Any Denverite who's ever spent time in the Land of Enchantment will tell you that while the New Mexican outposts of Little Anita's are nothing to write home about, our two locations are an indispensable hedge against homesickness for the regional flavors that make Albuquerque and its environs such a foodie hot spot. The blue-corn enchiladas slathered in green chile and topped with a fried egg are right off the menu at the Range in Bernalillo, the red chile a staple of New Mexican cuisine that's rare here, and the sopapillas among the only ones in town done right. And Little Anita's even recognizes the true meaning of Christmas: a plate done with half red, half green chile, in real New Mexico style.

Owner Pemba Sherpa -- a native of Nepal who grew up in the shadow of Everest and made his living as a mountain guide before settling in Colorado -- wanted to create a "traveler's lounge," a place where climbers and adventurers could gather and plan, reminisce and share stories over cold beers and warm butter tea. And he did just that with Sherpa's Adventurers Restaurant -- but he went further, creating a menu that's an adventure in itself. The roster includes momo dumplings and lashi laced with rosewater, thick Nepalese stews and Indian pakoras and samosa and saag -- all less exotic than you might think, and full of recognizable flavors and ethnic preparations that would comfort any traveler. Even if he never leaves a Sherpa's armchair.

When Hector and Maritza Gil took over a former omelet house, they kept breakfast filled with eggs, bacon, potatoes and dollar cups of coffee but added a lunch and dinner menu that reads like a greatest-hits collection of every food standard south of Brownsville and Laredo: bistec encebollado, platanos fritos con crema, fried yucca, carne asada, tortas, Salvadoran-style chicken tamales, fried tilapia. But most folks dropping by this small spot are after pupusas, El Salvador's most recognizable contribution to world culinary culture. Made with flat-grilled cornmeal-flour patties stuffed with anything from pepper-spiked queso to chicharrones and beans, the pupusas come with marinated cabbage, carrot and chile salad (called curtido), as well as a liquid salsa made from stewed tomatoes and chiles. Toss in a cold can of Jumex mango juice from the cooler or perhaps a cold beer, and you've got a quick trip south of the border.

The true measure of a good ethnic restaurant is its ability to not only serve something that no non-native in his right mind would dream of eating, but to make that thing so good that it immediately becomes part of the reluctant gastronaut's gustatory lexicon. And Los Cabos does just that with its chupe de camarones, an unquestionably bizarre soup/stew that combines whole, head-on shrimp, all legs and feelers and sweet, delicate meat like baby lobsters, as well as rice, diced potatoes, streamers of egg white, slivered onion, dense garlic, smoky Hungarian paprika and some other stuff that we wouldn't be able to identify even with a field guide to Peruvian fauna. The soup is full of strange flavors you find yourself chasing toward the bottom of the bowl, and so filling that we've never actually seen the bottom of the bowl.

In the late '70s, American cuisine was in such a sad state that the notion of taking local, seasonal produce and fresh vegetables and grilling them up for dinner was considered absolutely revolutionary. This simple act of rebellion against the staggering heaviness of classicism and the old European canon gave rise to the American food revolution, and Potager continues to carry that flag forward. Chef/owner Teri Rippeto cooks a rigorously seasonal and ever-changing menu of beautiful and perfectly realized dishes. Her command of cuisine is impressive, and her crew is committed to her vision of showcasing the best ingredients in the best possible ways. Although Denver today is packed with bright young chefs doing freaky things with your food, dinner at Potager remains nothing short of revolutionary.

There's no place like home, and there's no taste more reminiscent of home than mashed potatoes. Unfortunately, the creation of these spuds is often sloughed off by cooks who see them as nothing more than a cheap way to fill a plate and a belly. But Rialto Cafe takes this dish seriously and takes great care in making its wonderful, fluffy, smooth and buttery Yukon Gold mashed potatoes, served heavy on the cream and with a few clinging tatters of skin. As a result, this hotel restaurant serves Denver's best taste of home to travelers and locals alike.

Mark Tarbell, owner of the Oven, has won many awards at his various restaurants. And now he's earned another with the thin-crust pie made at the Oven, his very winning restaurant in Belmar. These pizzas aren't traditional, New York-style thin crusts, but rather very rustic, very scratch-built natural pies that just happen to have thin crusts. The kitchen here makes its own everything, from dough to sauce to cheese (including mozzarella and a fantastic smoked ricotta), and infuses it all with a true love and dedication to craft that's sadly lacking in a lot of neighborhood pizza joints these days. And even though Belmar is a very upscale neighborhood, the Oven suits its needs -- and ours -- nicely, packing the place with friends and neighbors every day.

The pizzas aren't just thick-crust at Beniamino's, they're deep-dish. And they're not just deep-dish, but stuffed pizza, the sort made famous by any number of restaurants on Chicago's South Side. Owner Ben Guest knows the difference, because he came straight from the Windy City to Denver, bringing his skills and the proper pans with him. While it may be a little weird that he gets his knowledge from a certain Italian fraternal organization and the man is missing a couple fingers, who are we to argue with genius? One slice -- a meal in itself -- is enough to settle any debate.

If you're looking for a raucous, crowded, family-friendly, suburban Italian restaurant with New York city transit maps, 9/11 memorials and a lot of crazy crap on the walls, Big Bill's is your place. But this is also the best spot in town to get a slice of a serious, New York-style thin-crust pizza -- a gooey, greasy, foldable wedge that doesn't just taste, but also looks and smells, exactly like the kind Brooklyn made famous. The sauce is mild and sweet, the pepperoni thin-cut, the cheese stretchy 'til forever, and the grease -- that most magical of elixirs -- as orange as a traffic cone.

John and Patrick Pool came up with a quirky way to take pizza global at Pizzeria Mundo: They simply name pies after cities (or areas) around the world, then cover them with ostensibly appropriate toppings. The New York, for example, is a fairly straightforward version of the classic Bronx 'za, with cheese, pepperoni, sausage and then a spicy red sauce, one thing that New York pies actually made in New York never have. But then a quick ride on the virtual D-train gets you to Coney Island (home of The Warriors, the Wonder Wheel and the Coney Island hot dog) for a pie covered in chili, chopped onions, sliced all-beef hot dogs, cheddar and mozzarella. The Kennebunkport is done like a lobster bake, with white corn, roasted potatoes, sausage, bechamel and chunks of lobster; the Death Valley version features habanero pepper sauce, rabbit and rattlesnake sausage and nopalito. Go global with a sweet-potato-smeared Jamaican jerk pie or the Kathmandu, with tikka masala sauce, tandoori chicken and roasted onions. All in all, these international pies are out of this world.