Best Lobster 2005 | Somethin' Else | Best of Denver® | Best Restaurants, Bars, Clubs, Music and Stores in Denver | Westword
Navigation
Somethin' Else, Sean Kelly's neighborhood tapas joint, takes the fancified crustacean from the rarefied level of special occasions and anniversaries and returns it to everyday eating, where it belongs. Here the lobster tail is served without fanfare alongside all the other great small plates -- but at fifteen bucks, this perfectly prepared lobster is a big deal.


Somethin' Else, Sean Kelly's neighborhood tapas joint, takes the fancified crustacean from the rarefied level of special occasions and anniversaries and returns it to everyday eating, where it belongs. Here the lobster tail is served without fanfare alongside all the other great small plates -- but at fifteen bucks, this perfectly prepared lobster is a big deal.

Mac-and-cheese may be the best survivor of the comfort-food trend that swept the food world a few years ago, then mercifully departed. And we'd like to keep Mizuna's mac-and-cheese around for a long, long time. Butter-soft lobster-claw meat, perfectly poached, comes mounted on pasta robed in smooth mascarpone cheese that's about as far from out-of-the-box-Kraft as you can get. Baby, it doesn't get any better than this.

Joni Schrantz
Mac-and-cheese may be the best survivor of the comfort-food trend that swept the food world a few years ago, then mercifully departed. And we'd like to keep Mizuna's mac-and-cheese around for a long, long time. Butter-soft lobster-claw meat, perfectly poached, comes mounted on pasta robed in smooth mascarpone cheese that's about as far from out-of-the-box-Kraft as you can get. Baby, it doesn't get any better than this.

The crab cakes at Go Fish Grille are big enough to be a meal. A very delicious meal. They come to the table straight out of the pan, decadently stuffed with quality back-fin crabmeat that's been left in fat chunks rather than overworked into shreds, mixed lightly with breadcrumbs and not at all with bell peppers or onions or celery (heaven forbid), so the taste of good crab is all you get in every bite. Unless, of course, you order the cakes with one of the dozen-plus sauces listed on the menu, which offer crab fanatics the chance to try a different flavor every night until they've exhausted all pairing options and have to start over.


The crab cakes at Go Fish Grille are big enough to be a meal. A very delicious meal. They come to the table straight out of the pan, decadently stuffed with quality back-fin crabmeat that's been left in fat chunks rather than overworked into shreds, mixed lightly with breadcrumbs and not at all with bell peppers or onions or celery (heaven forbid), so the taste of good crab is all you get in every bite. Unless, of course, you order the cakes with one of the dozen-plus sauces listed on the menu, which offer crab fanatics the chance to try a different flavor every night until they've exhausted all pairing options and have to start over.

In its grasping quest toward food-town respectability, Denver is now home to several restaurants that have gone so far above and beyond the call, they're not just the best of their category here, but can compete with restaurants across the country. Exhibit A: Sushi Den. There's no other sushi restaurant in the Mile High City -- and very few in the continental 48 -- that can match a place that gets orders flown in daily from the fish markets of Japan, serving slices and hand rolls of fish that, in some cases, were swimming less than 24 hours before they arrived in Denver. Thanks to these deliveries, Sushi Den runs daily sets of specials featuring unusual critters (needlefish, baby tuna) rarely seen on other sushi menus, and even the plainest rolls are made from superior ingredients and by sushi chefs who've learned well the lesson that the chef is merely a mode of transport between coolers and customer. This is a kitchen operating without ego -- which is amazing, because if anyone has bragging rights to its product, it's Sushi Den.


Sushi Den
In its grasping quest toward food-town respectability, Denver is now home to several restaurants that have gone so far above and beyond the call, they're not just the best of their category here, but can compete with restaurants across the country. Exhibit A: Sushi Den. There's no other sushi restaurant in the Mile High City -- and very few in the continental 48 -- that can match a place that gets orders flown in daily from the fish markets of Japan, serving slices and hand rolls of fish that, in some cases, were swimming less than 24 hours before they arrived in Denver. Thanks to these deliveries, Sushi Den runs daily sets of specials featuring unusual critters (needlefish, baby tuna) rarely seen on other sushi menus, and even the plainest rolls are made from superior ingredients and by sushi chefs who've learned well the lesson that the chef is merely a mode of transport between coolers and customer. This is a kitchen operating without ego -- which is amazing, because if anyone has bragging rights to its product, it's Sushi Den.

Best o-toro in town, best sea urchin in town, best sushi bar in town, hands down. Sushi Tazu is the semi-subterranean sushi bar where everyone knows your name. If they were ever to make a Japanese version of Cheers, it would be set in a place like Tazu, staffed by a crew like the one that works behind the curving bar here, and filmed live before a studio audience of the sort of dedicated fish freaks who frequent Tazu. This is a sushi bar where you can get to know the guy rolling your fish -- and sometimes even have a short conversation before the chef has to run off and wrap up an order of three dozen tekka maki for a bunch of half-drunk Creekers down the way. Unlike bartenders, these sushi chefs aren't interested in helping you solve your personal problems or discussing last night's box scores, but if you want to talk about the freshness of the ama ebi or the color of your uni, they're all ears.


Best o-toro in town, best sea urchin in town, best sushi bar in town, hands down. Sushi Tazu is the semi-subterranean sushi bar where everyone knows your name. If they were ever to make a Japanese version of Cheers, it would be set in a place like Tazu, staffed by a crew like the one that works behind the curving bar here, and filmed live before a studio audience of the sort of dedicated fish freaks who frequent Tazu. This is a sushi bar where you can get to know the guy rolling your fish -- and sometimes even have a short conversation before the chef has to run off and wrap up an order of three dozen tekka maki for a bunch of half-drunk Creekers down the way. Unlike bartenders, these sushi chefs aren't interested in helping you solve your personal problems or discussing last night's box scores, but if you want to talk about the freshness of the ama ebi or the color of your uni, they're all ears.

Best Of Denver®

Best Of