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Ever since Molly Brown returned to Denver after her dunk in the Atlantic, diners here have complained about this city’s lack of decent seafood restaurants. For a long time, the blame lay with Denver’s landlocked location — but that obstacle was removed a generation ago, with the advent of improved refrigeration methods and freezer-lined airplanes. Then the next hurdle appeared, in the form of restaurateurs who didn’t want to deal with fluctuating markets and a high spoilage factor: Fish doesn’t care if business is slow and just starts eating its own damn self. But the recent arrival of not one, but two, seafood restaurants with markets attached may signify that Denver’s ship has finally come in.
Fins Fish Market and Grill opened just over three months ago, complete with a forty-foot-long display case crammed with fresh seafood choices — but no liquor license. “Our hearing is on December 13,” says owner Anthony Barone. “And no one is more eager to get that taken care of than I am.”
Because Fins was Barone’s first immersion in the rough waters of restaurant ownership, he hadn’t realized that the lack of liquor would be more critical than a surfeit of quality seafood. “I don’t drink, and so it never occurred to me that people would actually dismiss a restaurant because it didn’t serve alcohol,” Barone says. “I’d say about 80 percent of people politely walk out on weekends at dinner because of it.”
Those folks have been missing out on some of the freshest fish in town, netted by Barone’s Reel Fresh Fish, a three-year-old wholesale company that supplies nearly a hundred restaurants in the Denver area, including many of the better sushi joints and this year’s Best Seafood Restaurant, Roy’s of Cherry Creek. Barone never would have considered opening Fins without having Reel Fresh as a reliable supply source. “I know exactly how long every one of my fish has been in town,” he explains. “You never get that assurance with another company.”
Barone’s double duty pays off not only in freshness, but in selection. Over forty different specimens sit in Fins’ display case, including four or five rarer fish you may see elsewhere, but never all in one place. So you can stop by for some ono or mako shark, bluenose grouper or opah, and handpick the pieces to take home (Fins’ helpful staffers will advise you on the peculiarities of your chosen fish and even provide recipes) or have cooked up for a meal in the restaurant.
Fins’ dining room wraps around the display area and the bar, which is still dry under a blueish ship light. Loosely hung netting and wood-and-metal tables and chairs give the large open space a vaguely nautical feeling. (Once a car dealership, this building was most recently the home of Apple Plumbing.) The upscale Long John Silver atmosphere works better during the hectic lunch hour; at night it seems a bit stark when you’re eating $24 bouillabaisse or lavender-breaded opah. But the addition of liquor could soon soften that edge — and perhaps make you overlook the fact that while the fish is undeniably fresh, its preparation can be questionable.
Barone found his chef, Ryan Murray, working at the well-regarded Pelican Fish Restaurant and Market in Fort Collins and hired him to work at Reel Fresh for a year before Fins became a reality. “I promised Ryan that I’d let him do his own thing in the kitchen,” Barone says. “So the recipes and preparations are all his.”
We selected four offerings from the “Fresh From the Grill” list, which promises to grill each species to its optimum doneness. But while a hefty hunk of sweet-tasting Chilean sea bass sported beautiful char lines and a moist, translucent center, a smaller fillet of Hawaiian ono had been grilled until it was so dry and chewy that it displayed none of the flaky, tender flesh that this mackerel-family fish is known for. A delicate fillet of Lake Victoria perch had been handled with care, grilled very quickly so that this firm freshwater fish retained its mild flavor, but the mako shark steak had been tortured until it resembled overcooked swordfish (which shark is sometimes billed as by less scrupulous fishmongers) and tasted of nothing but the grill.
Ordering from other sections of the menu didn’t improve Fins’ average. The bouillabaisse, listed as a “Traditional,” boasted a stock that was almost a cream of bouillabaisse, with too much garlic and few of the other “traditional” ingredients — no tomatoes, no saffron — beside a small lobster tail, scallops, mussels and clams overcooked into listless rubber. The three pieces of grilled toast lying across the top of this insipid version of the classic French fisherman’s stew were dry and crumbly. The crabcakes were as wet as that toast was dry: Although I occasionally spotted real crab, these cakes were so gooey and lukewarm in the center that each bite was like eating bread soaked in milk.
The seared (too lightly) scallops were almost flavorless, despite their inclusion on the menu’s “Fins of Flavor” listing. But the swordfish from that same list was impeccably prepared, its insides juicy under a golden-brown, semi-hard shell bearing the mark of the grill. These entrees came with sides picked to complement the fish: delectable soft-herbed mushrooms and a crispy-edged potato cake for the scallops, garlic-kissed Mediterranean gnocchi for the parsley-speckled swordfish. Our Grill picks came with a choice of two sides: crisp, freshly fried house chips; nutty, well-steamed rice; herb-coated roasted potatoes; mayo-less cole slaw that was austere but crunchy with a faint vanilla flavor; steamed carrots mixed with snow peas; or mixed greens tossed in a too-tart balsamic vinaigrette. The sides were better than mere afterthoughts and showed that Fins’ kitchen is capable of making interesting combinations work.
Now if Fins can master its grill — and get that liquor license — it should have no problem staying afloat.
Over at Del Mar Crab House, which opened in the Larimer Square home of the Mexicali Cafe seven months ago, the restaurant business has been going swimmingly. Although the market portion hasn’t done as well, the quality of the fish isn’t the culprit; owner Michael Rios gets all of his fare from the Seattle Fish Company, well known around town for providing fresh seafood. “I envisioned getting a lot more business for it, but it just hasn’t taken off,” Rios says. “Most of it is sold to the residents down here, and I’m glad to offer that to them, because they really don’t have other options within walking distance. If nothing else, though, I’ll keep it around because it’s a good area to show off our product; it’s appealing to customers coming in because it shows we’re comfortable with the freshness of our product. Plus, it looks good.”
It sure does — both in the display cases and on the plates delivered in the inviting, below-street-level dining room. Rios had always envied this location, even when he was working for Denver hotel management companies, first as an executive chef and later as a regional vice president. And when it opened up, he decided it was time to strike out on his own. Originally from California, Rios had fond memories of Corona Del Mar, and those memories inspired this eatery. “I actually modeled it after a place there called the Crab Cooker,” he admits. Although the decor can get a little kitschy — faux-painted signs on jagged-edged boards advertising the “Lobster Catch” and sheet metal accessories for an industrial-chic-meets-fisherman’s-wharf look — the ambience is genteel and comfortable, right down to the brown butcher paper that protects linens against the occasional snow-crab squirt.
The small menu relies on simple presentations. They’re executed by chef Jeff McCleary, for years Table Mountain Inn’s executive chef, who was brought in this past month after the original chef left. For the most part, McCleary does well with Rios’s recipes. The crab cakes were well-crafted bundles of barely augmented crab meat, fried in a medium-thick breading that tasted as though it had been soaked in sweet butter; unfortunately, the cakes came smashed into the balsamic-based and creamy tartarlike sauces that accompanied them. And while a pair of soft-shell crabs — one sauteéd in garlic butter, the other dipped in a thick beer batter — were excellent, cooked until their insides were ready to burst with steam and juices, the side of mashed potatoes was cold.
At lunch, an ahi tuna steak arrived rare inside, with a nice char outside, and was well priced for the portion; a sea-scallop skewer came loaded with succulent scallops that had been spaced — and flavored — with a sweet-smoked bacon. The scallops also worked well in the carbonara, which featured the mollusks encrusted in pepper and tossed with that same bacon, as well as fresh scallions, all over properly al dente penne. And the steamed Dungeness crab was impeccably fresh, sided with a stack of golden-fried hash browns and red — yes, red! — tomato slices that had been marinated in balsamic vinegar and strewn with fresh basil.
But the best catch at Del Mar could be the King crab and scallop bake, which mixed the seafood in a creamy, cayenne-kissed sauce, topped the casserole with buttery breadcrumbs, and then was broiled until bubbly. And the Key lime pie, made in house, was just the right sweet-and-sour finish for such a rich dish.
Judging from the throngs of people who crowd into Del Mar at happy hour, Denver diners already recognize that this place is quite a catch. (And Friday’s happy hour is a real bargain: If you buy two drinks, the spread is free, and it includes bay shrimp quesadillas and all-you-can-eat peel-your-own shrimp.)
Molly Brown would be pleased.
