Best Farm-to-Table Restaurant 2011 | Fruition | Best of Denver® | Best Restaurants, Bars, Clubs, Music and Stores in Denver | Westword
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Fruition

If you're going to bill yourself as a farm-to-table restaurant, then you'd better make damn sure you're following in the footsteps of Alex Seidel, whose enlightening little restaurant walks the walk and talks the talk. A couple of years ago, Seidel bought himself a ten-acre farm just outside Larkspur, where he raises Nebraska-bred sheep along with chickens that pop out beautiful eggs. He also cultivates herbs, harvests vegetables and makes his own small-batch cheeses, including a sensational ricotta, then trots his bounty to Fruition, seducing diners with plate after plate of New American comfort food straight off the farm — and straight from the earth.

Village Cork has an ultra-feminine appeal. With its exposed brick walls, antique glass lamps, mismatched floral-patterned plates and sound system playing the sultry voices of 1930s and 1940s jazz vocalists, a woman can easily envision herself here, charming the pants off a suitor while flipping her hair in good light. And that makes this just the spot for a first date, where the twosome can clink wine glasses and nibble elegantly from shared small plates in a private nook, telling each other their pertinent stats while stealing charged glances during pauses. Even after dessert has come and gone, it's an easy place to linger and stretch the night as long as possible — until maybe, just maybe, she invites him home for one last drink.

Swine sultan Chad Clevenger's humble stainless-steel cart, perched on a downtown corner, unleashes a snort of pig-centric street food in all guises: pork belly, pork cheeks, pulled pork slathered with barbecue sauce and heaped with slaw, grilled macaroni and cheese hog-wild with pig, and, on occasion, a simply incredible posole. It's an unduplicated, indelible bowl of New Mexican warmth, tinted a ruddy complexion from the fiery red chile, laden with hominy, aromatic with onions, Mexican oregano, garlic and a whisper of orange, and generously packed with stewed pork. Even without the requisite garnishes — lime wedges, ribbons of radish and verdant cilantro leaves — it's stupendous, as is everything Clevenger hustles. Go ahead, make a pig of yourself.

Pinche Tacos, one of the early businesses in the vanguard of Denver's street-truck movement, turns out terrific Mexican street-food tacos bumped with everything from smashed potatoes and chorizo to carnitas, caramelized onions and beef tongue. Finer still are the vegetarian queso a la plancha tacos, good enough to compel carnivores to surrender to the green side. The tortillas — made locally — are slapped on the grill, surfaced with a lacy orb of salty cotija, griddled until golden, and topped with avocado and a lob of tart tomatillo salsa, with limes on the side. All of Pinche's tacos leave us wanting more, but these are the shock-and-awe version.

Cassandra Kotnik

The only thing better than beer is free beer, and on occasional Thursdays — usually once or twice a month — the Rock Bottom in downtown Denver gives away free pints from 6 to 6:30 p.m. to introduce its newest beer on tap. And brewmaster John McClure is always working on a new brew, whether it's a seasonal specialty, a twist on a classic or something completely different. The Colorado-founded Rock Bottom chain was rolled up into a much larger corporate entity last year, but maybe the suits won't notice these priceless free-pint nights. Next up: Snake Spit India black ale, which will be tapped on April 14.

Scott Lentz

We try our very best not to fill up on bread before dinner comes, but that's no easy task at Rioja. The restaurant's given serious thought to its complimentary carbohydrate accompaniment, so it doesn't serve you stale chunks of ciabatta. Our mouths start watering as soon as we spot the employee charged with bread service, lugging a beautiful basket of crumbly goat-cheese biscuits and thick slices of baguette, full of fat olives that imbue the slices with just a hint of brine, all exquisite breads made by City Bakery. And since that bread basket keeps coming around, it's tough not to eat three or four rounds before the appetizers even hit the table.

The first basket of chips and salsa comes free at Casa Blanca, a Mexican restaurant tucked into an Arvada strip mall — and that first basket is so addictive, you'll find it hard to resist ordering more. The kitchen makes batches of firm, crisp corn chips, hot and thick and grease-free. They're served with a small bowl of tangy, piquant salsa, which has the bite of green and white onions, fresh cilantro and pungent oregano, all blended with tomatoes until smooth. The sauce incites a back-palate burn and leaves a sting of heat on the lips — the exact level of heat that entices you to keep taking bites in order to stave off the fire.

"There's coolness in doing that great dish that's made everyone feel warm and comfortable," says Leigh Jones, the restaurateur behind Jonesy's EatBar (as well as the Horseshoe Lounge, Bar Car and the Stingray). And at Jonesy's, that dish is the fries. Specifically, the mac & cheese fries, a pile of crispy, golden-brown strips of potato doused in enough creamy, savory roux to maximize satisfaction without saturating the dish. Cheddar is grated over that, and the entire concoction is studded with bits of smoky bacon for depth and crunch, then topped with chives for a fresh bite — as well as the illusion of balance against the richness. Jonesy's has been famous for these fries since it opened, and they're almost impossible to resist — even if you just stopped in for a post-dinner drink at the kitschy, well-worn bar. And yes, the fries are also fine on their own — but why wouldn't you want to go all the way?

Francophiles have flocked to Z Cuisine from the moment it opened in 2005, comforted by its warm service, seduced by its small, neighborhood feel, and bewitched by the restorative cooking of chef/owner Patrick DuPays, whose French bistro eats continue to make us swoon. Mirroring the boards in Paris, Z's menu is filled with charcuterie, foie gras, hearty beef bourguignon and whatever else DuPays, a resolute advocate of local foods and a farmers' market regular, discovers during the day's foraging. Reservations aren't taken and there's no wait list, but c'est la vie: If the tables are being held hostage at Z Cuisine (DuPays encourages lingering), À Côté, his highly sociable bar next door, has a similar menu.

From the moment the doors flew open at the Pinyon, there was an audible cluck about a bird that flies right. Executive chef/owner Theo Adley, who commands an exhibition kitchen surrounded by voyeurs, many of them local chefs, rubs his chickens with a housemade chile-and-garlic paste sweetened with sugar and tarted up with vinegar. He then floods the fowl in buttermilk for 24 hours and dredges it in potato flour before it hits the sizzle of the frying pan. It's finished in the oven, emerging with a vividly golden crust that adheres to the flesh, so juicy it slobbers. This is the kind of fried chicken that should be boxed and sold on the black market, right alongside the griddled cakes studded with corn and Adley's breakfast syrup, colored ebony with maple and molasses.

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