Oscar Feast!
My friend Nancy is visiting from out of town for the weekend and so on Saturday night Alastair and I decided to take her to our very favorite Denver restaurant, Potager (see Alastair’s very favorable review here). It was, and it pains me to say this, a little disappointing. The appetizers — wilted savory greens, spinach and mushroom toast — were both fantastic. The main courses, however, not so much. The shellfish stew was more broth with scallops and mussels than it was stew as I understand the term, all topped off with a saffron aioli, which proceeded to disintegrate into unappetizing floating clumps in the broth. I like mayonnaise in pretty much any form but this was distinctly unappetizing. Nancy and Alastair both got the roast chicken and while the bird itself was well cooked, the jumble of accompaniments just didn’t work that well, and seemed to be different from what usually comes with the chicken. This time: arugula, dried apples(?), pine nuts, olives, and about fifteen other things. One got the impression that Potager might have been trying to clean out its fridge. The flourless chocolate cake, however, was divine. And the service, as always, was fantastic.
Alastair's Sardine Toast with my Canadian Flag Cocktail Napkins and Grandmother's Monogram Plates
But after a disappointing dinner Alastair and I felt duty-bound to prepare something pretty fantastic for the out-of-towner, especially as we were going to be settling in for a long night of Oscar-watching chez moi. And a veritable feast it was! We began with Alastair’s signature sardine toast: sardines, lemon, mustard, minced onion, oil, and butter, all combined and then toasted on a baguette. Delicious.
Caesar Salad with PLENTY of Anchovies
Loyal DOD readers may recall that Alastair and I have ordered a number of disappointing Caesar salads of late, so I decided it was time to make it right. I used my grandmother’s recipe for the dressing (as well as her bowl), fried my own croutons (pictured below) and Alastair brought over plenty of anchovies. It was all topped off by some grated parmesan, and I have to say it was pretty amazing. Tangy and salty and crunchy and thoroughly unhealthy, the croutons particularly. I think it was seeing the amount of butter and oil I used that might have given Nancy a heart attack, not the croutons themselves.
Homemade Croutons cooked in a gallon of oil and pound of butter
English Cucumber
We finished the meal with a delicious pasta salad prepared by Alastair: shrimp, dill, and English cucumbers, all tossed with perfectly cooked shell pasta and a tangy lemony dressing. Unfortunately my pictures of this scrumptious concoction all came out blurry. Maybe a consequence of all the wine we had consumed by that point?
On to the Oscars: We began eating and drinking and watching at 4:00 as E! began its red carpet coverage. I always find these things a little bit painful as the hosts bend over backwards to ingratiate themselves with the celebrities. Though we were grateful it wasn’t Joan and Melissa Rivers, Ryan Seacrest wasn’t much of an improvement. I just felt embarrassed for him. That said, he was leagues better than the horrendous Kathy Ireland, Sherri Shepherd, and Jess Cagle, who were hosting ABC’s half-hour coverage before the show actually began. Ireland, looking far too skinny, was, in a word, wooden. And yet absurdly peppy at the same time!!!! All inflection seemed to be thoroughly rehearsed. Please take her away and never let her do this again!
The awards went to the predicted winners. There weren’t really any surprises. We all cheered for Kathryn Bigelow as much for the fact that she beat out her ex-husband, James Cameron as for her being the first woman to win an Oscar for directing. Suck it, Jimmy! And I loved Sandra Bullock’s remarkably gracious acceptance speech, as she wittily acknowledged the other actresses in her category, gave a shout-out to mothers, and spoke about her own mother’s influence, particularly her insistence that no person, regardless of race, religion, color, class, or sexual orientation, is better than anyone else. I am also very much a fan of the format where each best actor/actress nominee gets a little speech delivered by someone who knows them. Many were quite touching.
As for dress, the real reason to watch, it was the general consensus of the room that the following looked horrible: Vera Farmiga (even though we love her); SJP (who fiddled with her neckline the whole night and seemed to have bathed in bronzer); Charlize Theron (who has to really work to look bad); Zoe Saldana (were those ornamental cabbages on her dress?); Kate Winslet (great from the waist up but otherwise seemed to be wearing separates, not a dress; maybe a twinset?); and Miley Cyrus. We were fans of the sartorial choices of Sandra Bullock, Rachel McAdams (Canadian!), Queen Latifah (all hail the Queen!), Carey Mulligan (hair, not dress), Julianne Moore, Helen Mirren, and Oprah Winfrey. George Clooney’s hair was horrendous and his attitude even worse. And finally, James Cameron’s wife needs to investigate the power of food; not only is it tasty, it also covers up your jutting collar bone!
Deluxe Burger: Love in a Bun
Last night Blake and I joined a few of our best gal pals to try out Deluxe Burger, the newly opened joint venture between chef Dylan Moore (of the restaurant Deluxe and neighboring bar Delite) and mid-century furniture outlet Mod Livin’ on East Colfax Avenue. The place was jumping!
With their use of bold color, large-scale George Nelson bubble lamps, and customized furniture they’ve transformed a dreary former liquor store into a gourmet, chef-driven burger joint were everything on the menu is made in-house, including the ketchup, mustard, pickles, and fries.
In addition to standard burgers, made with Angus beef, ground free-range chicken, and ground ahi tuna, the concise menu offers up a number of “signature burgers” without being over-whelming. These include a BBQ Burger, the Spicy Tuna Burger, and a Truffle Burger. Nothing knocked the seven of us off of our chairs (well, perhaps the Diet Coke that Blake ordered in a bottle he had never seen before…. and Blake’s had a lot of Diet Coke), but we were all very pleased with our choices… enough so that most of us will return to try out more of the menu.
The Denver Burger
I had the Denver Burger, which came with sautéed Anaheim chilies, onions, pico, cheddar cheese, and smoked jalapeno aioli. It was a great tasting burger. I personally wanted to experience a little more spice or smoke considering all the ingredients the burger was topped with. Blake enjoyed his Basil BLT Chicken Burger, and the Truffle Burger with shiitake mushrooms and truffled swiss cheese was a hit.
One thing that we all generally agreed upon was that the fries could use some fine-tuning. Now, you’re not going to be able to please everyone. For instance, Blake likes his fries thinner (shocking!) and crispy. In fact, I think he was so upset that he ate most if not all of the accompanying ketchup… and Blake don’t eat ketchup! Is it ketchup if it doesn’t come out of a bottle? That’s another discussion… I like the crispy thin fries, but I also really enjoy a thicker cut steak fry like my mother made in the Fry Daddy. Let’s face it… I love my potatoes. It’s the Irish blood in me body.
Deluxe Tuna Burger and Truffle & Parm Fries
Deluxe offers “Fat Fries” (do fries make you fat?) that fall closer to my personal preference. We all felt that the hand cut fries with fresh thyme and garlic could have been crispier… it wasn’t that they were underdone, but maybe they needed another toss in the oil. Oddly enough the truffle and parm fries had more of the crisp everyone was after. Perhaps it was the addition of the parmesan?
One member of our team had the homemade tomato soup topped with fresh basil…. I think he enjoyed it! Another had the Orangecicle Shake which I now wish I had ordered.
Home Made Tomato Soup w/ Fresh Basil
When ordering I asked the cashier whether the Denver Burger was messy, she told me that “all of our burgers are messy” and when it came to eating them, it was recommended that we leave the burger inside the half-wrapper that they serve it in. This did make it easier to eat, but some of those juices still escaped from our clutches. That said, we were all very impressed by how well the Kaiser buns held up and tasted!
All I know is that my meal got me through the rest of the evening which involved some heavy drinking… I woke up this morning feeling great and looking fabulous. Thanks Deluxe Burger!
Burger Juice!
Next on our list of burger joints, H-Burger in the Sugar Cube building on the 16th Street Mall. Stay tuned.
Pizza Found!
Readers of DOD may remember my post of a number of weeks ago in which I lamented my inability to find good pizza here in the Mile High City. Some of you wrote in with suggestions. I am happy to report that in the last weekend I enjoyed not one, but two good pizzas. The first was at Osteria Marco (which Alastair wrote about yesterday here). The second was to be found at Proto’s Pizza on Platte at 15th in LoDo.
Delicious! More, please!
After a later night on Friday Alastair and I decided to take it easy on Saturday and so we headed to Proto’s for a pizza. Though it was crowded we were seated immediately. We each opted for a beer and then set about deciding what to order. We ended up splitting a large caesar salad to begin. The dressing was tasty, tart, and salty. The extra-large croutons (almost like wedges of a pita with herbs and seasonings) were quite nice. The promised anchovies, however, amounted to only two. I recognize that some people may not like anchovies all that much but those people can request to have them left off their caesar salad. For some of us, the anchovies are at least half the draw in the first place. More, please!
Alastair, who had visited Proto’s before, assured me that a small pizza would be plenty for one person, so we ordered one each. I went for the Proto: tomato sauce and mozzarella, basil and sausage. Alastair was in the mood for a white pizza and got for the Pontiff: olive oil, garlic, fresh spinach, mozzarella and feta cheeses. Normally it would also have sundried tomatoes but Alastair substituted roasted red peppers, despite the fact that the menu explicitly discourages substitutions. He’s cheeky that way sometimes. The pizzas were great: thin-crusted, well sauced, and with plenty of cheese. They were not, alas, large enough. I’ve got a big appetite and I could easily have consumed two smalls, meaning that I would advise a medium for one person. If you’ve got leftovers, you can always take them home. But they’re so tasty, this seems unlikely!
Because we were both still a little hungry we said “yes” to dessert, which is not our customary answer to that query. I had the New York cheesecake with a raspberry coulis and Alastair sampled the affogato: ice cream (he chose vanilla) in a shot of espresso. I am very picky about my cheesecake so this was a bit of a risk. To my mind cheesecake should be seriously dense, have a great graham cracker crust, and should always be served quite cold. I’m also a purist; while I recognize that there are many fun flavor combinations to be had, I much prefer the traditional version. If done right, it’s got enough flavor without messing with things. And I’m happy to report that Proto’s did not disappoint. It fulfilled all my requirements and thus I cleaned my plate within about 2 and a half minutes. Delicious!
After dinner we had a quick drink at the nearby My Brother’s Bar (which is currently stocked to the rafters with Girl Scout cookies; they have a large sign advertising themselves as an “official” sales site) and then headed off to the Tivoli to see a showing of “An Education,” the British film about a 1960s schoolgirl named Jenny (played by Carey Mulligan) who is seduced by a dashing older man (played by Peter Sarsgaard) and risks her chances of an Oxford education as a result. It’s pretty fantastic. Mulligan is excellent, as are Rosamund Pike as the Sarsgaard’s friend; Emma Thompson as a stern headmistress; Alfred Molina as Jenny’s oafish father; Cara Seymour as her mother; and Olivia Williams as Jenny’s idealistic teacher who says, in one particularly poignant line, that it would simply break her heart if Jenny doesn’t go to Oxford. I will leave that question unanswered but suffice it to say that the movie is well worth seeing and that I am now excited to have seen at least one movie that has been nominated for an Oscar. And to have sampled some excellent Denver pizza. Now if only these places would deliver!
O·ster·i·a Marco
Just this past Friday, Blake and I finally stopped by Frank Bonanno’s Osteria Marco for dinner. We’ve been to Bones, Bonanno’s Asian-inspired establishment at 7th and Grant, on numerous occasions. This, however, was our first visit to his Larimer Square outpost. Those of you who have been singing its praises… we were not let down!
Upon arrival for our 8:30 p.m. reservation, we were kindly greeted by the front line staff and informed that there was a bit of a reservations back up… and without hesitation Blake and I immediately saddled up to the bar. We both ordered a lovely glass of the Soave Classico. [Side note: Soave has become my tried and true white wine of choice these days. Ever since returning from a trip last spring to Verona and Venice, I’ve been making a rather popular-with-the-locals white wine-based cocktail called an Aperol Spritz—a dry Italian white wine served with a splash of Aperol and topped off with sparkling mineral water. If you haven't tried it, I highly suggest picking up a bottle of Aperol and a bottle of Soave at Argonaut. They're particularly pleasant in the summertime.] Ok, back to the point of the post. Perhaps the most notable event during our time at the bar happened immediately before we had been taken to our table. Out of the blue, one of the bar staffed yelled out “Alastair!” with bill in hand. I was a little confused, but as I was signing the slip a hostess came over and informed us that our table was ready. Now that’s communication… It was a nice touch.
Spritz!
After being seated, Blake and I were startled and amused to hear that it was Denver Restaurant Week, “a two-week celebration of the culinary scene in Denver.” Apparently, someone did not inform them that every week is restaurant week for the DOD boys! In any case, participating restaurants offer special multi-course dinners for the fixed price of $52.80 for two, or $26.40 for one (not including tax or gratuity). We opted to forgo the special menu and chose from the other regularly offered dishes. We immediately started off with the Chef’s assortment of meat and cheeses: prosciutto, salame, sopressata picante, mozzarella, ricotta, robiola, and a red onion relish. It was amazing. I honestly could have consumed the entire plate on my own… but Blake has a big appetite, and well, things would get scrappy. The rest of the meal followed the same pattern. Caesar salad with shaved pecorino and one white anchovy split between the two of us. Really, one anchovy!? Blake has more to share regarding anchovies… In any case, it was a very good salad and by the time our Carne pizza arrived we had moved on. Sausage! Meatball! Pepperoni! And an amazing house ricotta made for an amazing pie, also split between the two of us. Even Blake would have had trouble finishing this pie on his own. An inquiry to our waitress confirmed our thoughts that most people could not complete one entirely on their own. However, considering how good this pizza was, Blake would have put up a good fight! Just saying… we’ll be visiting Osteria Marco again. In the meantime, I will be having dreams of salumi and cheese.
Obligatory Olympics Post
Last night I headed over to Alastair’s place with the intention of watching our regular Thursday night program: Models of the Project Runway. We thought we’d top it off with a little Olympic figure skating. In the end PR and MotR were reruns so we watched the Olympics exclusively. But not before Alastair cooked up a little feast. Dear reader, we do cook every once in a while! We began with a lovely manchego cheese on Carr’s water biscuits (the kind with a little bit of pepper sprinkled on them) and a tart Spanish verdejo. Very nice. The main course was fresh pasta with pesto and sockeye salmon. Alastair was outdoing himself. We finished with mixed greens and a mustard vinaigrette and I have to say that Alastair does love his mustard; I only choked the one time.
After dinner we settled in to watch the ice skating, interrupted periodically by aerial ski jumping or some such mind-boggling sport. A few thoughts:
Joannie Rochette
Longtime readers of DOD will know of my affinity for our neighbors to the North and so it will come as no surprise that I was rooting for Joannie Rochette, even though I knew she probably didn’t stand much of a chance against the teenage powerhouses Kim Yu-Na and Mao Asada. Add to this the tragedy of Rochette losing her mother just a few days ago and her perseverance despite the loss, and I was hooked. Rochette took the bronze with Kim and Asada nabbing the gold and silver, respectively, as expected. What struck me most in watching them skate (aside from the fact that they were all ridiculously good) was how different they looked. Kim and Asada look like the late teenagers that they are (both are 19): they’re slim and tiny. Rochette, 24, looks like a woman. And Rochette is actually the shorter of the three. I tried to find a picture of all three on the podium but they don’t seem to be available, and the official Olympics site is guarding their photos.
This brings me to my next oh-so-deep observation: Kim, Asada, and Rochette were competing in “Ladies” figure skating. According to the official Olympics website, the other Ladies’ sports also seem to involve skating (figure or speed), skiing of any variety, and snowboarding. When female people play hockey or curl or hurl themselves down tracks in various sorts of sleds they are called women. As they should be. ”Lady” is an outdated term with all kinds of class implications. Can you imagine if men competed in “Gentlemen’s Speed Skating?” I think not. Why the discrepancy, Olympics? Is this how the sports are called in their non-Olympic incarnations?
Finally, I offer grudging congratulations to Apolo Ohno, who, NBC never fails to remind us at every other commercial break, is the most decorated US winter Olympian in history (note the use of US there; Norwegian cross-country skier Bjorn Daehlie has him beat for the real title of most winter Olympic medals ever, period). Just as we were told constantly that Michael Phelps is now the most decorated Olympian of all time. Bear with me; this is not just my irritation with the United States’ obsessive need for self-promotion. It has much more to do with the fact that those athletes (and this is not to say that Ohno and Phelps are not both phenomenal athletes) who can be the most decorated athletes are those who compete in sports that have multiple events. If you play hockey, for instance, you’re out of luck: one medal tops per games. You’d have to win at four or five consecutive Olympic games to compete with Ohno or Phelps in only one year. And it’s not just the team sports. Look at Kim Yu-Na’s performance last night. In order to qualify for one medal she had to perform both a short program and a longer free program (the ice dancers — and yes, they are silly — have to do three). Both performances were phenomenal, but she’s only entitled to the one medal for both of them. And those of us who watched last night know that she — and Asada and Rochette and Mirai Nagasu and the other top competitors — are no less skilled and athletic than “the most decorated” of their fellow Olympians, but they will never join their ranks. So enough with this “most decorated” business, I say! In that spirit, let me congratulate the Canadian women’s (not ladies’) ice hockey team, which yesterday won their third consecutive gold medal!
Chili Verde
At this point you may be under the impression that the DOD boys do nothing but eat out and are incapable of cooking an actual meal. Today’s post will not help. While we do cook a fair bit on weekdays in our respective kitchens, weekends are definitely for meals out. And last night was no exception. We ventured out to the Highlands to meet up with some friends of ours for dinner. Our first stop, which didn’t take reservations, would have taken about an hour to seat our party, and I was, by that point, ravenous. An hour was far too much time. So we walked a few blocks over to a Mexican place at 37th and Tejon that one of the friends had heard about but not tried: Chili Verde. And we were not disappointed!
The Cactus Margarita Glass
Though it was busy we were seated immediately and just as quickly presented with chips and a number of different dips: salsa, some hot and smoky mixture, and what looked to me like refried bean dip with queso fresco (I’m not much for beans so didn’t try it). We ordered a round of margaritas, which came in these lovely cactus glasses, and then set about determining what to have for dinner. We opted for a shared appetizer: the calamari with chipotle dipping sauce. The calamari was crisp and yet also tender, just as it should be. And the sauce had a little bite, which is rare in Denver, where restaurants tend to assume that diners can’t handle anything spicy. In this respect, Denver can feel just as Midwestern as many of its transplants.
But not at Chili Verde, where our entrees also did not stint on the heat. Alastair and I both opted for the fajitas. I got mine with chicken and Alastair requested a shrimp and steak combo, what he called surf ‘n’ turf. Our dining partners got the chili verde platter and the poblano crepes: shredded chicken rolled in a crepe accompanied by a poblano sauce and rice. The food was all well seasoned and tasty; portions were generous without being overwhelming. All four of us became members of the clean plate club. And to top it all off, the owner very graciously sent over a complimentary dessert, an order of changas: deep fried tortillas wrapped around chocolate and topped with more chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, and whipped cream. The perfect end to a very tasty meal. Could the DOD celebrity have spread to the point that we are now getting free desserts? We’ll try not to let it go to our collective head.
The atmosphere at Chili Verde may not be to everyone’s liking. It is very well lit, with each table having an individual low-hanging pendant light over it. These lights become somewhat problematic when tables get moved around to accommodate larger groups. And there is a huge green rectangle painted on the dining room’s main wall; in the midst of it is a photograph of green chiles that is somewhat dwarfed by the enormity of the painted green rectangle. The front room also contains a bar and a big TV (must all restaurants have a TV?) and some raised tables and bar stools. Last night there was a large gathering of basketball fans who got a little rowdy at times, cheering on their team (Kentucky). They were somewhat irritating, though one of our dining companions appreciated (something of an understatement) the fact that a number of the male fans were wearing basketball jersey tank tops and thus were showing off their well-proportioned arms.
It’s clear that Chili Verde is hoping to be both restaurant and neighborhood hangout and they seem to be succeeding at both. Not only would we recommend it, we hope to return again soon!
Potager
J’aimerais un jardin potager! On Friday, Blake and I visited what has to be our favorite eating establishment located conveniently in the DOD neighborhood on Ogden Street at East 11th Avenue, Potager. Let’s just start this post with “it’s a good time to be here,” some initial words our waiter, John shared with us.
Potager
Potager reminds me of the dining experiences I frequently had in my former life. It changes its menu every month using what is in season and fresh from local farms, such as Pachamama Farm, John Long’s Pork, and Grass Root’s Farm, to name a few. The wine list also changes with the dinner menu. The list highlights local wine distributors and importers, and the majority of the wines are sustainably grown or organic.
After arriving, Blake and I were immediately seated by our favorite hostess (who we are convinced plays a larger role at Potager, beyond the greeting and seating of guests). We sat next to one of the large picture windows that minimize the use of electricity (and may have been responsible for the sudden increases and decreases in temperature we experienced with frequency near the end of our meal). I ordered a glass of the Sauvignon Blanc / Sémillon Bordeaux from France while Blake chose the drier Rioja Blanco from Spain. Both were very nice wines. When it came to ordering, the task was not easy. Like John said, it was a good time to be at Potager. The current menu features many great choices… in addition there were four spectacular specials, each described in depth by our waiter, who also apologized for the myriad of spelling mistakes written on the specials board. John was very attentive but at no point did I feel rushed.
Not ready to choose our main course, Blake and I proceeded to order our starters: a bruleed (yes, as in crème brûlée) duck liver mousse with orange marmalade and the shrimp chowder special with herbed croutons. The dishes came out almost immediately and considering my hunger, it was perfect timing. Blake thought the orange marmalade was very tasty… and he really doesn’t like marmalade. The brûlée provided a great crunch to the mousse. The shrimp chowder, with potatoes and crisp bacon, was with the addition of a touch of salt and pepper, a perfect start.
When we ordered our waiter did not simply acknowledge it in a way that demonstrated he had heard us and understood, instead he had to approve of everything we had said. It started to seem insincere… and honestly, was there anything that he would have disapproved of? In any case, Blake and I were thoroughly entertained by the specials board… Now, if there was one guest that evening to mention this to in advance, John picked the right one! With his editing eye, Blake pointed out one after another: shitaki… giniger… srimp… and perhaps my favorite, wantan!
Speaking of wontons, I ordered the Asian-style braised Grass Roots Farm grass fed beef short ribs with a thankfully toned down version of homemade kimchi [the national dish of Korea] and sticky rice. The sauce that covered the ribs was amazing with just the right amount of sweetness. I paired this with the suggested red wine, a Cabernet-Tempranillo blend. Blake had the grilled long line caught swordfish with lemon. It came with perfectly cooked rosemary potatoes and Jay Hill Farm Swiss chard sauteed with currants, pine nuts, and capers. Blake was very happy. So much so that he indulged my interest in sharing dessert. Ordering dessert is not common amongst the DOD boys, however we settled on a delicious, but hard to tackle Meyer lemon framboise layer cake with lemon cream filling homemade white chocolate lemon ice cream, and blueberry sauce.
It was a superb meal and a wonderful dining experience. Not a surprise at Potager. If you’re looking for a great meal with a warm atmosphere and a wine list to match, the DOD boys highly suggest that you take advantage of the newest menu at Potager before it disappears. I’ve already decided to return soon to taste both the ramen noodle bowl and shellfish stew. Bon appétit!
CultureHaus Saturday Night at DAM
On Saturday night the DOD boys (and a very good lady friend of ours) attended CultureHaus’s big event at the Denver Art Museum: a celebration of the current DAM exhibit, Embrace, a multi-media show in which 17 artists have taken over the Libeskind-designed Hamilton Wing with their installations.
CultureHaus bills itself as the DAM-affiliated educational and social organization for the “young at heart” to appreciate art. They sponsor talks and social functions for their members, and for anyone else willing to buy a ticket. This particular event was probably attended by between 200 and 300 people and it was a relatively young crowd. It was also a badly dressed crowd. Or, at the very least, it was a crowd that had taken this opportunity – oh so rare in Denver – to dress up! Now in many ways we applaud this as there is far too little dressing up done in the relentlessly casual Mile High City, but sometimes people get a little carried away. There were a number of young and not-so-young women who had worn skin-tight or skin-baring clothing that seemed more appropriate to wearing out to “the club.” It was just a little too well lit at the DAM for this sort of attire: lots of strappy, slinky dresses and what one friend of mine calls “novelty tops”: minimalist blouses of somewhat complicated construction that do not really resemble blouses in the traditional sense. The men tended toward a uniform of jeans, blazer, and button-down shirt, the DOD boys among them. Some paired this with ties; most did not. One intrepid fashion innovator even paired his with a small mink stole (more on this below). One trend I have been noting of late is the blazer with deconstructed or unfinished edges that almost look fringe-like with threads hanging from every edge. I’m not yet sure what I think about this. On the other hand, I do know what I think about blazers with all kinds of graphics all over the back, including words and phrases and images (eagles and falcons tend to predominate). I saw one last weekend in SF with the word “Arrogant” in huge letters across the shoulders. Horrible. Unsightly. Unfortunate.
I could go on about the art – and indeed we took a stroll through the exhibits, one of which, “The Bathers” by John McEnroe, is featured above – but I’m just not very good at talking about art. That’s Alastair’s department but he seems to be silent of late. Instead let me discuss the food. The passed appetizers (how I love a passed appetizer!) were quite tasty: mini crabcakes, barely seared tuna with wasabi on salty chips, and mini cheeseburgers. Very nice. But the stationary appetizer stations were a disappointment: the customary vegetable and cheese plates, pita and hummus (really!?), and great big chafing dishes of meatballs in sauce. Snore. My great complaint of the evening, however, has to be the fact that while the event ended at 10, the bars closed at 9:30. Employees were literally packing up even as the party continued on, and some of us wanted a refill!
Post party many headed over to the Living Room, a spacious bar on Broadway, for cocktails. It was crowded and sometimes difficult to get the bartenders’ attention, but otherwise quite fun. The highlight, however, occurred at the end of the evening. Mink-stole boy (MSB) had also migrated to the Living Room and ‘round about midnight seemed to have gotten into something of a scuffle with another patron who had either made fun of – or actually interfered with; I wasn’t sure – the stole. MSB was not going to take this lying down. I had a front row seat as he got up in the face of the mink anti-fan: “You don’t mess with the mink stole! This was my grandmother’s mink stole! You want to take this outside? Come on buddy, let’s take this outside.” A puffy-haired, white-loafer-sporting, mink-stole-wearing aesthete screaming about his grandmother’s fur and threatening to take out another bar patron is not something I expect to see again soon. In short, it was fantastic. Who knew this was possible in Denver?
Pizza, Pizza, Pizza
Spinach Slice at Gioia in Berkeley
So while I’m back from my trip to the Bay Area to hang out with my Gentleman Friend, Alastair remains AWOL in NYC, expected back who knows when… In the meantime I give you this meditation on my culinary experiences on the West Coat.
Food is one of the things that I will not disparage about Denver. I am not a foodie but Alastair and I like to eat out and we do so with some frequency, as the pages of DOD demonstrate. It is often great eats here in D-Town (for more on this, see also our sister bloggers over at The Denver Omelette). That said, I am not without my complaints and probably number one on my list is pizza. I have not been able to find a good pizza in Denver. I don’t like the chain options, never have, even though the Gentleman Friend swears by Papa John’s. If I had to go with chain, I would favor Colorado’s own Black Jack. Chain pizza just tends to be smaller, have a puffier crust than I like, a sweeter sauce, and while I like my toppings (meat, particularly) as much as the next person, chain pizza tends to overload it so much that it’s difficult to find the cheese, and what is pizza if not a vehicle for melted cheese?
So, Denver options: Abo’s and Pasquini’s are OK but I haven’t been thrilled with either. Pasquini’s seems overpriced and as puffy-crusted as the chain options. I was going with Abo’s until I stumbled upon Benny Blanco’s and that’s now what I order when I have a yen for pizza. I don’t think it’s perfect – it’s too thin for me, almost cracker-like at times – but this means it’s definitely not too bready, and that’s a good thing. Toppings are good and the sauce is tasty, though they could be more generous with cheese (I dated a guy once who ordered BB’s but with extra cheese and always asked to have the extra cheese sprinkled over the toppings; oh the compromises we make…).
But, as I said, I don’t love any of them. I am generally of the opinion that the best pizza (at least in this country) is in New York: thin but not too thin; sauce not too sweet; generous with cheese to the point of being slightly greasy; tasty toppings; big slices. But this past weekend I was in the Bay Area and spent the afternoon with a friend of mine from school, Jason, a full-fledged heterosexualist who knows his food. He likes pizza as much as I do and as he lives in the ‘hood we decided to check out a couple places for lunch, both in the East Bay. We began with Rotten City Pizza in Emeryville (named for future chief justice Earl Warren’s 1927 declaration that Emeryville was the “rottenest city on the Pacific Coast”). We both had a slice with some sort of sausage with olives. Verdict: good but not great. Definitely thin but not very substantial. Maybe it was just small? Unclear. We were underwhelmed.
Then we went to Gioia in Berkeley. I’ve been here with Jason before and was impressed the first time. Nothing has changed. This is seriously good pizza. I had a slice of pepperoni and one of their special that day: Calabrian sausage, greens, capers, and some kind of hot pepper. The second one was strange and sort of unexpected but quite tasty. And the pepperoni slice was pretty much as good as it gets: a little greasy (meaning plenty cheesy), and thickly sliced pepperoni so you really taste it. Thin crust but not cracker-like; it sags a little when you pick it up the first time. Jason also had the pepperoni and then waited about five minutes for a piping hot spinach pizza to emerge from the oven. Well worth the wait; I tried that, too. Same great cheese and sauce with baby spinach and hints of garlic. This is the one pictured above (with Jason’s first bite removed; he was eager). The owner is friendly and it is clear that this place has fans. There are only a few stools inside so people are taking the slices (or whole pies) to go and eating as they walk. After finishing our first slice standing Jason and I snagged the sole bench out front to enjoy our second slice (third of the day).
Gioia claims to be the “Best Pizza West of the Jersey Turnpike” and I might just have to agree. This is pizza that magically manages to be a little bit fancy without compromising all that makes pizza as wonderful as it is. If Denverites out there would like to recommend something that needs to be tried, however, I am all ears. I would much rather eat good pizza than sit in judgment.
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