"Cheap" is a relative term when it comes to steakhouses. A one-man meal at Steakhouse 10 could easily run forty bucks, but the Kallas family piles on the value. Here there's no worrying about customizing plates, or adding pricey sides, because the steaks all come with potato and vegetables included. The Greek influence is an added bonus that shows through in some dishes, like the ubiquitous flaming saganaki, but it never overwhelms the core steakhouse vibe. The service is friendly, the dining room comfortable without being intimidating, and the prices are right on, with entrees topping out at around thirty bucks -- the point at which many other steakhouses start.
Molly Martin
Bastien's sugar steak takes the prize -- it's an American classic. But so is Bastien's itself, a steakhouse that's been in constant operation since 1937 and left pretty much untouched since its heyday in the late '60s, making it the ultimate in anti-retro swank and earned cool. If Dino and the boys were ever to roll through town, Bastien's is where they'd hang their hats, knocking back martinis and sidecars in the bar, whooping it up under the cupola and digging into a round of sugar steaks. This steak is exactly what it sounds like -- tender beef glazed in sugar, caramelized against any possible exsanguination when on the grill -- and comes with salad and potato for just $18. Throw in a couple of cold ones, and make a night of it for less than thirty bucks.
People are getting a lot smarter about their meat. Not too long ago, most folks couldn't have told you the difference between choice and prime, between loin and strip. Now customers are asking about marbling and breed, looking for butcher's cuts like hanger and wanting to know exactly where their lambs or pigs are coming from. Lucky for us, we've got Tony's Meats -- now with four area locations, although the original on Dry Creek is still our favorite -- and all the knowledgeable guys behind the counter. They can discuss the cost/benefit of prime versus select, the merits of San Danielle prosciutto over Parma or Serrano or just plain ham, and will go to great lengths to match you up with exactly the right kind of meat, not letting you leave until you're hungry for more enlightenment.
Jax Fish House
If restaurateur, chef and culinary man-about-town Dave Query has a signature spot that captures the evolution of his empire, it's Jax in LoDo. Here, in a retooling of the original Boulder fish house, Query's vision and his attempts to meld the upscale with the down-home come together most smoothly. From the brick walls sketched with graffiti to the big horseshoe bar, from the seating crammed in every which way on the floor to the butcher's paper on the tables, Jax exudes a feeling of casual fun. The moment you walk through the door, you want to loosen your tie, then eat too much, drink too much and definitely stay too long. The day's specials are listed on the chalkboard, but everything on Jax's menu is a keeper. The oysters are particularly good, and a Bloody Mary or three at Sunday brunch is an excellent way to emerge from your own briny deep.
There are moments when you just know you've eaten one of the best somethings of your life -- the best chili dog, the best foie gras, the best what-have-you. From the first bite of a soft-shell crab at Chez Thuy, we knew it was the best we'd eat in our lives -- until we came back and had an even better one. The soft-shell crabs are deep-fried whole, and the beautiful golden batter, just a little spicy, comes crisp out of the oil. Inside that jacket, the shells are chewy, yielding and full of white meat that tastes like what clouds might taste like if they lived at the bottom of the sea. The accompanying nuoc cham is sharp as crystal, bright with flavors, and so astringent that a sniff of it is dizzying, like a toot of model-airplane glue. The only way to eat these crabs is to tear right into them with your hands and strip the meat right out of their fat little bodies with your teeth. Dignified? No. Delicious? You bet.
Sushi Sasa/Instagram
Wayne Conwell, the chef/owner of Sushi Sasa, is a man obsessed with details. From the precise alignment of a piece of fish on a plate to the shape of a hundred different hand rolls, nothing is too small to warrant his attention. And from his post behind the sushi bar at Sushi Sasa -- his white-on-white-on-white dream of what a great restaurant can be -- no detail escapes him. Conwell sees everyone who comes through the door, sees every plate that passes out of the kitchen, sees the surprised looks on the faces of the happy diners (except those hanging out in the downstairs lounge, of course, which is used as overflow seating when the dining room is full) as they take their first bites of his sushi or his tempura -- the raw and the cooked. This obsession with all the little things makes for a freakish kind of excellence, and also makes Sushi Sasa the new benchmark for sushi restaurants in Denver.
Sushi Den
Forget everything else on the menu at Sushi Den. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but if you're walking into a place that has not just the best sushi in Denver but some of the best sushi outside of Japan, why would you want to eat anything else? What sets Sushi Den apart is simple: It's the fish. But actually, it's not so simple -- the way Sushi Den gets that amazing fish is incredibly complicated and took owner Toshi Kizaki years to work out to his satisfaction. You see, much of the fish served here comes straight from the fish markets of Japan, where Toshi's brother goes every day to buy supplies that then are loaded on a plane, flown to Los Angeles, flown to Denver, picked up by Toshi and put on that night's menu. Which means the fish on your plate were swimming in the ocean less than 36 hours before. That kind of sourcing and shipping is expensive, time-consuming -- and totally worth it when you want the best.
The Zen garden at Domo is the ideal spot to sit and consider how lucky you are to live in Denver. Seriously, here you are, smack in the middle of a city smack in the middle of a nation half a world away from the peace and calm of the region that invented this cuisine, eating teriyaki and tonkatsu and miso soup and flying-fish roe and the best, most authentic expression of Japanese country cooking in maybe a thousand miles. It's not enough that Denver has some of the best sushi restaurants in the country. It's not enough that we have a profusion of Japanese restaurants and Japanese fusion restaurants. No, we also have a place that focuses quite specifically on the family-style food of rural, northern Japan and serves it in a Zen garden attached to a Japanese cultural center that's open to the public six days a week. Lucky? That doesn't begin to describe life in Denver.
Kim Ba
Kim Ba is one of Denver's oldest Vietnamese restaurants, a shirttail relative of more famous spots on South Federal, and has held down this near-invisible space in a ghost-town strip mall for nearly twenty years. In that time, owner Ba Forde has perfected her menu into a cornucopia of ultra-traditional flavors, reflecting in proper ratio the variety of ethnic influences that have nibbled away at the edges of Vietnamese cuisine for centuries. The green-lip mussels come in a Thai coconut curry sauce. The thit heo kho tieu -- pork cooked in a spicy black-pepper sauce -- is reminiscent of any number of Asian pork barbecue sandwiches. Bo xao dam is beef sauteed in a wine-and-vinegar sauce: a little French, a little Chinese. The vit xao xa ot, duck sauteed with lemongrass, is more French than anything, even in the way it's cut. But then, the French are the only cooks who've managed to mix comfortably with Vietnamese tradition, or to have any real effect on the country's cuisine. A delicious effect, as evidenced by Kim Ba's excellent Vietnamese food.
Using as her inspiration the imperial cuisine of Hue and the family dinners that her mother still cooks on weekends, Mary Nguyen opened Parallel Seventeen just in time to prove that the small-plates fad did not begin and end with the Spanish. Here she's arranged a menu that offers the best of Vietnamese cuisine, designed with a modernist's touch. The banh mi sandwich served whole at lunch is deconstructed at dinner into a dreamy charcuterie plate of pork pate and mousse and smoky char siu. The pho is powerful and fiercely traditional, while the gaufrettes showcase French influences. The space this food is served in displays Nguyen's contemporary sensibilities: It's comfortable, casual, traditional and nouvelle all at the same time, just like her cooking.

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