There are few experiences more genteel than enjoying cocktails in the Brown Palace Atrium: The space is casual, yet has a well-heeled charm augmented by the tinkling piano, super-comfy seating and a fabulous ceiling eight stories above, complete with skylights and chandeliers. And then the martini cart, covered with elite liqueurs and elegant silver shakers, drifts tableside to mix up a little something for you. The Brown offers cart service during the cocktail hour nightly except on Sunday, with later hours on Fridays and Saturdays, and it's a swell way to start off an evening on the town -- in every sense of the word "swell."

The West End Tavern has that whole notion of backyard-picnic comfort food down. But perhaps its greatest contribution to that laziest of cuisines comes not from the kitchen, but from the bar -- where the tenders will adulterate all your memories of happy summer afternoons by whipping up a killer root beer float using Thomas Kemper small-batch artisan root beer and vanilla ice cream, then hitting it with a long shot of bourbon from off the dozens-deep list. Our favorite? Bulleit, a young, artisan bourbon currently going through something of a renaissance as a craft-brewed liquor. Bulleit carries just enough dirty chocolate flavor to match the spice of Kemper's root beer, and the West End has just the right kind of vibe for kicking back and getting plastered on dessert.

Of all the beer joints in all the towns in all the world, we walked into the Falling Rock Tap House -- and it's a miracle we were ever able to leave. Because this is not just the best beer joint in Denver, but maybe the world. And not just because Falling Rock has at least seventy beers on tap, all "craft brewed, no contract brews or megaswill." And not just because Falling Rock has even more beers in the bottle, ranging from such Colorado brews as Great Divide Wild Raspberry Ale to Belgium's chimay Grand Reserve. No, the reason Falling Rock tops every beer fan's list is because this bar doesn't just care about beer; it cares about the community of beer-lovers, especially in Colorado. And it keeps pouring on the love with special events, including Marty Jones's monthly nights of local music (complete with beer songs). We raise our glasses!

Although Falling Rock can -- and does -- stock beers from around the world, it devotes a good part of its on-tap real estate to Colorado microbrews, showcasing an industry that could be this state's most liquid asset. The lineup changes often and usually includes such noteworthy brews as Avery IPA, Cheshire Cat Arrogant Brit and Left Hand Black Jack Porter. Think globally, drink locally.

What's a brewpub made of? Well, brew and a pub. And Wynkoop wins on both counts. It makes -- and sells on site -- more beer than any other Denver-area brewpub. And there's no question that it's pubbier than the rest. Warm, woody, comfortable and friendly, with a menu full of good food (get the vegetarian chili and have the kitchen add chicken). Plus, it does a lot of things with and for beer. For example, it was one of the few brewpubs in the region that duplicated the kind of beer made in Ben Franklin's time, in honor of his 300th birthday earlier this year; it also has interesting brewers' dinners that match beer with various kinds of food. The Wynkoop was Colorado's first brewpub -- and it remains its best.

We raise our glass to Chama -- technically, Chama Cocina Mexicana y Tequileria -- which takes the last word in its lengthy name seriously. Chama stocks more than 200 varieties of tequila -- some of which we'd never seen north of the Mexican border before -- and its bartenders are happy to instruct you in all the nuances of this agave-based alcohol. Pour it on, Chama.

For three years, Ryan Halbert served up some of the town's best margaritas at Lola, and he was always a font of agave education. He'd take diners on liquid tours of Mexico at Lola's many tequila-tasting dinners, guiding them through the differences between silver, blanco, reposado and anejo styles of 100 percent agave tequila, and making sure that they were still standing at the end of the trip. Lola shut its doors on South Pearl at the end of February and will reopen in Highland in April -- with Ryan once again behind the bar. Mr. Ambassador, we can't wait.

For a few years, Adega -- with its wine wall and booze bible -- always won the battle of the bottles. This year the title goes to Frasca. First, of course, there's the wine list: the canonical roster of bottles and producers and vintages lorded over by sommelier Bobby Stuckey. But a wine list is about more than labels; it's about being able to get the right booze onto the right tables at the right time, and this is where Frasca truly shines. With not one, but two certified master sommeliers on staff (both Stuckey and Nate Ready have gotten their credentials, making Frasca one of only two restaurants in the country with two CMSs in the house), Frasca is a wine-lover's paradise. Don't know what a white Burgundy is? They do. Don't know what grape to pair with a profumato or a plate of frico? They're ready to help. And finally, a winning list is about accessibility, and with Frasca's policy of pouring tajuts (half-glasses) from dozens of wonderful bottles, anyone can access the list again and again without having to take out a second mortgage.

Z Cuisine has two wine lists. The first is a standard roster sketched in looping, handwritten script full of appellations and Chateau de blah-blahs that will defeat anyone without an extensive knowledge of wine and region, not to mention the ability to read French. The second is a chalkboard hung beside the list of the night's fare, showing by-the-glass wine specials and allowing customers (like us) who are embarrassed by our clumsy, ugly butchery of the French language to simply point, grunt and say, "I'll take that one." Using this method, we've had some wonderful Beaujolais nouveaus, as well as some unpronounceable reds and whites from regions we've only ever seen on the Travel Channel. Chef Patrick Dupays never has to worry about pairing wines with his menu, because Z Cuisine is so obsessively Francophilic and bistro-chic that everything matches with everything.

One of the things that makes Brix so charming to certain people -- and perhaps disconcerting to those expecting less nonchalance -- is that the place is so laid-back that it can be hard to tell who's an employee, who's a partner, who's a delivery guy and who's a customer. Brix has a lot of friends-of-the-house, and people just sort of wander in and out from behind the bar, between the tables. And yet if you need anything, there's always someone there. Even a non-snooty server who can explain the inexpensive wine list. No bottle costs more than thirty bucks, but they are all very good bottles -- every label carefully chosen, every glass lovingly poured. Brix styles itself as Cherry Creek's "anti-bistro," a kind of punk-rock middle finger to all that is upper-crust, white-collared and pretentious about the Creek. And we'll drink to that -- while we wait to see if maturity blunts a little of Brix's edge.