Food & Drink

The Saucy Noodle may be down — this spring a fire gutted its storefront location along with the space next door, where the Noodle had just expanded — but don’t count it out yet. When owners Erin and Nathan Markham (who’ve been running the place since before Sam Badis, the original owner and Erin’s dad, passed away four years ago) start sautéeing garlic again sometime around the end of the summer, it will go into the best red sauce in town, the same thick, sweet elixir the joint’s been serving since it opened back in 1964. The best way to sample it is over a plate of homemade spaghetti noodles, with huge, tasty meatballs on the side; plenty of homemade Italian bread and a salad draped in a rich, creamy, herb-packed blue-cheese dressing complete the picture. That’s as Italian as it gets.

In Kansas City, the smoky tips of brisket that can’t be sliced off and sold are called burnt ends or brownies. Some KC eateries have made a name for themselves with these tidbits, and with good reason: The extra smoke makes for concentrated barbecue flavor. And after trying for some time to get their brownies right, We’re Smokin’ has the ends in sight. These fatty hunks are intense and still juicy, certain to kill you if you eat too many — but what a way to go. Dip them into We’re Smokin’s well-melded, smoky, spicy sauce, and you’ll agree that these ends justify the means.

When third-generation rancher George Harral and his wife, Georgia, left Texas behind, they knew they wanted to set up a smoke shop somewhere. Lucky for us, they picked a great site: Lookout Mountain, in a hundred-year-old building that reeks of history. The Harrals then set out to smoke everything imaginable — and even a few things that weren’t — from pork ribs to chicken to brisket to salmon. But our favorite is the buffalo. The Harrals lightly smoke those massive bones until the meat starts to release its juices, then slather them with their Texas-style slop, a sweet, tangy barbecue sauce that perks up the buffalo’s mild meat. The buffalo ribs are available only in the summer, so buy some bison now.

When Pastor Gene Washington got the call to take his family to an old soda fountain in Littleton and start serving up great barbecue, he answered — and as a result, we’re blessed with Blest Bar-B-Que of the Rockies. From Grandma Sharon down to granddaughter Jasmine, everyone puts their hands in, and their work pays off with such rib-stickin’ sides as an eggy, pickle-packed potato salad, pork-filled baked beans, sweet potato pie so sugary it’ll make you weep, and genuine Coke floats. But Blest’s true blessing is the sloooooowww-smoked brisket — soft as velvet, so tender you could scare the pieces apart with your fork, and slathered with sauce. And not just any sauce, but a concoction of the reverend’s that takes a little from Kansas, a little from Memphis, and a little more from here and there; the sauce soaks right into the brisket until every shred screams with flavor. Washington calls it “a Southern taste in the West”; we simply call it the best.

Oh, brother! We have no bones to pick with the O’Sullivans, who continue to turn out the best ribs in town at their Brothers BBQ. They came to Denver from England via the South, working on their barbecue along the way. For example, they took the peppery, vinegary Memphis sauce and refined it until the vinegar is nothing but a faint tartness; they enchanced the sweet Kansas City sauce with more smoke to deepen the flavor. But they haven’t changed anything about the way they dry-rub and slow-smoke the St. Louis-cut ribs, because that’s what makes the meat so juicy and intense, so addictive you want to tear at it until every last shred is gone. Their baked beans are the best in town, too. Extra points to the brothers for making everyone feel like barbecue pits are native to Britain — no small feat.

Readers’ choice: Brothers BBQ

In the space once occupied by Pour La France! sits Seven 30 South, a revamped concept from PLF’s owners that shifts the focus away from breakfast and lunch and toward a more sophisticated dining experience. Chef Kip Wotanowicz has created a menu that matches the tony new interior, one that features a number of innovative offerings. Tops on the list is the fried calamari: squid steak cut into French-fry-like strips, then lightly coated with fine breadcrumbs and fried into crunchy-edged, creamy-centered snack stix. Two sauces — a roasted-garlic aioli and a spicy marinara — are provided for dipping, and they’re just the thing to spark the mild calamari meat. After you’ve sunk your teeth into these babies, you’ll kiss off the competition’s rubbery rings forever.

The Denver Dry Tea Room is just a memory, the top-floor space where for decades businessmen chewed each other up while ladies serenely lunched now a hip, $1.5 million loft. Assuming that its new owner, Rutt Bridges, doesn’t plan to throw a citywide open house anytime soon, though, it’s still possible to get a taste of the old place. That’s because the Blue House, a quaint, weekday lunch-only spot, features the tearoom’s famous chicken a la king — a perfect puff pastry filled with chunks of chicken swimming in a rich cream sauce — as a frequent special. Who wants to eat like a millionaire?

The elegant, aptly named Little India does many things well, including a goodies-packed $5.95 lunch buffet and the saag paneer, a sophisticated take on creamed spinach. But the tandoori Cornish game hen is really something to crow about. Each little hen is marinated in yogurt that’s been infused with garlic and ginger, then placed in the clay oven for a mesquite smoking that soaks into the meat; the high heat of the tandoor proves ideal for sealing in the juices. The sky may not be falling, but your inhibitions will the second you rip through the bird’s skin to get at that juicy, flavorful meat.

The folks at Calypso are pulling their fun Caribbean nightclub/jerk joint together on a wing and a prayer — but what a wing! Four bucks buys ten of the flash-fried little appendages, which come plain or slicked with your choice of jerk seasonings or hot sauce, or a combination of the three. The jerk coating is our favorite, a sweet, fiery mixture that soaks into the meat — but the hot’s a hot number, too, with enough buttery richness to keep it from being all about pepper sauce. (Celery sticks and ranch or blue-cheese dressing come on the side, in case you need to cool off.) Beneath the sauce, the skin on these wings is crisp and chewy, while the meat below that is moist and flavorful. And if you’re in the mood to take a flyer on something new, the “Bahamas curry tuna splash” appetizer will knock you straight to Jamaica. Chef Desmond French, a native of Kingston, makes the dip from curried tuna (not the canned kind, either), raisins, sugar and celery, and provides celery sticks and carrots for getting the mess into your mouth. Good stuff, mon.

You wouldn’t think a sports bar would have a sporting chance of serving the town’s best fried chicken — but Caldonia’s scores with one high-flying bird. And this kitchen does more than chicken right; it’s been serving up respectable, Oklahoma-style barbecue for over two decades. The fried chicken carries the flavor of the deep South — its wet and juicy meat is covered by a crispy, crunchy shell that glows golden with just the right amount of grease. An order brings you a half-bird’s worth of parts along with steamed broccoli, a fat mound of skin-on, country-style mashed potatoes smothered in peppery gravy and a sugar-kissed cornbread muffin. After downing all that, you’ll need to join one of Caldonia’s pick-up volleyball games — but unlike the other players, you might want to keep most of your clothes on.

After a stop at the Butterhorn Bakery, it’s all downhill. This Frisco cafe is always packed with people fueling up for the slopes on everything from the Frisco skillet to biscuits and gravy to the best baked goods that side of the Continental Divide. In defiance of high-altitude cooking hazards, the Butterhorn keeps bringing out trays covered with huge cinnamon rolls and sticky buns, fluffy croissants, cream-oozing eclairs and unbelievably tasty blackberry/strawberry/blueberry/kiwi fruit tarts. Grab some to go — or forget about the snow, sit yourself down, and eat your way through the day’s offerings.

The Mountain View Cafe may look like an unlikely spot — it’s a bright-white, houselike structure tucked into a yard filled with statuary and lush foliage — but its roast chicken is downright unbelievable. This bird is big, both in taste and portion. For $6.95, you get soup or salad (if you’re a fan of feta, go with the Greek), massive sides of mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, and half a chicken that’s almost as big as a standard fowl, flecked with fresh herbs and redolent of lemon juice, with a crispy, salty skin holding in firm, moist meat. But good as this is, Mountain View also does right by other Greek, Mexican and American offerings, delivering huge portions for small prices — with a nice view of the Front Range thrown in for free.

Cooking duck isn’t all it’s quacked up to be: Keeping the flesh moist and the skin non-greasy takes some know-how, and complementing the duck’s sweet, faintly gamey flavor without overpowering it or turning the bird into a meaty dessert is trickier still. But at Vesta Dipping Grill, chef Matt Selby makes it all look easy. His brown-sugar-smoked roast duck is something to behold — although you won’t gaze at it too long, because you’ll be ripping into the tender duck meat. Although the brown sugar is definitely a factor, it serves as an extension of the duck’s own natural sweetness. Augment it with one of Vesta’s three dozen dipping sauces (the dried berry chutney and honey soy are our faves), and this dish really flies.

Although El Rancho opened fifty years and several owners ago, it’s still in its prime. And so is the beef, a well-marbled rib roast dry-aged three weeks and cut off the bone in pieces ranging from eight ounces ($18.95) to sixteen ($30.95), tender as a baby’s butt and served au jus. Every time you stick your fork in this prime rib, more juice runs out — which works just fine with El Rancho’s chunky, buttery mashed potatoes. The regular entrees come with the spuds and a salad — and that’s after a signature relish tray loaded with crudites and dip. Good any night, the prime rib is a real deal on Wednesday nights, when it’s all-you-can-eat (and that includes the sides) for $21.95. See you back at El Rancho for that one, pardner.

A great steakhouse is about more than great steak — although that’s certainly the prime consideration. Second comes the service, which must be knowledgeable and a tad snooty for all the important people who want to eat big meat, but not so snooty that the common man feels out of place. Third is the setting, with extra points for manly opulence that isn’t so manly it offends gals; fourth are the side dishes, which should be rich overloads of gooey goodness, filled with butter and cream and salty enough that many drinks must be consumed. And so finally, of course, the drinks must be well-poured. There are a few more bonus items: People who like to smoke should feel welcome, and a good dessert never hurts. Del Frisco’s scores on all counts. The meat is literally prime — although that doesn’t get in the way of its full flavor — and the staff accommodating without being smothering, savvy without being condescending. The sides are superb: crispy-edged, soft-centered skillet potatoes with onions; unbelievably buttery sautéed mushrooms; a house salad that boasts a slice of incredible, crisp bacon. Martini and Manhattans are treated with equal respect here, and the wine list is excellent. Non-smokers may not be thrilled that an occasional whiff of Marlboro makes it into the dining room (although the ventilation system actually works pretty well), but that’s the price you pay for also having the best cigar room in town — the perfect place to toast to a steakhouse that’s very well done. Which is rare, indeed.

Readers’ choice: Morton’s of Chicago

We’ve never managed to find anyone at Yoko’s, a cute, mostly takeout place in Sakura Square, who can explain why a Spam roll is part of the bento repertoire — but some things are better left a mystery. It’s true that the pressed-pork product is popular in Japan — again, for reasons that remain unclear — but it’s unlikely that in that country Spam is featured in a roll with the name “Rocky.” Whatever the explanation for its existence, the Rocky roll is actually delicious, with the pig parts stuffed in the center and surrounded by rice, mayo and cucumbers. We’ve been Spammed!

It’s a big yes, yes to NoNo’s, a whimsically decorated eatery that focuses on Southern-style cooking, with a special emphasis on New Orleans dishes. The menu changes every two weeks, and we go hog wild whenever we hear that the ham steak is available. Pig out on a thick-cut slice of smoked pork, cooked until the fat around the edges turns translucent and starts to caramelize, then slicked with a super-sweet raisin sauce so good you’ll swear it was supposed to be dessert. For still more sugar, dig into the sweet-potato crunch that comes on the side, a brown-sugary goo that puts the comfort into food. Ham I am.

Since Ilios is a Mediterranean restaurant, it’s no surprise that it does lamb well; the surprise is that it does it well in so many ways. Start with the spicy barbecued lamb ribs, available as a tapas or an entree. The best way to eat these succulent, fat-dripping bones is with your hands, which means you’ll be able to lick that sweet sauce off of your fingers long after the meat is gone. The lamb kabobs are another baaa-gain at ten bucks, which buys a huge skewer of tender, lemon-marinated meat, jasmine rice and two sauces for dipping: one a tangy curry yogurt, the other a roasted-red-pepper purée. And while lamb accounts for only part of the gyros’s moist, meaty makeup (this rotisserie-cooked specialty also includes ground beef), it contributes most of the flavor. And finally, there’s the grilled rack of lamb, which drapes well-grilled chops with a fennel marsala sauce that plays well off the lemony lamb. Be still, our bleating heart.

Let the chips fall where they may, and they’re likely to land at Clancy’s Irish Pub. There’s nothing fishy about this honest-to-goodness pub in the heart of Wheat Ridge, which serves the best fish ‘n chips in town. Big planks of beer-battered cod are deep-fried until the crust bubbles and the fish steams inside; they’re delivered in a paper-lined basket that also holds a pile of Clancy’s thin, crispy fries and a cup of homemade tartar sauce. Throw back a few Guinnesses, keep your head over your food and out of the way of the darts, and you’ll know why Irish guys are smiling.

McDonald’s may think it invented the French fry as we know it, and the French are just snooty enough to claim pommes frites as their own, but the fact is that potatoes were grown in South America long before they ever made it to Europe. As a result, our friends south of the border know a thing or two about tubers, and Nicole and Rick Fierro ferreted out their secrets during a few fact-finding trips to come up with recipes for Piscos, the South American eatery they opened this year in the old home of Chives. Many of the Fierros’ discoveries adorn the appetizer sampler platter, which includes Brie-enriched empanadas and heavenly humitas, a fresh-corn version of tamales. But what really gets the fingers fighting are the papas fritas: thin, crunchy and faintly greasy fries that are sprinkled with the perfect amount of fine-textured salt and arrive steamy hot.

Readers’ choice: McDonald’s

We’re dazzled by many things at Dazzle — its ultra-cool dining room, its collection of martini shakers, its excellent vodka cocktails, its ambitious menu — but our favorite is the $4 “mini-burger,” or “bar burger,” as Dazzle denizens order it. Although this is supposedly half the size of the standard burger, it’s more than a meal. Two triangles of focaccia frame a hefty hunk of juicy, grill-greasy ground beef cooked just the way you like it; the burger’s garnished with fresh, crispy lettuce, slices of tomato and red onion and a couple of cornichons, and sided with a big mound of some of the town’s best French fries. The meat’s juices do a great job of moistening the spongy housemade focaccia, but there are also ramekins of ketchup and a good-quality Dijon; cheeseheads will want to throw in the extra 50 cents to get a fat blob of Stilton or gouda melted onto the meat.