Gustavo Arellano Revisits Den-Mex, and He Has Some Thoughts

Denver! Where have I been?

It’s been way too long since our breakup – 2018, to be specific. That’s when I was at Su Teatro for the premiere of Interview with a Mexican, the play based off my former columna, ¡Ask a Mexican!, that ran in Westword for eleven years and made me fall in love with ustedes.

And then I left y’all at the altar.

Look, I didn’t want to. Denver became like a second home to me, a place I began to be able to map out in my mind and began to recommend to others as a far cooler place than Austin or pinche Nashville. But I had to leave after I lost my job at Westword’s former sister paper, OC Weekly, because I refused to lay off half the staff. I had to orient myself toward my homeland of Southern California and wherever a freelancer’s paycheck took me. Sadly, I never got back to Denver…until last month.

(Okay, so I actually spent a night in Golden last year as part of an epic road trip I took across the American Southwest that helped me become a Pulitzer Prize finalist in Commentary, because guess what? I totally sold out and my day job is now as a metro columnist for the Los Angeles Times.)

So many things have changed over the past seven years since we last saw each other, but know that I always speak fondly about y’all — even that old anti-Mexican wacko Tom Tancredo (but not Dick Lamm). I learned so much about what a cool city you are, but especially with your unique take on Mexican food, which I christened Den-Mex: your Mexican hamburger, your green chile, your smothered burritos, your cooler burritos and so much more (but not Chipotle).

So when the University of Denver asked if I could give its annual Margolin lecture, named after a Pulitzer Prize finalist in investigative reporting for the Rocky Mountain News back in the day, it was like asking me to return to heaven.

I ended up spending a day and a half eating my way through Denver and talking about your food — and not just Den-Mex. Denver? I’ve got thoughts about what ustedes eat, and not all of them positive! So I offer my following food diary with peace and love…

Wednesday

I flew into Denver and got my Uber. Most drivers never say anything other than checking to see if you’re the person their phone says they’re picking up and a syrupy “thank you” at the end in hopes that you give them five stars and a bigger tip than what some bot suggests.

Not my Uber driver this time. Didn’t get his name, but he was a Chicano. Grew up in Gypsum “and got the hell out as fast as I could. Every time I go back, I hear about another person I know who just got out of jail.”

He asked what I did for a living and was shocked when I told him the Mexican hamburger only exists in the Denver area.

“Man, my wife just made a great Mexican hamburger last night,” he said as we drove toward the History Colorado Center. “I’m going to eat that for days!”

He liked that I’m a fan of the Original Chubby’s and was shocked when I figured out what fancy market he was talking about when he said he wanted to get an Italian sandwich after I dropped him off. “How does a Cali guy know about Marczyk?” he asked. “Bro, you really know your Denver.”

He dropped me off at the History Colorado Center so I could hear a great lecture about the music of southern Colorado while waiting for Calhoun to finish her work. All credit goes to her for teaching me about Den-Mex over the years — but you’re going to have to subscribe to my newsletter to read my paean to her in the coming weeks (gustavoarellano.beehiiv.com). All I can tell you for now is that I was going to ask her to take me to El Noa Noa, where I shared pork tamales with Tancredo before our infamous debate (moderated by Calhoun, of course) across the street at Su Teatro in 2010, something that could never happen in these stupid times of ours.

But before I asked, I Googled to see if El Noa Noa was still open — and damn, it had given up the space it had occupied for forty years to El Chingon, which is currently closed because of a kitchen fire. So I asked Calhoun if we could go to my other favorite Den-Mex spot: La Fiesta.

La Fiesta stayed open late for us because owner Robert Herrera remembered who I was and besides: When Calhoun calls in a favor there, it happens. The famous smothered chiles relleno were as silky and crunchy as ever, and the house salsa was spicier than I remembered — but the chips that went with it were thin and greasy, and the flour tortilla that came with the spectacular chile caribe (a Wednesday special) were pedestrian. But I’m glad that La Fiesta is finally open for Friday and Saturday dinner and Sunday brunch, even if the reason — the lunch business that has never really rebounded since the pandemic — is sad.

Step up and support, Denver, before another treasure of yours disappears and another Chipotle opens there.

Calhoun dropped me off at my hotel so I could prepare for my evening pilgrimage to Casa Bonita, which I had never been to. You can read my thoughts about it in my Los Angeles Times columna — the only thing I’ll say here is that Casa Bonita shouldn’t be claiming it’s smothering its burritos when it’s instead offering them “wet,” like we heathen Californians call that style. But at least the flour tortilla used for mine was thick and delicious — our hostess said that they came from a local tortilleria. Oh, and Casa Bonita’s fluffy sopaipillas were the best I’ve ever tasted — may it put that same care into the rest of its menu.

Thursday

My University of Denver host picked me up in her car and promptly handed me a burrito bowl from Bonfire Burritos out in Golden. The green chile fuego-style was spicy! The chorizo was great, too; the only criticism here was that it was a tad too salty.

I only ate half of my burrito bowl because I don’t like to lecture on a full stomach. But it was the perfect nourishment to fuel me through my Margolin talk, which I devoted to my career covering Mexican food. One of the big developments in my life since 2018 is that I’ve been haunting southern Colorado (sorry for cheating on you, Denver, but your country cousin is as cool as you). The photo I used as my backdrop was the outside of Corine’s Mexican Food in Walsenburg, a spectacular roadside diner with pie and chile Colorado made from Pueblo chile (not the Hatch stuff that too many Denver spots use) and chicken tacos on lightly fried flour tortillas that southern Colorado likes to call “chicken taco on white.” I found out about those traditions when I did another epic road trip in 2018 for Eater, driving up Interstate 25 from Las Cruces, New Mexico, to Denver and eating nothing but chile in its various incarnations.

When I asked the packed room if anyone had eaten at Corine’s, only one person raised a hand. You gotta explore your Pueblo-Mex, Denver.

When the University of Denver said we’d have a catered lunch afterward, I requested Santiago’s. I thought DU was going to bring a bunch of breakfast burritos, so I was pleasantly surprised to find chicken enchiladas instead. The red enchilada had a deep chile flavor that was better than the green, which was still delicious. And the red salsa was pure fire.

I sat down with friends I hadn’t seen in years. We could’ve talked deportations, Trump, the Broncos — but food was on all of our minds.

Writer and filmmaker Manuel Aragon asked about my Casa Bonita experience and said the food was better when it was in preview mode: “They were even making mole, and it was good. Not sure why they took it off.” Tony Garcia, the author of Interview with a Mexican and longtime head of Su Teatro, reminded me of a Den-Mex spot that he took me to years ago whose name I couldn’t remember: Las Delicias, which has survived gentrification in Uptown and whose carne adovada is the best I’ve had in Denver. Someone mentioned that she grew up in Brighton with the family that created Santiago’s; I had told an out-of-state student that Brighton was where Santiago’s started, and thank God I was right.

See, Denver? Your prodigal adopted son never forgot our good times.

We all started talking about the Original Chubby’s when it was a tiny spot on West 38th where you ordered through a little window and a to-go order came on a paper plate that would have another paper plate stapled on top. A professor said there was a new Chubby’s that did exactly that on 86th and something.

“Is it a real Chubby’s or one of the offshoots that aren’t official?” I said, as we all laughed.

Mexicans: always squabbling!

After lunch, I got to have a one-on-one with Julia Roncoroni. The Argentine immigrant is a professor for the school’s Morgridge College of Education, but she’s also a psychologist by training who leads DU’s Health Disparities Research Lab. She’s also in charge of Cocina Libre, a food collaborative that connects immigrant cooks with training, as well as speaking and catering gigs. As part of that, she just published a new book: Sazón and Liberation, which was released last week. She gave me a Spanish-language copy.

I’m glad people in Denver are fighting the good fight when it comes to supporting immigrants, especially through the prism of food and especially against this demon administration. And I gotta come back to check out a Cocina Libre event — in the meantime, all of you should.

My University of Denver host took me back to my hotel, and then had an idea: Did I want ice cream?

Off to Bonnie Brae Ice Cream we went.

I liked the old-school feel, the people sitting outside (overheard: “Colorado is beautiful, but I’m over Colorado”), and the sunny, cool day — perfect for a scoop on a cake cone. I was excited to learn that Bonnie Brae won a Best of Reader’s Choice this year.

But readers: What were you thinking?

The Udder Butter flavor I chose — Bonnie Brae’s version of Nutter Butter — was delicious once it had been in my mouth for five or so minutes. The scoop was as hard as a rock. A great ice cream needs to be creamy from the start, needs to start to melt the moment you put your tongue or lips on it. That was not this.

I had to chew on my Bonnie Brae Udder Butter to make it even somewhat edible. I ate it all because the flavor was ultimately fine, but I hadn’t been disappointed in ice cream in forever. Surely there’s better ice cream in Denver?

More warning food signals were ahead: My farewell dinner would be at Adelitas. When I asked Calhoun what she thought of it, she hesitated and said, “It’s…different.”

Uh-oh.

The restaurant was packed when we stopped by, and we were directed to its sister restaurant around the corner, the mezcal bar La Doña. It shares the Adelitas menu, which kinda makes no sense, but whatever.

I ordered La Doña’s Tres Elotes cocktail, a hefty pour of three corn-based spirits: mezcal, whiskey and the fabulous Nixta corn liqueur. The drink was strong, earthy and sweet, although it didn’t need a cinnamon rim. I excitedly ordered Adelitas’ tamalitos, an appetizer of two chicken tamales chopped up into bite-sized parts, because I remembered Denver tamales being particularly delicious whenever I had them.

These were…okay. So okay, in fact, that I didn’t finish the dish.

At least the company was great. The DU professors were smart and funny and kind. Tony Garcia showed up and suggested I go to Brewery Bar II for its smothered burrito next time I’m in town because “it has the hottest chile.”

Someone said Señor Burritos has the best beans. Someone else mentioned El Taco de Mexico, which won a James Beard America’s Classic Award in 2020.

“You like the service there?” someone asked Garcia.

“Eh…” he said, before comparing the owners to the Soup Nazi of Seinfeld. “¡Que quieres!” he barked, drawing laughter from everyone. “The whole attitude is, like, ok!”

Then Garcia brought up Chubby’s again.

“I thought I was freaking out because Trump got elected — that son of a bitch was going to kill me!—and then I remember I ate at Chubby’s. The last time I went there was when Trump got elected.”

“To Chubby’s?” someone asked.

Tony let a beat skip. “Trump didn’t get elected to Chubby’s.”

More laughter.

That and a legit tres leches cake closed a wonderful time in Denver…so I thought.

Friday

The Maria Empanada location on the corner between Adelitas and La Doña was closed by the time we left; someone in my party said that Maria Empanada had a location at the Denver airport.

I never like to buy food at airports because it’s inevitably overpriced, but me not finishing my tamalitos at Adelitas left a hole in my stomach that needed patching. So before I boarded my flight, I looked around for Maria Empanada. And wouldn’t you know: It was right next to my gate.

I loved its design — a massive Sol de Mayo (the sun on Argentina’s flag) on one wall and a photo of soccer god Diego Maradona behind the counter. I dug that the place offered a bunch of options and went with an Argentina — steak, bell pepper, green onions — and a Diego, which was chicken, bell peppers and sautéed onions. Both were juicy, had the proper flaky crust and were as good an airport breakfast as I’ve had outside of an Egg McMuffin.

But Maria: Your chimichurri suuuuuuucked. I knew there was going to be a problem when a worker handed me a small cup of some red-tinged thing that looked like old cough syrup. It didn’t taste like olive oil, it didn’t have any of a chimichurri’s trademark zest. It was just oily nada. Couple that with the fact that the woman at the duty-free store didn’t want to sell me a bottle of Stranahan’s aged in sherry casks, and my flight back home was kinda a drag.

Thank God I’d saved Maria Empanada’s alfajores, the Argentine shortbread cookie covered in powdered sugar and smeared with cajeta — dulce de leche. The moment I got to my home, I grabbed one. Crunchy, sweeter than it should’ve been, and filling. Perfect.

Denver: It was awesome to be back. Your Den-Mex remains unbeaten; your other food is good but needs work. See you next year.

Where should I eat next time?