I’ve never understood the draw of gummy Chicago deep-dish, and I loathe those smart-ass nouveau California cracker-crust abominations. I’ll choke down a cornmeal-dusted New York thinny if no other options are available, though, and have been known to flirt coquettishly with an occasional buttery New England pan pie the same…
There are two types of people — those who love the Palm, and those who don’t understand why other people love the Palm. I was a member of the latter group when I lived in Manhattan, and craggy, ancient salesmen would take me to the original Palm on Second Avenue…
Life is full of unending battles. Hitting your ideal weight and body habitus; making the perfect Bloody Mary; sending a politician to Washington who displays a range of emotions greater than an ear of corn’s and is more concerned with doing the right thing than with planning his future book…
What’s that?” asks the young Vietnamese guy sitting at the table across from mine. He brings his hands together, palms touching, then opens them — miming the book I have in one hand. I raise it up off the table and show him the cover — it’s my well-thumbed copy…
Breakfast King has finally completed its promised remodel — but if you didn’t know what to look for, you could miss it, easy. The 24-hour hash joint that’s squatted for decades in the shadow of the old Gates Rubber plant still has the same funk — that weird, one-two punch…
Certain tastes and smells take you back to a specific time in your life, sometimes even when you don’t want to go there. I dropped by Tryst — a lounge whose masterful design created sophisticated space out of thin air in Writer Square — on a trip to check out…
Things have officially gotten out of hand in America. Entering Super Target the other day with my daughter, Allison, I noticed a prominent display of the next entry in the Hello Kitty line of kids’ stuff, which already includes keychains, videos, crayons and oil filters. This latest development: thong underwear…
The kitchen at Zengo is a mess, a riot of white jackets, ice and fire. I count six, eight, maybe as many as ten cooks bouncing, spinning in place, shuffling plates and pans and sheet trays; hear raised voices — no particular words, just the sharp cadence of a chef…
Six weeks have passed since Colorado’s new booze legislation took effect — the give-a-little/take-a-little double whammy of decreased blood-alcohol levels for drunk-driving offenses (a .08 limit now, down from the somewhat more forgiving .10) and the legalization of take-away wine. Prior to July 1, diners constantly faced the Sophie’s Choice…
I don’t know if it was the cocktail waitress’s cheerleader voice or the fact that she called me “ma’am” three times prior to actually delivering my drink, but I detested her from the start. At what point do you become a “ma’am” or a “sir”? Yes, I was significantly older…
It’s human nature to try to improve upon past accomplishments. We strive to improve our work skills, our time in the mile, our driving so that we don’t singlehandedly snarl traffic on Colorado Boulevard from I-70 to I-25, our dancing moves so that we can approach all the soul displayed…
My buddy Gracie and I have this map — a U.S. highway diagram torn from the front of an old Rand McNally atlas, showing all of the major interstate routes spooling out across the fruited plain. From I-95’s start in Florida’s malarial salt bogs to the terminus of I-90 in…
Questions for “Ask the Critic” have come from all corners of the restaurant cosmos this month. A sampling: Q: Enough about Sean Kelly. Whatever happened to Denver’s other famous chef named Sean — Sean Yontz? I know that Vega closed, but is he cooking anywhere now? — Michael A: Good…
Vodka Mortini Morton’s 1710 Wynkoop Street 303-825-3353 Shaken, not stirred — James Bond was on the money. Scientists at the University of Western Ontario have found that shaking a martini increases the antioxidant activity in the drink, which in turn reduces the drinker’s risk of cataracts, strokes and cardiovascular diseases…
When you wake up after a night of carousing, two questions should emerge from your clouded mind: 1) Where am I? 2) Who am I with? After our visit to the Denver Tech Center’s b>Purple Martinib> (8000 East Belleview Avenue, Greenwood Village), I placed an urgent wake-up call to the…
Japanese cartoons are lysergic-acid freak shows of giant robots and big-eyed children, blinking lights and talking cats, and jumpy, herky-jerky dancing-root vegetables. Japanese porno is vile and fetishistic. Japanese punk music is ten times more screechy and primal than that of any teenage American garage band — often reduced to…
While out wandering a few weeks ago, I stumbled across the Bugling Bull Trading Post out on Highway 67, west of Sedalia, where I had one of the best orders of country-style ribs of my young life. Granted, I wasn’t looking for ribs: I’d muscled the car off the road…
After a game of golf out by DIA, friends suggested a drink at the nearest bar: Outback Steakhouse. Hey, any port in a storm. But the second I stepped inside, my disdain for mid-level chain restaurants came flooding back like a repressed memory. Can someone please explain to me how…
Happy hour is one of the greatest inventions in history. If you’re really honest with yourself, I think you’ll agree that only wide-screen TVs, frozen pizza rolls, propane barbecue grills and Victoria’s Secret compare. And like the last of these, happy hours have had a major social impact, giving first…
Cheeseburgers are the single most recognizable American contribution to the world culinary scene (and, according to a monument on Speer Boulevard, an actual Denver invention). They’re also the ideal thing to eat on a blazing-hot afternoon. So last week when the temperature hit 97 degrees, I hit the road for…
What can I tell you? Clair de Lune is definitely not going to make it through the summer.” I’ve been waiting for this call for weeks. Not sitting by the phone, exactly, but knowing it’s coming. And when it does, it’s like hearing that the relationship is finally over. Like…
Her father may have seen “Fire and Rain,” but food prepared by Sally Taylor never sees a flame. Or a pot of boiling water, for that matter. Since opening Sally in the Raw last month, Taylor — the daughter of James Taylor and Carly Simon, and a musician in her…
