There are steak emporiums staked out all over metro Denver, but for a huge whiff of testosterone perfume — for the essential steakhouse experience — head to the Capital Grille. This is a rich man's utopia, an expanse of power suits and American Express gold cards, of glorious, charred, hand-cut slabs of beef more expensive than seats to Lady Gaga, of indulgent side dishes that make your heart race faster than a Ferrari, of doting, exceptional service reminiscent of old Hollywood glamour, of impeccable wines and cocktails that make your cheeks glow crimson. In other words, there's a brazen disregard for cow-ardly moderation, which is why the beef palace stands steers above its peers.
Readers' Choice: The Keg