes on the side. All of Pinche’s tacos leave us wanting more, but these are the shock-and-awe version.

We live in hip times, times when out-on-the-town diners can order flights of just about anything — from wine to bacon to pancakes. But what about our hip kids? How can we keep them in the loop? The answer is the milk flight at Steuben’s, which consists of a glass of chocolate milk, a glass of vanilla and a glass of strawberry. It’s a creative treat so fun that adults can order it, too. Just watch out for the multi-colored milk mustache.

It’s great being an adult: You can have dessert first. And you’ll want to every time you eat at H Burger, which makes liquid-nitrogen milkshakes so cold and creamy they’re almost powdery, with a texture like that mouthful of snow you get when you follow a friend down a ski hill after a big dumping — though they come out to the tables with billows of nitrogen smoke rolling off the tops. The hazelnut-chocolate Nutella version is particularly delightful, sinfully decadent and topped with tiny marshmallows that crack on the teeth and dissolve instantly on the tongue. Richer still is the shake that combines chocolate and peanut butter; more refreshing is the crisp, fruity strawberry-mint rendition.

The intersection of Federal Boulevard and West 26th Avenue was already ground zero in the breakfast burrito wars, with Jack-n-Grill and an outpost of Santiago’s launching their two-buck breakfast burritos from opposite sides of Federal, and Araujo around the corner firing back with a smaller, 99-cent breakfast burrito. But now Gordo Loco, which occupies the historic bungalow that was the original home of La Loma, has rolled out the heavy artillery. The really heavy artillery: a hefty, eight-inch breakfast burrito to go that’s packed with scrambled eggs, soft cubes of potato and green-chile cheese (the secret weapon, available either hot or mild) for just 98 cents. This burrito is such a bargain that you can even afford a side of guac, sour cream…or more green-chile cheese. Fire when ready!

Vegans and lactose-intolerants know all too well that sometimes the best stuff, like pizza and fettuccine Alfredo and especially ice cream, is made with milk. But those who shun dairy no longer have to suffer in the summer — or settle for sorbet. Sweet Action Ice Cream, a bastion of rotating flavors of homemade deliciousness, regularly has one or two vegan options in the mix, including vegan cookie dough, vegan cinnamon roll and vegan cherry chocolate chip, made with a base of coconut cream instead of dairy and just as smooth and sinfully decadent as the ice cream that actually contains cream. Check the shop’s Facebook page for the flavors of the day.

O — MOO — GOOD! You really haven’t had ice cream until you’ve had Sweet Cow’s. Spike-haired Drew Honness, a young DIY-style entrepreneur who got his start in the ice cream business scooping for Springs-based Josh and John’s, runs his ecologically correct concern in downtown Louisville with a friendly air that extends to kids and adults alike, and the ice cream is to die for, no foolin’. The Almond Joy cone comes triple-loaded with ginormous chunks of chocolate, almond and coconut in a creamy, perfectly sweetened base; other flavors include an incredible Chocolate Coffee Bean concoction, Ozo Coffee and a tart Key Lime Pie…and that’s not the half of it. The large patio in front makes eating these sweets even sweeter.

Jake Rosenbarger has been meditating on cake since he was a kid, baking the stuff in secret in a health-conscious household and stashing it in his room. As a result, he formed a philosophy that cake should be more than a hunk of sugary substance that ends the meal — rather, the pastry should be a balance of unique flavors, just like any savory course. That’s the theory that he and his wife, Kim, apply to every cupcake they come up with in their Boulder shop, Kim & Jake’s Cakes. The Rosenbargers have dreamt up some interesting ones, too, combining cilantro and lime and topping it with an avocado frosting, or pouring red wine into the batter and then icing the cake with ubriaco del piave cheese. In fact, a hefty portion of their list is inspired by alcohol: stout cupcakes made with local brews, a full line of cocktail-copying treats. But even the classics, such as vanilla and red velvet, are made with a rare eye for balance, and they’re fluffy and light enough that you could eat one — or more — every single day.

We’re hot, like California boys on California “Gurls,” for popsicles. But not — definitely not — the shirt-staining, artificially flavored ice pops in supermarket freezers: Those suck. So do the ice crystals that pass for popsicles handed out by your creepy neighborhood ice-cream truck driver, all in an effort to force kids to spend their entire allowance just to be able to yell “Bomb Pop” without getting sent to juvie. No, for popsicles that really make your tongue go wild, you’ve got to head to Spuntino. The popsicles here are made in-house, from natural juices and fruits (and sometimes spices), in some sort of awesome contraption that swirls and whirls and freezes. The flavors change on a whim, but if the incredible celery and lime ice pop is available, buy a case and hoard it like gold. The juice, combined with the intense citrus of the lime, is an unlikely combination that’s about as much fun as you can have sucking a stick.

Sugar sultana Yasmin Lozada-Hissom is arguably Denver’s top pastry chef, and her deeply delicious desserts, created in the kitchen of Olivéa, where she shares space with husband and executive chef John Broening, make our veins rupture in rapture. Indulgent, innovative and wholly gratifying, they’re culinary masterpieces of art that have been recognized — and heralded — by the James Beard Foundation. Her desserts aren’t child’s play; rather, they’re impassioned, unrepentant creations that make us happy to be grownups — even if they do speak to our childhood fantasies. Her sweets change with the seasons, as does the rest of the menu, but no matter what’s up her sleeve — a chocolate and fleur de sel caramel tart, sugar-powdered Italian doughnuts with ricotta and lemon or the honey-almond semifreddo — it’ll take you on a sugar-fueled carpet ride that never stops.

A dinner at Flagstaff House is exemplary, and service doesn’t flag after the meal is done. Even the most basic form of the restaurant’s after-dinner coffee program is advanced: The eatery brews a proprietary house blend, made from six different African and Asian beans. More serious caffeine hounds can order from the French-press menu, which includes single-origin roasts from Ethiopia and Kona. The same focus is applied to espresso: every shot pulled, whether for consumption straight or as a foam-topped latte or cappuccino, comes from a blend of seven kinds of espresso beans. No matter what you order, your coffee hits the table accompanied by a massive, artfully arranged tray of accoutrements, which include pastel-hued chocolate mints, various sugars in multiple colors and house-made whipped cream. With such a mélange of sweets, dessert begins to look entirely optional.

The Denver Tea Room is tucked into a front room of a nineteenth-century Colfax mansion that now houses a bed-and-breakfast, and it’s the perfect setting for lazy, weekend English-style tea service as well as book clubs, which meet in the room at night for heady intellectual discussion over hot drinks and cookies. During the holidays, the tea room (no relation to the legendary downtown spot of the same name) also serves an elaborate high tea on linen-clothed tables — or in a cozy, private parlor. Never-empty teacups supplement a multi-course affair that includes shepherd’s pie, a tea tray of scones and finger sandwiches, and sweet spice cakes. You can while away several hours with this ritual, sinking back into a velvety couch in the sunroom for a long conversation.

There’s more to making cappuccino than pulling a shot, steaming a little milk and adding a great big dollop of foam — and the baristas at the Cup recognize that. They start by pulling a perfect shot of espresso topped with caramel-colored crema — and then the real work begins. They know the secret for creating perfect foam at a perfect temperature, they understand why you can’t make a cappuccino from skim milk (without milk fat, the foam just falls away), and they’re aware of the importance of latte art, which is not only part of the tradition but displays the integrity of the craft. They effortlessly pour perfect cappuccinos, each adorned with a heart, rosette or something more artistic, served on saucers with a spoon and a chocolate-covered espresso bean.

Herb, Jake and Joe Brodsky are passionate about getting the best cup of coffee possible into the hands of consumers. And so they spend a lot of time forging relationships, searching for beans and perfecting the processing of Novo Coffee. Their search for perfection sends them to Ethiopia, Nicaragua, Indonesia and many other corners of the world, but then they bring their finds back to their warehouse just north of downtown Denver, where they use a custom-built roaster to finish the coffee for packaging. The father-and-sons team is obsessive about quality control, checking for flaws and roasting in small batches; the Brodskys are also willing educators and ardent about building the coffee community, conducting on-premise cuppings with the public to explain the nuances of beans, roasts and brewing methods. But a cup of Novo coffee speaks for itself: It’s rich, complex, heady and absolutely delicious.

Paris on the Platte has been caffeinating crowds since 1986, and it shows no signs of slowing down. Over the past 25 years, the neighborhood has certainly picked up: This area in the Central Platte Valley used to be a no-man’s-land; today, families, friends and telecommuters flock to Paris, where they suck back bottomless cups of joe, lattes and crowbars — a quad shot of espresso with chocolate — while ordering from a menu of sandwiches, snacks and desserts. Some people come early, but most stay late, since the place is open until 1 a.m. most nights and 3 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. Besides the rising property values, the main difference between now and 1986? The lack of tobacco. Paris was one of the last bastions of indoor smoking in Denver, and though it still sells packs of cigarettes, those wanting to light up are now relegated to the patios.

Accept no substitute: My Brother’s Bar is the real thing. An eclectic crowd haunts the tables and bar here, and it’s a crowd that represents a cross-section of this city’s population. Families and downtown professionals eat burgers and fries on the back patio during the day; Highland neighbors stop in for a tap Tetley’s pretty much anytime; and industry folks come in after their restaurants close, mingling with the old-time regulars, crusty waitstaff, quirky bartenders and unlucky kitchen guy charged with grilling burgers on the flat-top until one in the morning. Brother’s is signless but famous thanks to its burgers, year-round Girl Scout cookie stock and history that ties the building, if not the Karagas siblings who bought the bar over forty years ago, to Neal Cassady and Jack Kerouac. But this spot’s story goes back much further: It’s been a saloon since at least the 1880s. My Brother’s is an integral part of our heritage, and it will remain a Denver institution no matter how many other brothers butt in.

Sorting through the city’s java joints is a little like finding your foothold in a foreign city — and like foreign cities, coffee shops are all about personality. Rooster and Moon mirrors ours: Buzzy, quirky, allegedly spooked by ghosts, artistic and community-driven, this charismatic spot celebrates our obsession with octane by pouring organic Allegro fuel that’s always piping hot and served with a genuine smile by animated baristas who often stop at your table with a carafe of fresh brew to refill your cup. It’s a communal gathering place where caffeine-energized bunnies lap up their cinnamon-vanilla lattes, break out their laptops to troll cyberspace, and nosh on way, way above-average grub — most notably the holy-god-is-this-good banana pudding. Added bonus: Late afternoon into night, Rooster and Moon morphs into a bar with boozy cocktails — a ploy, of course, to make sure your morning hangover requires a heavy jolt of espresso.

A regular gathering spot in a busy stretch of Highland, home to some of the town’s most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes, Common Grounds is teeming with people from all over the neighborhood at just about every time of day. Young singletons walk their dogs over for a cappuccino, students and solitary workers hack away on laptops in the corners, and groups of friends gather over weekend pastries. And because socializing is so easy in this crowded shop, first conversations are often struck up when two strangers are forced to share a table and romantic excursions sometimes planned at the cream and sugar station. Get ready to spoon.

Aviano is the only Colorado cafe to source beans from Intelligentsia, a Chicago-based roaster with a cultish following that has just six shops in the country — three in the Windy City and now three in L.A. The beans alone get Aviano a lot of the way to a great cup of coffee, but owner Doug Naiman also trained with the obsessive staff of Intelligentsia, who will throw out any latte or cappuccino that doesn’t have art. Because art, it turns out, is a reflection of how well the foam is made. At his own coffee shop, which moved to Cherry Creek last year, Naiman’s obsession is manifested in his brew-to-order pourover bar, his refusal to make blended drinks and his insistence that all shots of espresso be enjoyed immediately…and in porcelain. He’s a stickler for the rules, but they result in a perfect cup of coffee, every time.

The eclectic array of rooms that make up Stella’s Coffeehaus reflect the evolution of this spot since it first opened on South Pearl in the early 1990s, and every nook and cranny has its own rich personality that changes with the crowd. During the day, Stella’s is ideal for work and study, when a pensive silence hangs over each table, most shared by strangers. At night, live music, board games and conversation dominate, as people catch up over a snack or stretch the night with one last, non-alcoholic drink. The sprawling porch in front is so lovely that the space is always packed in the summer and almost as frequently full in the winter, when heaters make it bearable to sit outside. For its always-warm ambience, Stella’s is just our cup of tea.

Veteran Denver restaurateurs Beth Gruitch and Jennifer Jasiniski started with a clear vision for Euclid Hall: an American tavern, an unassuming place where diners could gather for beers and bar food, elevated well above bar level by making everything possible — sausages, mustards, pickles — in-house. With that articulate frame, they outdid themselves in every way imaginable. The space itself is beautiful, with history preserved in the brick walls and shiny wood floors, but washed clean of any memories of the grimy spots that inhabited the address before. The beer list is full of rare and stellar selections, and the contemporary cocktails are clever. But what makes Euclid Hall such an outstanding addition to the Denver dining scene is the menu: plump sausages in taut casings; a teetering stack of fried chicken and griddled sourdough waffles; a variety of poutines, hand-cut fries laden with gravy; cheese curds; and accoutrements ranging from mushrooms to foie gras. Be still, our hearts.

Is it the smashing wine list, the Sunday brunch that encourages a pajama-clad clientele, a sommelier who has a fetish for deliberately mismatched clothes, the riotous din, or chef Scott Parker’s exceptional food that makes you wonder if you’ve somehow just stepped into a restaurant that’s more akin to a playground, where frolic and fun are the name of the game? Parker’s daily-changing, seasonally conscious menu never gets tired, and never, ever feels aggressively trendy. Instead, he does what he wants, when he wants, culling from cult-quality ingredients that are carefully prepared with subtle fits of flair. His innovative split-pea and porcetta soup is mind-numbingly good, as is the shrimp risotto, matched with melted leeks and arugula. And whereas many restaurants view their sugar finales as afterthoughts, here they’re anything but: Try the close-to-perfect beignets or the lemon panna cotta, then express your gratitude by buying the kitchen crew a six-pack of suds.

In just a few short years, Jonesy’s EatBar has become one of Denver’s favorite haunts for American grub, seducing diners all over the city with its sassy board of classics: incredible fries, duck-confit posole, shrimp and crawfish grits, sliders lobbed with lamb. And in true, easy American fashion, these dishes are best consumed at the bar, where you’ll enjoy the quick (and quick-witted) drink-slingers who are generous with straight-up shots and equally adept at pouring cleverly fashioned cocktails that are all too easy to absorb.

Right beside the 26-year-old Rosa Linda’s Mexican Cafe, the two-year-old Squeaky Bean unleashes a porkerific platter of fine swine followed by Brussels with mussels. A few doors down the street, there’s the burble of frivolity emanating from LoHi Steak Bar, home to the city’s best chocolate pudding and blue-cheese fondue. Down the block and around the corner, culinary creativity awaits at Z Cuisine, a tiny French bistro with more regulars than an army. And then there’s Lola, swimming in coastal Mexican seafood, and an itsy-bitsy bakery called the Wooden Spoon, and half a dozen more great restaurants within as many blocks. What do they all have in common? They all boast addresses at the edge of Highland — LoHi, as the real-estate pushers now call it — and those of you who live in that ‘hood should consider yourselves extremely lucky, because this urbanized enclave boasts a group of restaurants that make the rest of the city sigh with envy.

People flock to Ernie’s every night, using this Highland restaurant for everything from a heated game of Skee-Ball with a first date to a respite from that home office. Groups convene over massive bowls of family-style salads, platters of meat and cheese and large, thin-crust pizzas; individuals post up at the bar to nurse local draft beers and catch a game on TV. The restaurant has a convivial, open atmosphere that’s conducive to both intimacy and socializing, making you comfortable even if you’ve never been here before. Ernie’s may not be in your neighborhood, but it’s exactly the kind of restaurant every neighborhood needs.

The Squeaky Bean may very well be Denver’s most wickedly irreverent restaurant, which is just one of the reasons it’s such an alluring escape when you need a mood-lifter that’s legal. Owner and head bean-counter Johnny Ballen has a wonderfully warped mind that’s resulted in the erection of a Farrah Fawcett shrine, a bingo billboard and the flight of helium-filled balloons through the room, ensuring that no one walks out in a cloud of bitterness. But while all of those things add to the Bean’s magnetism, it’s executive chef Max MacKissock’s sensational cooking that really seals the deal. A healthy dose of playfulness — and provocation — prevails in everything he touches, from his modernized TV dinners and duo of grilled quail squatting on a Coors Light can to his Italian wedding soup, prepared so brilliantly that you want to weep. And then there’s the profoundly innovative — and completely refashioned — “green chile” lofted with foie gras and downplayed with Fritos. MacKissock isn’t afraid to drop culinary bombshells, and his risk-taking tendencies thus far have resulted in enthusiastic reviews from foodniks near and far. Few chefs understand exactly what it takes to make a palate soar like MacKissock does, and for everything he does, and everything he will do, we give thanks.

Jorel Pierce worked the line at Rioja for nearly four years under chef Jennifer Jasinski (who owns Rioja, Euclid Hall and Bistro Vendôme with business partner Beth Gruitch) before taking his maverick prowess to Euclid Hall, where he now mans the kitchen. Pierce is confident, brilliantly innovative and, at 26, one of the city’s youngest kitchen kingpins to pioneer a line that turns out what may very well be the most ambitiously executed menu in Denver. His board, a witty, pithy digest of under-represented foodstuffs — blood sausage, for instance — dazzles, as does he. “This is my life, this is what I do, and I take it very, very seriously,” Pierce says of his craft — a craft that’s just beginning to shape a very bright future.

We like to live dangerously by hopping on a stool and taking in the controlled anarchy of an exhibition kitchen, specifically one that’s as up-close and personal as the copper-topped chef’s counter — the only thing separating the cooks from the customers — at Deluxe. It’s pockmarked, scratched and a tight squeeze, with only a half-dozen seats, but it’s also the best seat in the house for bantering with the crew, headlined by executive chef Dylan Moore, whose appreciation for peepers is apparent. A sign above the chef’s counter reads “EAT” — and if you sit in Moore’s domain, you’ll eat beautifully, with the added benefit of observing a classy cast having as much fun as you are.

There’s nothing pompous about this French bistro, where the informal, come-as-you-are ambience makes it all too easy to become a regular. And by the looks of it, especially on Sunday mornings, when Littleton residents sashay in for brunch, there are plenty of regulars who crave JaJa’s dazzling crepes, filled with everything from smoked ham and Swiss to scrambled eggs and bacon, to sunny-side-up eggs and sausage, to Nutella and sugar-kissed bananas. The unfussy elegance, coupled with the camaraderie of the ardent habitués who linger over Bloody Marys and bottomless mimosas, makes JaJa’s Bistro a must-stop for both wistful Francophiles and card-carrying foodophiles who want a little joie de vivre with their morning pick-me-up.

When Jeff Osaka left Los Angeles and moved to Colorado, he started looking for a turnkey spot where he could open a restaurant, a place that just needed a little elbow grease and no extensive renovations, so that he could focus on what he really cared about: the food. He found such a space on Larimer Street, a former BBQ joint with a great oak bar on one side of the room. That massive bar remains the focal point of the dining room, and it’s also the best place to experience Osaka’s food. Grab a seat there and eat your way through the seasonal menu (it changes every month, or twelve times a year), marveling at Osaka’s work with foie gras and scallops, tasting the humble simplicity of the dishes from your humble seat. At the bar at twelve, dinner becomes all about the food, without any distractions.

The front of the house at Frasca is like a ballet: a graceful collection of choreographed movements conceived of and directed by co-owner Bobby Stuckey so that every need of every guest is always met. Each employee, from the expediter to the wine director, carries an immense amount of knowledge about the Friulian eatery, articulating answers to questions with authority. And each person knows his or her role, arriving at the exact moment he or she is needed to clear a plate, fill a bread plate or drop off a check — without intruding on a special evening or interrupting the flow of the show. That delicate dance does more than imbue an evening with an air of luxury; it also makes the food taste better.

One of Denver’s main north-south thoroughfares, Federal Boulevard is lined with dilapidated strip malls, a patched-together network of parking lots and unkempt buildings. Still, there’s plenty to look at: an unbelievable assortment of excellent restaurants that serve cuisine from all over the globe. Federal is home to countless pho shops, several restaurants offering dim sum, many more Asian joints, and Mexican spots that range from seafood stops to burrito joints to kitchens that sling authentic menudo. And wherever there might be a gap in the buildings, there are taco trucks and carts serving fresh shrimp cocktail. Whether you’re craving xiao long bao, banh mi or street tacos, you’ll find it on Federal.

Braving the twists and turns of Flagstaff Road for dinner at the Flagstaff House is worth every thrill and chill once you’re seated at a table in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows or, in the summer months, on the patio. Nestled in the woods on a cliff high above Boulder, this forty-year-old restaurant features expansive views of the valley below, cityscapes stretching to Denver, all framed by the picturesque Flatirons. During daylight hours, it’s the perfect spot for admiring the Colorado wilderness. And at night, when the town glitters peacefully below the restaurant, the breathtaking scenery is the background for a perfect, intimate dinner.

If you’re going to bill yourself as a farm-to-table restaurant, then you’d better make damn sure you’re following in the footsteps of Alex Seidel, whose enlightening little restaurant walks the walk and talks the talk. A couple of years ago, Seidel bought himself a ten-acre farm just outside Larkspur, where he raises Nebraska-bred sheep along with chickens that pop out beautiful eggs. He also cultivates herbs, harvests vegetables and makes his own small-batch cheeses, including a sensational ricotta, then trots his bounty to Fruition, seducing diners with plate after plate of New American comfort food straight off the farm — and straight from the earth.

When Kevin Delk and John Skogstad opened Beatrice & Woodsley, they crafted an elaborate backstory, weaving a tale of a woodsman and a daughter of a winemaking family who came to settle in the Colorado mountains. And then the restaurateurs brought the story to life, outfitting their Broadway spot with light wood slats, round booths that appear almost carved into the walls, chainsaws that hold up shelves behind the bar, and the most interesting — and puzzling — bathroom sinks we’ve ever seen. The whole place is softly lit by hanging lanterns and imbued with a fairytale ambience that makes you feel as if you’re really dining in an enchanted forest.

The hardback cover, a photo of Jennifer Jasinski’s braised artichoke and white-truffle tortelloni — a recipe that has made grown men break down in tears faster than negotiations between PETA and the Pork Board — is the first stunning glimpse into The Perfect Bite, Jasinski’s self-published cookbook comprising 76 Rioja recipes, including the chef’s signature tasting menu, and page after page of glorious photography. Every recipe, insists Jasinski, was tested three times — by her. While those recipes aren’t for the timid, the directions are clear and to the point, and if you can pull one off in your kitchen, you’ll have earned yourself a culinary gold star.

Francophiles have flocked to Z Cuisine from the moment it opened in 2005, comforted by its warm service, seduced by its small, neighborhood feel, and bewitched by the restorative cooking of chef/owner Patrick DuPays, whose French bistro eats continue to make us swoon. Mirroring the boards in Paris, Z’s menu is filled with charcuterie, foie gras, hearty beef bourguignon and whatever else DuPays, a resolute advocate of local foods and a farmers’ market regular, discovers during the day’s foraging. Reservations aren’t taken and there’s no wait list, but c’est la vie: If the tables are being held hostage at Z Cuisine (DuPays encourages lingering), À Côté, his highly sociable bar next door, has a similar menu.

When the original owner lost Cafe Brazil in the early ’90s, Tony and Marla Zarlenga took it over and saved the name because Brazil has a great culture, a great spirit and a great reputation — and they wanted to channel that. But instead of a strictly Brazilian restaurant, they created a novolatino place that offers a contemporary interpretation of the cuisine of South America with influences from the Mediterranean. It’s a unique world of the couple’s own creation that influences everything from the menu to the artwork (which Marla paints when she’s not working in the kitchen). There are a few bona fide Brazilian dishes, like the xim xim and the feijoada, but many of the menu offerings are Colombian with a Brazilian touch. The Peixe de Angola, for example, with Malagueta chiles tossed into the creamy fish stew made with sweet and spicy coconut milk and lime; the crispy, sweet fried bananas gracing many plates; the cazuela Colombiana, a savory stew of tomato and chicken breast and prawns; the dulce de leche ice cream, creamy caramel gelato topped with espresso. Whatever the origin of these dishes, each provides a beautiful window into a rich Latin American world.

Save for a few maps of Ethiopia, the decor at Queen of Sheba, an East Colfax storefront, is modest. But the food? As owner Zewditu (Zodi) Aboye’s daughter puts it, “Some people just have a gift for cooking, you know?” From a partially visible kitchen, Aboye turns out stellar renditions of her home country’s cuisine: stews of earthy lentils, gamey yebeg wott thick with chunks of lamb, and tender legs of juicy, roasted chicken, all infused with the piquant smoke of berbere, the spice that’s ubiquitous in this type of fare. Those stews come on a platter, hemmed in with tart, spongy injera (like a flat sourdough) used for scooping everything up between fingers. To wash it all down, Aboye pours Ethiopian honey wine and Harar beer, of course. Denver is lucky to have many Ethiopian restaurants, but Queen of Sheba rules.

Syrup’s got plenty of sweet offerings on the menu, but the star of the list is savory: Chef Tom Willis makes his own corned beef hash, mixing succulent chunks of salty meat with sweet onions, cooked until soft and translucent, and crispy bits of golden-brown potato. The hearty blend is satisfying on its own, served with crisped hash browns and a side of toast. But it’s even better as the base of the Cherry Creeker, a variation on eggs Benedict. Two toasted halves of an English muffin are heaped with piles of the meat and potatoes, then topped with two poached eggs and smothered with creamy, tart hollandaise. It’s quite the way to start your day.

For more than six years, Shish Kabob Grill, a block from the State Capitol and a million miles from Lebanon, has been a popular Mideast feast house for falafel and fattouch, baba ghanouj and beef kafta kabobs, grape leaves and gyros, tabbouleh and hummus. The food, created, cooked and plated in an open kitchen, is stunningly prepared. The hummus is a particular standout: nutty, silky, tart with lemon juice and jolted with enough garlic to stupefy a clique of vampires, stained with sumac and perfectly on point with its chickpea-to-sesame-paste ratio. Like just about every other dish here, it’s served with large rounds of piping-hot toasted pita that, while not baked in-house, is still a very good utensil for mopping up the fantastic mess.

The southern suburbs, with their mega-priced steakhouses, chain horrors and multimillion-dollar mansions, are hardly where you’d expect to find the most interesting Indian restaurant in the city — hustling Indian street food, no less. The two Mirch Indian Grill outposts are brightly hued, comfortably informal shrines to Bollywood, where Indian pop music pulsates from the speakers while the kitchen turns out authentic foods that have made that country a culinary mecca. The menu, which reads like a personal travelogue, is full of beautifully prepared, flavor-bombed dishes, including “Frankies,” griddled rotis smeared with chutney and a thin layer of scrambled egg and rolled with cubed lamb, chicken or potatoes; somosa chaat spread with yogurt, chutneys and chickpeas; meaty kabobs; and aloo tikki, crisp potato patties lashed with bold spices. Just make sure to save stomach space for the diabolically good mango ice-cream sandwiches.

Every meal at the upscale Seoul BBQ starts with the superb, complimentary banchan, a collection of a dozen or so tiny dishes that showcase what Korean cuisine is all about. Savory mini-omelettes full of garlic and scallions. Baked Korean yams doused in sweet syrup. Crisp pickles, totori muk acorn jelly and, of course, kimchi, pickled napa cabbage coated in chili oil. You hardly need an entree after that, but Seoul also makes excellent Korean specialties such as bulgogi — strips of marinated beef sizzling on a grill pan — and bibimbap, a clay pot of rice topped with a yolky egg and savory ribeye, getting crispier as it sits.

“Medium” isn’t a server’s suggestion at US Thai Cafe when a new guest innocently asks for Thai hot — it’s an order. Because US Thai’s “medium” is what most places peg as “hot,” a sweat-inducing smattering of fiery red chiles mixed through any dish on the menu, used with just enough restraint to allow an eater to actually taste the rest of the flavors in the excellent food. But for those thrill-seekers who crave insane levels of heat, the kitchen will punch up everything from the green papaya salad to the curry with angry-looking peppers that are probably hot enough for some sort of eating contest, guaranteed to blister your esophagus and make your adrenaline flow.

Surin Thanon is a native of Chiang Mai in northern Thailand, and she brings her capable touch to everything on the menu at Thai Flavor, which includes such standards as pad Thai and Thai curries, as well as specialties from her home — with some, like certain whole-fish dishes, that aren’t even translated into English. The fresh green papaya salad, tangy tom yum goong soup and stir-fried noodle offerings are standouts, but the biggest draw is the curries, which are simultaneously hearty and delicate; sweet, savory and spicy; and complexly layered with garlic, ginger, woody galangal and piney lemongrass. Thickened with coconut milk, they’re laced with racy green or red Thai chiles (grown in Thanon’s garden) or toasted cumin and topped with a smattering of sweet-tart kaffir lime leaves or a few sprigs of fresh basil. Denver has had Thai restaurants for decades, but with Thai Flavor, it finally got a superb Thai restaurant.

After more than two decades, New Saigon is still the indisputable champion of Vietnamese cuisine on the Front Range. And not only is it the best, but it’s the biggest — at least in terms of its offerings. The menu here is a veritable tome: page after page of Vietnamese dishes offered by Thai Nguyen and his wife (and chef) Ha Pham. The roster includes such specialties as head-on shrimp stir-fried in spicy sauce; goat cooked with lotus root; whole fish, deep-fried; whole crabs, lobster tails, frog’s legs, even jellyfish. And then there are all the usual suspects: spring rolls, egg rolls and a variety of bun — bowls filled with broth, springy vermicelli noodles and grilled meats and fish. No matter what you order, it’s bound to be good — and proof that the Vietnamese canon can go far from pho.

When Frank Bonnano opened Bones in late 2008, he took traditional Japanese noodle bowls and infused them with French touches, adding confit, pork belly and suckling pig to a lineup built around ramen, udon and soba. And while his dishes are a far cry from what you’d find over in Japan, they’re undeniably good. The lobster ramen is ethereal, a decadent, delicate broth filled with tangles of curly ramen and fat spring peas. The pork udon is even better: The broth is sticky with fat, and thick hunks of pork belly swim against big buckwheat noodles, soaking up the gooey yolk of a perfectly poached egg that floats above the rest.

Xiao long bao, or soup dumplings, originated in Shanghai but became so much a part of Taiwan’s cuisine that the most famous version in the world is made at a Taipei-based restaurant chain called Din Tai Fung. Dumpling connoisseurs on both sides of the Pacific spend plenty of time debating what makes a great soup dumpling, analyzing everything from the number of tiny folds that artfully close the dough over the contents to the best source of gelatin for the broth. But there’s no debating the best soup dumplings in Denver: They’re served at a tiny Taiwanese joint on Federal, Lao Wang Noodle House, where doughy rice wrappers encapsulating peppery pork meatballs and pungent broth are served ten to a steamer. Mouth-wateringly succulent, they’re best consumed by biting the wrapper and sipping the soup out before consuming the rest. Shoving the entire dumpling in your mouth guarantees you’ll scald your tongue.

Pho Duy has been slinging pho — and not much else — for nearly two decades, and the kitchen makes the noodle soup in a way that’ll please even the most resolute purist. The dish starts with dark and pungent beef broth, with depth added by slices of onions, cooked soft, their flavor infused into the liquid. That base plays host to different kinds of meat: thin strips of peppery, tender flank steak; slices of fatty brisket; chewy chunks of tendon and textured strips of tripe, kissed with sweetness; hunks of chicken. The meats play against the nest of bouncy noodles, supplemented by chile, vinegar and a plate of produce that includes bean sprouts, basil and cilantro. It’s piquant, savory and deeply warming.

Tucked into a corner of the Niwot Market grocery store, the modest Sachi Sushi spends most of the week serving up raw fish offerings. But on Sundays, owner Tsukasa Hibino cooks up a batch of authentic, Kyushu-style ramen that’s better than anything you’ll find along the Front Range. Cloudy tonkotsu broth, made by boiling pork and chicken bones for hours until the liquid is infused with heady flavor and velvety collagen, holds a mass of springy noodles, dense enough to balance a bevy of ingredients near the surface: cuts of fat-laced pork, strips of black seaweed, half a hard-boiled egg, bits of scallion, a sprinkling of sesame seeds and a star-shaped slice of pink-swirled narutomaki, a fish cake that adds more color than flavor to the bowl. The result is deeply aromatic and savory, the noodles fattening as they soak up liquid, your lips getting sticky with fat as you slurp the soup.

Saunter into Jason and Jeanette Burgett’s stylish meet-and-greet bakery, and you’ll be immediately bombarded with sensory overload — the kind that makes your double chin drop in disbelief. If the scents of exquisite fresh-baked cookies, pastel-hued French macaroons, ooey-gooey sticky buns that rise like the sun, perfect fruit tortes, pies, cakes and scones don’t give you a sugar high, biting into any one of their sublime creations will. Wooden Spoon is a fantasy world of flirtatious sweets, of breads that crest above the rest, of heavenly breakfast glories mounted on soft brioche, and of comforting, stomach-swelling sandwiches. The half-dozen tables are nearly always clogged with regulars who probably have to race-walk to snatch a coveted seat; they must not eat too many of the goodies sold here.

It’s high noon on a Saturday and, predictably, there’s a crowd of hungry people pushing through the door, speaking in English and foreign tongues, wondering how long the wait might be for a table. It’s just another dim sum day at Star Kitchen, a brightly lit utopia of imaginatively prepared, vibrant dumplings and steamed barbecue buns, floppy shrimp rice-noodle rolls and fried sesame balls. The servers wheel shimmering silver carts through the dining room, offering anything — and everything — you could possibly want from a dim sum (and then some) experience. Bonus: There’s beer!

“Really? You want that?” The server’s eyes grow wide and sparkle with mischief, and after patiently reciting the English translations from the “secret” Chinese menu, she cheerfully nods and scampers toward the kitchen, pausing just once to glance back for affirmation. Chef Liu’s Authentic Chinese Cuisine is a shrine to familiarity and weirdness, where tofu skin and fried pork livers intersect with cumin-dusted lamb skewers, chicken blistered with chiles the color of the devil’s burning ears, and Beijing-style pork bumped up with bean paste. The Americanized Chinese and Northeast Chinese dishes on both menus represent amazing breadth and depth, and even if you’re one of those lucky people who pads your belly with Chinese food on a daily basis, it’s safe to assume that when you stop by Chef Liu’s, you’ll discover an imperial lust for something entirely new.

The staff at Elway’s Downtown clearly saw what a bloody steak could do for a carnivore’s libido, so last spring, they unshucked a sushi bar: proof that the junction of toro and tenderloin is just as natural as that of beer and pretzels. The display — exquisitely fresh, glistening fish that glows like silk — rivals the quality of what you’ll encounter at restaurants where sushi headlines the menu. You can order sushi from the dining room, or just kick back at the bar with some sake and watch as the stark white plates surface with artfully arranged, translucently thin slices of sea bass carpaccio dotted with tobiko and chives, or new-wave hamachi, ringed with jalapeños and glittering with cilantro microgreens.

It’s been six years since Wayne Conwell opened Sushi Sasa, bringing to Denver the new-style Japanese cuisine he’d learned under Iron Chef Morimoto. Six years of dishes punched up with the influences of Italy and France, six years of stellar fish, six years of imaginative omakase menus exploring the best Japanese cuisine the city has to offer. Six years of Conwell staying spot-on in his execution of everything from tenderloin to toro. But last year, Sushi Sasa gave us even more reason to love it: Conwell expanded the sleek, intimate dining room, more than doubling the number it could seat. And though reservations are still required, making them months in advance is not.

Loosely translated, the word “amu” means “everything and nothing.” Amu is a quiet sliver of a restaurant attached to the raucous Sushi Zanmai, easily missed by the masses but fervently supported by fans and Boulder’s chefs, who spend hours in this authentic izakaya. Amu doesn’t serve sushi, as the robed chefs behind the narrow bar will note when a guest walks through the door. Instead, it serves other classic Japanese dishes: glittering fried green mussels served in their shells with plenty of Japanese mayonnaise; a perfect piece of red tuna set on a soft, delicate paste made from mountain yam; mochi kakiage, a chewy Japanese rice cake that’s battered and fried; and superb aged ashi tofu, delicate and silky with a crispy fried shell, served in a subtle ponzu broth with a pinch of minced green onions and a single pickled carrot cut into a tiny star resting atop the glorious, golden mass. The food may look so simple it seems like nothing, but that simplicity is everything to a fabulous Japanese meal.

Ototo Food and Wine Bar sources its oysters seasonally, ordering in the freshest specimens from whatever location has them. But no matter the source or the variety, these oysters come to the table as cold and fresh as if they’ve just been plucked from a tide pool. After they’re drizzled with astringent sherry vinaigrette or biting jalapeño ponzu, the slick, fleshy bodies tip out of glittering shells, leaving the delicate essence of the sea — like the taste of the air on a rainy coast — on the teeth and tongue. Oysters like this should be eaten by the dozen, ideally with just a bottle of white wine to wash them down. And sitting at Ototo’s bar, watching Pearl Street through its storefront windows, that’s an entirely satisfying way to eat dinner.

Bittersweet is the blood, sweat and tears of chef/owner Olav Peterson, who opened his own restaurant after spending the past several years as the exec chef of Bistro One. His seasonal board is short but powerful, a direct, focused and ambitious stab at some of our favorite foods, including clam chowder. There are dozens of renditions around town, most of them a flat vat of cream and canned clams — but Peterson’s is a stunning bowl of transcendence. He uses cream, to be sure, but the liquid, permeated with smoke, gets its unduplicated flavor from the liquor left by pounds and pounds of smoked mussels, as well as specks of bacon and other seasonings. Peterson then sinks a potato croquette into the chowder and crowns that with a razor clam and a full slice of crispy bacon that shatters into the superlative soup.

Lola has always embraced the power of the ocean, turning out coastal Mexican food in a city — as people will annoyingly remind you — framed by waves of mountains. But co-owner/executive chef Jamey Fader knows his way around a fish, and he’s cast his net far and wide to hook seaworthy creatures that are the prize of his new cold bar, a few yards of counter space tucked into a tight corner on the edge of the dining room overlooking the patio. The four stools facing the cold bar could be the hottest seats in town, the perfect spot to order a flight of ceviches, tart with citrus; beautifully fresh ahi tuna carpaccio; briny oysters on the half-shell or snowy white ono festooned with pineapple kimchi, avocado and microgreens.

Troy Guard, chef/owner of TAG and the just-opened TAG|RAW BAR, grew up in Hawaii, which may explain why his board at TAG is a fish-lover’s deep-sea dream, floating such dishes as Maine diver scallops puddled in a parsnip-vanilla purée and sushi rolls tucked with yellowfin or lobster. Guard’s infatuation with aquatics spans the world, and he embraces a universe of sea creatures that you rarely find on Denver restaurant menus. To wit: South African black ruff, a blunt-snouted species that’s been known to wander a long way from home, even surfacing in the waters off the southern coast of Massachusetts. But even if it featured a bottom-feeder from the floor of a muddy swamp, we’d still fall hook, line and sinker for any dish created by Guard. In Denver’s pond, he’s a very big fish.

Nothing sates a cinnamon-roll craving quite like downing a fresh bun, still steaming from the oven, at Duffeyroll Cafe, a Wash Park breakfast shop with suburban offshoots. Hand-rolled with the ideal amount of cinnamon filling between each layer of fluffy, bready pastry, each bun is lightly crisped around the edges and just gooey enough with glaze — your choice of six different toppings. While we like the zesty orange, the rich Irish cream and crunchy, pecan-vanilla version, we’re particularly partial to the original topping: a light and sugary coating that bolsters the taste of the pastry beneath.

Elway’s Cherry Creek is a lot of things, including a meat market — meeting a potential mate, meeting up for a drink, meeting a moneyed sugar daddy or meeting a pair of enhanced breasts that make you slap-happy. But that’s just foreplay, because at the meat of the matter is the real beef: majestic slabs of seasoned steer weeping with bloody juices; ruddy prime rib seeping with the same; classic beef tartare; a steak chili that deserves its own monument. Although the cow is king here, even the usual-suspect steakhouse side dishes of au gratin potatoes, creamed spinach and creamed corn — and creatively tweaked sidekicks of Brussels sprouts hash, roasted cauliflower and sweet-potato risotto — separate Elway’s from the rest of the herd.

Elise Wiggins, the enormously talented executive chef of Panzano, holds true to a steadfast rule when she designs her menus: “The dishes I create are all mine: I don’t copy what anyone else is doing,” she insists. Indeed, Wiggins marches to her own drummer, and her contemporary, come-hither Italian dishes — seductive, sophisticated and classier than a cashmere shawl — are draped in marked individuality; her creative standards, right down to the impeccable happy-hour board, perfectly reflect her reverence for Italian food done right. Among the showstoppers: salumi ravioli pocketed with cured meats and cheeses; Hazel Dell-mushroom crepes blanketed with a luxe fonduta sauce; and pan-fried Brussels sprouts, charred and crisp, splashed with apple cider vinegar and tossed with toasted pistachios and slivers of green apple.

Just folksy enough to make fidgety rugrats feel like they’re not a nuisance, but classy enough to make their well-heeled adult guardians feel coddled, this warmly welcoming shrine to Italian cuisine is the kind of restaurant that neighbors and non-neighbors alike seek out when they want a home away from home. Part of that stems from the affable — and never moody — servers, who are well-versed in both food and wine; the other half can be attributed to chef Giancarlo Macchiarella, who cooks with sincerity, discharging dishes with minimal fuss and fanfare but maximum results: housemade ravioli filled with ricotta and spinach and pooled in a light cream sauce scented with sage; ricotta gnocchi dotted with speck; a seaworthy cioppino buoyant with seafood; and lovely pizzas festooned with standout ingredients.

Real New York-style pizza has a few rules. The crust must be thin but not cracker-like — crispy along the edges, but with some give in the center to allow the slices to be folded. That crust should be mounted with tomato sauce, spread thinly across the base so that the white of the dough is still visible beneath. The sauce is then topped with just enough mozzarella to cover it completely, but never in excess; one layer of cheese suffices. Then there’s the true test: All ingredients must be employed with enough restraint that you can easily eat a massive slice — or an entire pie. Big Bill’s New York Pizza makes pies that easily pass all tests: They have an excellent crispness-to-give proportion in the crust, which is coated with a zippy, smooth tomato sauce with plenty of oregano and a fine layer of freshly shredded mozzarella. And when the pizza arrives at the table, hot enough to burn the roof of your mouth, there’s often a lake of grease pooling in the middle — which is really how you know the kitchen here is doing things right.

Weeks, months or years from now, when someone decides it’s time to compile a compendium of Denver’s high priests of pizza, dough-slinging genius David Bravdica should occupy the centerfold. A former airport manager-turned-pie peddler, Bravdica now operates a wood-fired pizza wagon that squats on the 16th Street Mall, an 850-degree powerhouse of smoldering Missouri oak wood. When Bravdica yanks the thin-crusted, misshapen pies, smeared with unadulterated San Marzano fruit and blotted with orbs of creamy mozzarella, from the embers, they’re charred, bubbly and insanely delicious. His crusts need no improvement, nor do his ingredients, many of which originate in Colorado: The pepperoni and sausage are procured from Il Mondo Vecchio, the goat cheese is made at Jumpin’ Good Goat Dairy in Buena Vista, the herbs are grown by Grower’s Organic, and even the flour is sourced locally. In Bravdica’s crust we trust.

So often, things get lost in translation when you’re transporting one country’s cuisine to another part of the world. So instead of trying to create an exact replica of an Italian pizzeria when he opened Pizzeria Basta, chef/owner Kelly Whitaker drew inspiration from Naples, where he’d spent a year making pizzas. But Whitaker definitely grounded Pizzeria Basta in Boulder, focusing on local ingredients for his pies: He uses domestic flour to make his crust, topping it with a thin sauce created from local tomatoes, house-stretched mozzarella and other Colorado ingredients, some grown in his own patio garden, then bakes it all in a scorching, wood-fired oven for a base that’s crisp along the edges, chewy in the center, and bubbling with local flavor. Just about every rendition, whether a classic Daisy (the English translation of “Margherita”) or a seasonal special, gets drizzled with olive oil and topped with a pinch of salt for the perfect finish. Deceptively light and intensely satisfying, Whitaker’s pies successfully capture the essence of Italy while also smacking of Colorado.

Frank Bonanno oversees a burgeoning group of local restaurants, the newest of which is Lou’s Food Bar, a down-to-earth American comfort-food den with an affinity for market-driven French influences and, on occasion, Italian-American dalliances. This is a neighborhood joint, pulsating with lively crowds, where you can sample a plate of portly housemade sausages followed by Frenchy escargot bobbing in butter and end with spaghetti and meatballs. Bonanno could pull flavor out of a newspaper, but his spaghetti and meatballs, thick-walled blades of bucatini swathed in a straight-up tomato sauce whomped with garlic and overlaid with pudgy meatballs stuffed with housemade mozzarella, is a wistful tribute to what life was like before pasta was relegated to purgatory.

Not content with his command over Neapolitan–style pizza, Mark Dym, the piehole behind Marco’s Coal-Fired Pizzeria, has expanded his repertoire to include deep-fried pizza, filling a deep-fried niche that’s been previously saturated with Twinkies, pickles and pig ears. The stretchy doughs, submerged in palm oil for less than thirty seconds, are then surfaced with a sauce made of San Marzano tomatoes smooched with garlic and extra-virgin olive oil and topped with nubs of provola (smoked bufala mozzarella) and blots of fresh mozzarella before they’re nudged into the wood-fired oven, from which they emerge puffed, charred and greaseless. The deep-fried pizzas are incredibly light, slightly chewy and crispy, and intensely gratifying. That’s the upside. The downside? They’re only available at the new Marco’s at the Vallagio, since Dym’s original, downtown location doesn’t have a fryer.

We try our very best not to fill up on bread before dinner comes, but that’s no easy task at Rioja. The restaurant’s given serious thought to its complimentary carbohydrate accompaniment, so it doesn’t serve you stale chunks of ciabatta. Our mouths start watering as soon as we spot the employee charged with bread service, lugging a beautiful basket of crumbly goat-cheese biscuits and thick slices of baguette, full of fat olives that imbue the slices with just a hint of brine, all exquisite breads made by City Bakery. And since that bread basket keeps coming around, it’s tough not to eat three or four rounds before the appetizers even hit the table.

Denver chefs are going to have to do more — much more — than toss a few slices of prosciutto on a platter with a fistful of olives if they’re going to go nose-to-tail with Sergio Romero, the executive chef of Argyll. Romero’s charcuterie program is done 100 percent in-house and features an all-star lineup of all the things we hold sacred: chicken-liver pâté, rabbit rillettes, foie gras mousse, duck prosciutto, gin-cured salmon gravlox, even pickled cow’s tongue. He serves it all on a weighty slab alongside housemade condiments and spreads, including a potent beer mustard specked with caraway seeds, a Colorado purple-onion jam and an impeccable Niçoise olive tapenade.

No other kitchen in the area makes makes croissants like those at the Kitchen, which has perfected the luxurious treats that pair so well with strong black coffee. Rich but feather-light, and so flaky that crumbs blow across the table at the lightest touch, these croissants are especially spectacular because they’re buttery, not butter-flavored. And while the plain croissants are stunning on their own, the version stuffed with a thick layer of dark chocolate is basically happiness incarnate. The only problem? The Kitchen only bakes croissants for weekend brunch. Which, of course, is why the restaurant almost always sells out of the pastries long before it stops serving that lazy, mid-morning meal.

Many restaurants offer cheese courses, but none as tantalizing as the board at Osteria Marco, where every cheese on the plate is crafted in-house. There’s milky, pure, hand-stretched mozzarella. Soft, slightly chunky ricotta, kissed with sweetness and a tinge of clover. Smooth, slightly sharp goat’s-milk ricotta. And, of course, an orb of sinfully rich burrata, the firm, mozzarella-like edge encasing a luscious, creamy center. The kitchen builds plates of one or more selections, supplementing generous helpings with relishes, honeys and delicate housemade crackers. We can’t start — or end — a meal at this Frank Bonanno restaurant without sampling at least one variety.

Mark DeNittis, Denver’s high priest of salumi, is a sausage-slinging genius, his pristine laboratory of pig — and the state’s only USDA-inspected salumeria — a shrine to dry-cured sausages and fresh sausage links made with amore from a hot-blooded Italian who’s devoted his career to pimping meaty, salty, pudgy ropes and rings of porky goodness. Sausage-making is his passion, and after biting off more than we can chew — hot Italian sausage flecked with crushed red pepper, breakfast sausage injected with Stranahan’s whiskey, British-style beer bangers, German beer brats, Greek loukanika, Polish sausages and Mexican chorizo — we still want more.

Colt & Gray is a temple of offal, and the menu features parts of an animal that some people would consider scraps: sweetbreads, crispy trotters, liver pâtés…and bone marrow. Rather than serve a cross-section of bone, the kitchen slices the specimen lengthwise and roasts it until caramelized, velvety, collagen-y marrow is clinging tenderly to the hole in the middle. That hot, butter-like center gets scraped out with a long metal spoon and spread on griddled bread, seasoned with a pinch of salt. Onion-confit jam balances the rich spread with a sweet nip; a smattering of greens gives it a fresh, crisp bite.

Considering the absurdly high number of chili cookoffs that take place in Denver, it doesn’t make sense that it’s next to impossible to find a butt-kicking bowl of the stuff at a restaurant. What’s even more wacky is that the one chili that does bowl us over comes from the kitchen of Elway’s Cherry Creek, a white-tablecloth steer palace that slings a $48 porterhouse, Japanese sea bass for $39, and a half-dozen oysters for just under twenty bucks. And yet for less than a tenner, you can swell your belly with chef Tyler Wiard’s sensational chili, a cast-iron crock brimming with a brick-red stew thumped with oregano, garlic and cumin and shocked with the heat of numerous chile powders, whose blaze slowly sneaks up on you like a silent thief. It comes with all the requisite sidekicks — ribbons of cheddar, red onions and sour cream — but this is a chili that stands righteous without any embellishment.

Down south, they know how to tame this ugly-ass bottom-feeder. They fillet it, pan-fry it with light seasoning and serve it up with hush puppies, okra and other comfort foods. Shead’s keeps the Southern tradition alive in its clean, well-lighted strip-mall location; save some room for a juicy peach cobbler as a chaser. The fried tilapia isn’t half bad, either.

We’re huge fans of Yazoo’s signature dry-rubbed, Memphis-style ‘cue — and especially fond of the Bob, a generous chunk of chicken breast that’s smoked and swathed in jalapeños and bacon, giving the meat just the right touch of heat and savor. Lunchtime regulars at the bare-bones downtown location know it’s best to arrive before noon or the Bobs might all be gone; thank goodness for the newer Greenwood Village locale, which also offers the substantial treat amid a more extensive menu.

When Jabo Lawson abandoned his mobile barbecue pit and moved indoors, he traded up for a custom-built, in-house smoker, where he can now cook 700 pounds of meat at once. He uses that smoker to make tender brisket, piquant Louisiana-style hot links, pulled pork shoulder and, best of all, pork ribs, which are two inches thick, layered with opaque fat, deeply infused with throat-stinging smoke and so tender the meat practically melts into a puddle in your mouth. Everything that comes out of that smoker gets coated in a sauce based on a recipe from Shreveport, Louisiana, and made at varying levels of spiciness, every version delicious. By the time you’ve smothered your barbecue craving with meat, meat and more meat (and maybe a few sides), you’ll think you can’t eat another bite. But then Jabo’s serves up a Utah scone, an airy puff of dough whose deep-fried, golden-brown crust is painted with a smear of sticky homemade honey butter, the perfect sweet kiss at the end of your meal.

From the moment the doors flew open at the Pinyon, there was an audible cluck about a bird that flies right. Executive chef/owner Theo Adley, who commands an exhibition kitchen surrounded by voyeurs, many of them local chefs, rubs his chickens with a housemade chile-and-garlic paste sweetened with sugar and tarted up with vinegar. He then floods the fowl in buttermilk for 24 hours and dredges it in potato flour before it hits the sizzle of the frying pan. It’s finished in the oven, emerging with a vividly golden crust that adheres to the flesh, so juicy it slobbers. This is the kind of fried chicken that should be boxed and sold on the black market, right alongside the griddled cakes studded with corn and Adley’s breakfast syrup, colored ebony with maple and molasses.

You’ll laugh, you’ll cry. But mostly you’ll cry. Ask the server at Oskar Blues Home Made Liquids & Solids to “weaponize” your order, and she’ll bring you two pounds of wings made with ghost peppers — 200 times more fiery than jalapeños, and the hottest chiles in the world. You’ll also get carrots, celery, one delicious beer and no napkins. Finish all of it within ten minutes and the wings, the beer and the glory are all free. You also get a free T-shirt and a glass of milk — although neither of those things will be of much help the next day.

Vine Street Pub serves good bar food alongside its line of tapped craft beers, but its chicken wings fly right up to great. Fat with tender, moist meat, they’re crisped in a fryer until crackly, then slathered in lip-stingingly spicy hot sauce or honeyed barbecue sauce. The steamy wings come by the glistening dozen or half-dozen, piled high on a plate with a ramekin of sharp, chunky blue-cheese dressing and a couple stalks of celery. They’re so good it’s impossible not to lick the bones — or your fingers — completely clean.

Snooze has tricked out just about every breakfast item in existence — and wooed and won hordes willing to wait an hour for a table as a result. The restaurant’s pancake isn’t just a griddled buttermilk breakfast; it’s a vehicle for a variety of changing flavor combinations that play up the idea of having dessert for the morning meal. A fat, fluffy cake might be stuffed with brûléed bananas, chocolate and peanut butter and dotted with bacon. Or it might mimic red velvet cake, complete with cream-cheese icing. Or incorporate carrot-cake spices under a dollop of cinnamon butter. The kitchen takes care to keep toppings light and balanced, though, so even ordering a flight of three different kinds of ‘cakes won’t send you reeling into a diabetic coma on the spot.

Morning, noon and night — and way past midnight — this iconic East Colfax institution, illuminated with fluorescents, hums with the melodic chatter of bankers, beatniks, bikers and buggy-eyed drunks, all of whom co-exist in hungry harmony, tucking into gigantic plates tricked out with slabs of bacon, well-seasoned sausages, flapjacks, omelets and mounds of hash browns glistening with gobs of butter. Pete’s Kitchen is a joint that’s great for a late-night group romp when you’re tipsy, a morning-after hangover fix, or a midday gut-buster just before a late-afternoon nap. Given the irresistible vibe, the diverse cross-section of diners, short-order cooks who keep it real, and an affable owner in Pete Contos, who has his own Denver restaurant empire but often hangs out at the counter here, it’s no wonder there’s never a lull in the action.