On a Saturday night, Cherry Crest Seafood is all business. The menu for this small strip-mall restaurant and fish market lists twenty entrees, not counting pastas or salads, as well as a spread of house specialties and a long board of apps; the chalkboards and dry-erase boards are full of…
One of these nights I’m going to blindfold myself, have my wife drive me to some random point along South Federal Boulevard, then get out of the car and start walking. Why? To prove a point, of course. To put paid to my long-held belief that there’s such a profusion…
On a Saturday night, Cherry Crest Restaurant & Seafood Market is all business. There are twenty entrees on the menu, not counting pastas or salads; the chalkboards and dry-erase boards are full of daily specials; and the kitchen — an open hot-line arranged in a tight, cramped square — is…
I feel the same way about pig roasts that I do my morning run: I like the idea of it, but the execution is rarely so satisfying. My first pig roast happened when I was a senior in high school. As student body vice president, I was charged with turning…
A few things that are good early in the morning: breakfast burritos, blow jobs, strong coffee, forgiveness for last night’s sins, that first cigarette of the day and banana lumpia from Tropical Grill. I’m not going to say which of these is my favorite, which I cannot live without. But…
I’d forgotten just how much I liked Isle of Singapore. It had been years since I’d been there, years since I’d given the place much more than a passing thought. And yet, stepping back inside after a long absence, Laura and I immediately recalled every detail of our meals there…
A few things that are good early in the morning: breakfast burritos, blow jobs, strong coffee, forgiveness for last night’s sins, that first cigarette of the day and banana lumpia from Tropical Grill… I love banana lumpia. Love, love, love. And in particular, I love banana lumpia when it’s made…
In the food world, a war has long been waged over what, exactly, it is that cooks and chefs produce. In the galleys and the prep kitchens, on the hot lines and in the bars after work, there have been discussions, arguments, names called, the occasional punch thrown; outside this…
Kevin Taylor has a big restaurant empire that has occasionally shrunk to a smaller restaurant empire, with closures both temporary (Palettes, the restaurant that reopened last year in the Denver Art Museum; see review) and permanent, but he’s now back in an expansionist mode. Jim Sullivan knows all about boom-and-bust…
I’ve always had trouble with holidays. I don’t like the pressure, the expectations; I’m just bad at them. One of the many reasons I took such comfort in the restaurant business was because holidays really didn’t exist within its cloisters. Cooks cook while the rest of the world celebrates —…
Some days I want to eat chicken feet. I want tripe and trotters, crispy fried intestine and all the assorted culinary weirdness that makes the world go ’round. I would be just as bored with cheeseburgers every day as someone living in, say, Addis Ababa would be with nothing but…
I’ve never gotten over my instinctive dislike of traditional holidays, and instead make up my own — personal, private mileposts on the calendar with their own rituals and rites of observation, celebrated mostly alone. One such holiday landed on the Thursday right before Labor Day weekend: New Phone Book Day…
An ode, a lament: That’s what it says on the menu, on the wall, on the chalkboards and on the website that City, O’ City shares with WaterCourse Foods, the restaurant that used to be in this Capitol Hill space. An ode, a lament — to Denver and its people,…
Since I just reviewed city-o-city, which opened early this year in the original home of WaterCourse Foods, it seemed an appropriate time to check out what the new WaterCourse has to offer. First things first: The restaurant, which took over the space formerly occupied by the New York on 17th…
When I walked through the door of City, O’ City the first time, late in the evening on a Saturday when the joint was in full hipster-utopian swing, I thought only of how immediately comfortable I found its spare décor, widely-spaced tables, high-backed booths and long bar; how buzzing and…
I love cheeseburgers. Seriously, madly, deeply. I love foie gras, too. I love maguro sushi. I love whole fish with their eyes rolled back, seared crisp and served under a blanket of dark, thick oyster sauce, and I love bacalao and blood sausage and agnolotti with sage and butternut squash…
As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one truly great cheeseburger in the area, and that’s the double served at Bud’s Bar in Sedalia. Bud’s has done everything possible to make me dislike the place — from overcharging me to refusing takeout orders to being too full for me to…
Open since 1974, the Wazee Supper Club predates all the hipness, all the gentrification, all the retro this-and-that of LoDo. Founders Angelo and Jim Karagas actually opened their first spot, My Brother’s Bar, in 1969, nine blocks further down 15th, in a neighborhood known more for the rattle in the…
In the current issue, I published Matthew Brandon’s spirited defense of Texas barbecue, and elaborated on my own obsession. Here’s his reply: I didn’t expect little ol’ me to be quoted in your column. You acquitted yourself just fine, though. One thing I didn’t get a chance to cover in…
Stop giving him pork chops!” The woman is hissing, eyes flashing, using her mom voice on her husband, one arm thrown protectively over the top of the car seat set beside her on the banquette seat two tables down at Cucina Colore. “I’m not giving him pork chops. I’m giving…
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with doing simple, straightforward neighborhood Italian food. In fact, doing just that is a noble tradition that extends further back in this country’s history than does the impulse to slap down a bunch of white tablecloths, boot Dean and Louis Prima off the radio in favor…
“Stop giving him pork chops!” The woman is hissing, eyes flashing, using her mom voice on her husband, one arm thrown protectively over the top of the car seat beside her on the banquette, two tables down from me. “I’m not giving him pork chops. I’m giving him pieces from…
