Down and Out in Denver

O·ster·i·a Marco

Posted in denver, food, wine by Alastair on February 28, 2010

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.

Potager

Posted in denver, food, wine by Alastair on February 13, 2010

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!

New Year’s Eve in Tahoe!

Posted in bars, food, gays, parties, travel, wine by Blake on January 4, 2010

Greetings, readers.  First of all, as one half of Down and Out in Denver, I must acknowledge that the other half, a mere two days ago, celebrated a very-close-to-momentous birthday.  Happy Birthday Alastair!!!

I will allow Alastair to recount his birthday escapades as I was not present.  The DOD boys escaped Denver for the New Years festivities, both of us to San Francisco and environs but with slightly different agendas for the weekend.  I went to see the Gentleman Friend (as well as others) and Alastair hung out with his own pals and celebrated both NYE and the B’day.  But we met up on the eve of the eve for a cocktail celebration (like a little warm-up!) with all of our Bay Area peeps: drinks at the Blackbird on Market by Church.  I like this bar.  It’s gay, but not overly so.  Women welcome, even of the heterosexualist variety.  And while I’ve been there on crowded nights in the past, this time there was plenty of room to move and indeed to sit.  They also have a good and changing selection of wines by the glass, unusual not just for a gay bar, but for any bar.   Following cocktail hour(s) a few of us headed out to dinner at Starbelly (16th and Market, where Asqew used to be), the new sister restaurant of Beretta (23rd and Valencia).  Lots of good appetizers: the chicken liver pâté was excellent; tasty salty fries with three homemade dipping sauces.  The salads were also great, especially the apple and celery root.  Finally, pizzas: our table had a margherita, a mushroom, and the GF and I split a mixed salumi, cherry tomato, and fresh mozzarella.  Very good: a little crispy and, though fancy and thin-crusted, there was definitely enough cheese.  Following dinner we met back up with the crew at what we heard was to be the last night at the smoke-filled Amber (14th just above Market) before it was revamped into something swankier.  All flavored vodkas were on sale as they tried to rid themselves of extra alcohol.   The GF and I headed out around 11 because we had to get up the next day for a trip to Lake Tahoe with his friends.

Lovely Lake Tahoe

Tahoe.  That’s right.  This non-outdoorsy, non-skiing, non-snowboarding urban homo flew from Denver to California in order to go to a ski resort town.  Go figure.  Apparently that’s what a very fine Gentleman Friend can do to you.  I will not go into all the detail about the lovely meals that our group of nine had, or the very pretty views (see above), or the drunken card games (apparently I am very bad at Taboo after too much wine, and I’m not half bad without, though the GF is far better), all because I have a much better story to tell instead.  Here goes: The GF and I lost a coin toss and were allotted the futon in the second-floor loft.  All of this would have been inconsequential except that the loft was open to the staircase and the living room below, meaning that in the wee hours of the first day of the New Year, I heard increasing groans coming from below where one of our fellow Tahoers was sleeping on the couch.  At first I thought it was someone having sex, and when I realized it was someone alone downstairs I thought he was having a bad dream, or one in which he wrestled.  Then I heard him being very ill in the bathroom and assumed he’d had too much to drink.  As he moved about downstairs bumping into things and falling over, still groaning aloud, I thought he must be sleepwalking.  Finally the GF woke up and we consulted: he went downstairs and the friend (whom I’ll call Randy) indicated that he needed to go the hospital.  And pronto.

Dear reader, never again will I disparage the iPhone.  Without the GF’s iPhone we would have been in serious trouble.  That trusty little GPS app guided us from our condo to the Barton Memorial Hospital in South Lake Tahoe, all as Randy suffered the most excruciating pain to which I have ever personally borne witness.  Agony, I tell you.  Upon arrival we rushed in and, because his pain was pretty obvious to the receptionist, Randy was ushered into the inner sanctum with very little delay.  Thus began our odyssey at the Barton ER.  Picture it: New Year’s Eve at a resort town famous for its gambling and partying.  Who do you think might have been there?  My estimate, based on our three hours between 4:00 and 7:00, is that the clientele was pretty equally divided between the unbelievably intoxicated and those who had been injured in alcohol-fueled altercations (sometimes overlapping categories, to be sure).  Those were the ones being treated, of course, but the demographics of the patients and those waiting were actually pretty similar.  I could tell many, many stories but I think I’ll have to limit it to just 2 or 3 of my very favorites.

It was quickly apparent that our BFFs in the waiting room were going to be the three hipsters from San Jose who were waiting for their super-drunk friend, Angela.  They explained to us that she was small and had been drinking far too much – beer and shots – which resulted, not surprisingly, in a trip to the ER as they feared she might have alcohol poisoning.  The hipsters were themselves slightly drunk and very chatty.  At one point they were called to the desk to consult about Angela’s imminent release and when they asked, were told that her blood alcohol level was a point 2 (.2).  The boys’ knowledge of the law or medicine was not what it could have been and so they concluded that this meant, as they exclaimed, “She isn’t even drunk! Why are we even here?”  Of course the legal limit for driving is actually a .08, so Angela’s levels were more than twice that, but this was lost on the hipsters (and indeed on the GF and myself until we used that handy iPhone again to look up blood alcohol levels).  A “sober” Angela was released to the arms of her loving friends.

Some visitors to the ER that night, however, were not so lucky.  Consider the case of two young women whom I’ll call Courtney and Ashley (we never learned their actual names and indeed it’s unclear whether they would have remembered them at the time).   Ashley emerged from the inner sanctum after we’d been there for about an hour.  She looked dazed but had a slight grin on her face.  She walked outside into the snow and promptly turned around and came back in.  The cab that the ER staff had called for her had not yet arrived.  Somehow, across the waiting room, she started to talk to Courtney, whom she did not previously know but with whom, it turned out, she had much in common.  They had both awoken in the ER wearing hospital gowns and little else, their clothes having been removed by the ER personnel, presumably.  They had no idea how they’d gotten there, where their friends or phones were, or, in fact, where they were at all.  After treatment they were both released to wait for cabs.  Of course they also couldn’t remember where they were staying but this did not stop Courtney and Ashley, by this point fast friends, from linking arms and heading out to a cab destined for “the strip”; they’d find their way together!  A drunken New Year’s Eve friendship was born right there in the ER.  It was all rather heartwarming.

Finally, there was perhaps the most dramatic of waiting room pals: a group of three waiting for a man who had been injured in a bar fight.  One of them was his girlfriend and the other man might have been her brother.  Their friend had been knocked upside the head with a bottle of “Dom P,” as the man told us.  (One of our friends later noted that at least it was a decent brand and not something cheaper like Korbel.)  He was having stitches on his left ear, but not quickly enough for his girlfriend, whom I’ll call Mary.  Mary was, in a word, impatient.  She explained to us and all others present that the only way to get in to see a doctor was to fake unconsciousness – that’s what she’d had her man do, and it had worked! She encouraged others still waiting to adopt this tactic. (The GF and I were something of an anomaly in the waiting room in that Randy had not actually spent any time in it and his ailment seemed entirely unrelated to alcohol; we thus did not need her advice.)  In the meantime she tried to persuade the receptionist to let her into the back to see her boyfriend, whom she claimed she could see lying on a stretcher not being helped by anyone.  The receptionist was having none of it, even when Mary increased herself to the status of wife (“I need to get in there and see my husband!”).  The receptionist’s intransigence prompted Mary to go off on a tirade, and provided the two best lines of the night: “That bitch is out of control!  This is like being in a Mexico hospital!”  We had difficulty stifling our laughter because “that bitch” (the receptionist), far from being “out of control,” was actually preoccupied with a Janet Evanovich novel and should have ignored Mary far more than she actually did.

Oh, but I could go on.  The entire experience was actually so amusing that – combined with how much pain Randy had clearly been in – it was impossible to be resentful of the three hours we spent there when we should have been nestled snug in our bed.  There definitely could have been better reading material – Forbes and the ESPN magazine are not going to cut it for two liberal homos – but so long as someone else was actually present in the waiting room, it hardly mattered.  Finally, dear reader, you will be glad to know that Randy was released after he passed his kidney stone – not appendicitis, as I’d thought – and we headed back to the condo, and back to bed.   Certainly the most unforgettable New Years Eve I’ve had in the past 20 years.

Barolo Grill

Posted in food, wine by Blake on December 18, 2009

Last night, after a number of postponements, Alastair and I ventured out to the Italian restaurant, Barolo Grill, on East Sixth Avenue.  We were accompanied by two southern lady friends of ours and we had ourselves just a great time.  Hey y’all!

The four of us had an enormous extravaganza of a meal.  We began by splitting two appetizers, both of which were very tasty: a fritto misto of calamari, rock shrimp, and scallops with some spicy peppers; and, from the tasting menu, some sort of mini scallops and mushrooms in a squash purée.  Both were de-lish, so much so that one of our southern lady friends (whom I’ll call Bethany Sue) in not so lady-like fashion used her fingers to scoop up the remaining purée.  It was that good.

Grilled Hearts of Romaine with Speck and White Anchovies

We then moved on to salads.  Alastair and I both had the grilled romaine hearts salad with speck and a horseradish/mustard dressing.  We opted to add white anchovies and were not disappointed.  Well, I wasn’t; Alastair likes his anchovies fuzzier and saltier.  (See photo above.)  Bethany Sue went for the mixed greens (ho hum, but what can you expect?) and Bonita Lou (our other southern gal pal) had the mixed seafood salad: Dungeness crab, calamari, lobster, and rock shrimp, tossed with celery and tomatoes.  It was super cold, just as it should be, and wholly delicious.

Mushroom Risotto

Now we come to the main course, and it was here, dear reader, that your intrepid diners were somewhat disappointed.  Bethany Sue and I went for the grilled ahi tuna, which came with braised leeks (I loves me some leeks!), fried gnocchi, and tomato broth.  The tuna could have had more flavor and it could have been hotter.  Our waiter had also warned us that it would just be seared (it was, after all sushi-grade tuna) and we both acquiesced to this enthusiastically.  Well, turns out only Bethany Sue’s was seared; mine was cooked pretty much right through.  Alastair had the flatiron steak, which was fine, though none too thrilling, and Bonita Lou went for the mushroom risotto: flavor was good but it was a little on the runny side.

Dessert

We drank wine throughout, chosen from their extensive wine list – it has a table of contents – and finished off the meal with two chocolate ganache truffles for the table and some digestifs.  Those Southern gals love their Baileys!

Finally, the service and the décor:  One was fantastic, the other not so much.  Can you guess which?  Our waiter was a Chatty Cathy throughout the evening but it must be said that we were nothing if not encouraging.  He was also attentive and knowledgeable and brought us what we wanted when we wanted it.  So all good on that front.  The décor, on the other hand, could use some work, or perhaps more to the point, less work.  Barolo is, in a word, busy.  It’s as if the owners have just picked up one of this and one of that wherever they’ve gone.  Thrown up on the walls are plates and paintings and Christmas decorations and lights and fake plants and real plants and pictures and posters and you name it.  And then there are the niches filled with any number of knick knacks and tchotchkes.  Combine this with the fact that the space itself is not large and not quiet and it’s all a little overwhelming.  Just a little decorative editing would do Barolo a world of good.

All that said, and the slightly disappointing entrées nothwithstanding, the DaOiD boys and their Southern lady friends had a fantastic evening and would be excited to give it all another whirl sometime in the future.  New friends and good food; how can you go wrong?

Saturday Night: NoRTH, Charlie’s, CGRA

Posted in bars, food, gays, wine by Blake on December 7, 2009

So after a night in with Julianna Margulies on Friday, it was clearly time to hit the town on Saturday.  And indeed so much fun was had that I was in no position to report on it yesterday.

Saturday evening began with a trip to NoRTH, in Cherry Creek (and yes, they spell it that way; I have no idea why).  There my dining partner and I began with wine: he red, I white.  I like dry white wines and as NoRTH specializes in the food of northern Italy, it seemed like a good opportunity to take advantage of their selection. You can order wines by the glass, bottle, or terzo, a fancy way of saying a mini-carafe that is bigger than a regular sized-glass and only a couple bucks more expensive.  So that’s what we did.  For dinner I started with what was billed as a classic Caesar salad.  I was a little disappointed.  Lettuce, dressing, and croutons (very nice and chewy) were all just fine, but where were my anchovies?  A classic Caesar without anchovies, I ask you?  Not so classic.  We both had the wild mushroom risotto with seared scallops as a main course and it was delicious.  I’m a bit picky about risotto.  I learned how to make it in college while in the Veneto (from whence it comes) and I am firmly of the opinion that the rice should be congealed to the point that it’s kind of gloppy (to use a word my mother likes).  Each individual grain should not be separated out like regular rice.  This occurs because a good risotto can be stirred for hours — some all day! — before serving.  NoRTH’s risotto was prepared exactly that way and so I was pleased. No room for dessert – and frankly the dessert menu was a little boring, anyway.  Service was good as well.  All in all, a pleasant meal.

But on to the main event.  We went to Charlie’s and unbeknownst to us the Colorado Gay Rodeo Association (CGRA) was crowning its Miss and Mr. CGRA 2010, what the CGRA calls its “royalty.”  We had no idea.  A word first on Charlie’s, Denver’s country and western gay bar.  Alastair and I are not exactly C&W people – and nor is the friend with whom I went on Saturday – though I have an extreme weakness for ladies singing country music.  What I do love about Charlie’s, however, is the degree of seriousness with which everyone takes their dancing.  Watching the line-dancing and two-stepping is a lot of fun and there is something refreshing in the unabashed earnestness with which people approach it.  No pretending that one is “too cool for school” at Charlie’s.   It’s also just really friendly.  If many of the homos in Denver’s gay bars seem cliquish and full of themselves, people at Charlie’s are anything but, and that is also appreciated.  Finally, you can’t get much better than a pair of disco boots (as opposed to a ball) spinning over the dance floor.

But back to the CGRA.  There were only three contestants total for both positions: two for Miss and one for Mr.  So Mr.’s victory was a foregone conclusion and one had to feel especially sorry for the first runner up for Miss, the only person not to win that evening.  Here’s where things get confusing.  Miss CGRA seems to be a drag queen, female impersonator, man-in-a-dress-and-heels, whatever you want to call her, possibly even an MTF transsexual.  But Mr. appeared to be a man.  In men’s clothing.  I checked the CGRA’s website and they don’t give much explanation for how these contests are run or what indeed the criteria are (that said, last year’s Mr. CGRA was elected Mr. International Gay Rodeo Association in Toronto and Miss CGRA was second runner up, so they must be doing something right).  But why is Miss CGRA a drag queen if Mr. isn’t a drag king?  The website does make it clear that there are also categories for Ms. and MsTer CGRA and the past winners seem like a woman and drag king or transman.  That said, there were no contestants in these categories on Saturday.

But even if we were to sort out why both Miss and Mr. titles were awarded to what seemed to be anatomical men, it wouldn’t actually answer the question of what the criteria were.  It seems more clear with regard to the Miss contest.  These men do, after all, have to dress up to look like something they are not.  And they have to lip synch.  But what Mr. CGRA has to do in order to win remains an open question.  Perhaps compete in an actual rodeo?  If so, that was not going to happen at Charlie’s itself.  Maybe Miss CGRA also has to lasso a steer?  Unclear.  If not – and despite the fact that I am generally a fan of Charlie’s and certainly don’t want to be a snob about what the CGRA calls the “gay country and western lifestyle” – then both of these titles seem to be little more than beauty contests.  And honestly, gays, haven’t we learned anything from the women’s movement?  Beauty contests are dumb.  They objectify their participants and place a premium on appearance at the expense of talent and brains.  I really am curious about what the criteria are, so anyone out there who knows, feel free to chime in.  (The International GRA website briefly mentions five categories for competition – interview, western wear, horsemanship, public presentation, and entertainment –but it’s unclear whether the same criteria apply at the state level.)

After the festivities, as we headed for the door – and on to other bars – we passed by the first runner-up for Miss CGRA.  I paused to congratulate her and she thanked me demurely, leaning in for a congratulatory kiss on the cheek.  It was as if she had won.  Now that’s the kind of attitude I can reward with a crown!

A Trip to the Highlands

Posted in food, wine by Blake on November 14, 2009
photo

The lovely lighting at the LoHi SteakBar

We recently ventured out to the LoHi SteakBar, and we were not disappointed. They don’t take reservations, but we’re willing to play things fast and loose every once in a while. It’s definitely a little loud and crowded on a weekend night but it is, after all, also a bar. The décor is appealing; we especially liked the lampshades in the front room (though there could be a third in the middle) and the extra wide bar.

We got ourselves on the list as soon as we arrived and the maître d’ (read: skinny kid with the list) kept us informed, at least three times, about our status on the list as we moved up it. It was divine! Like the overly organized homosexuals that we are, we tend to get a little antsy about table lists in restaurants, like someone might swoop in from the side and claim a table before their rightful time, but not here. I (Blake) have never felt so reassured. Bravo LoHi! Also appealing was the bartender, who was friendly and generous with her pours. Femmes take note: hot butch bartender in the Highlands. There were, in fact, many of our sister homosexuals in evidence last night at LoHi. As well as a hipster staff (hipsters in Denver!) that seemed to be outfitted almost entirely in plaid shirts, as if it were the uniform.

But on to matters of importance: food and wine. Wines by the glass were priced well, especially considering the generosity of the pours. Granted, they do come in those silly mini-carafes that one then must pour into one’s glass, but these ones were at least cute, like little beakers in a chemistry set. Once seated by Skinny we ordered steak frites. There are a few options from which to choose and we both went for the strip, which promised the most meat (10 oz). One also has a choice of sauce; we opted for Béarnaise and blue cheese butter. (And thank goodness they have the decency not to spell that “bleu” on their menu, á la française. My pet peeve: if one wants to spell it bleu then one should go for broke and say “fromage bleu,” but if one wants to use the word “cheese,” then use the English spelling on blue as well.) But I digress. The steaks were tender and tasty. The Béarnaise was good, though there wasn’t much blue cheese flavor to the butter in the second option and I loves me some blue cheese. The fries were seriously good: not too crispy and not too soft. A little hint of herb on top. And just right on the salt, which for me means salty! (But if one wanted more, and I might have wanted just a little more, as I am wont to do, the salt on the table seemed to be kosher. Yay!)

Only one complaint: our service could have been better. Everyone else around us seemed to be satisfied with their hipster but ours lagged a little bit. He took his time in taking our order and then pretty much disappeared. We asked for water and he forgot it. And he wasn’t really around to be reminded. On the other hand, the cute flush-cheeked runner who brought our steaks delivered water immediately upon being asked so it seemed like our waiter might just have been the dud of the bunch.

On the whole, were the DaOiD boys satisfied? Indeed they were. And they shall be returning. This trip to the Highlands certainly paid off.