Flowers and Wine at GFF

Every year to celebrate our birthdays, which are quite close to each other, my gal pals Historiann and ej and I go out to dinner. Alas, ej has moved out of state recently so she was unable to accompany us, but we toasted her repeatedly.  (Were your ears ringing last night, ej?)  This year Historiann suggested that we have dinner at Grant Family Farms.  Dinner at a farm, you ask?  Why yes, indeed. Grant Family Farms of Wellington (just north of Fort Collins) is both a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farm with members and a supplier to restaurants and, one presumes, grocery stores and the like.  And they have begun a series of dinners on the farm that include music, entertainment and tours.  So last night Historiann, Dr. Mr. Historiann, and I got back to the land.  And what an adventure we had.

We decided to live it up — as well as avoid driving — by spending the night at the lovely Armstrong Hotel in downtown Fort Collins.  The Armstrong offers a discount to those participating in the Grant Farm dinners.  And one can take a shuttle bus — a brightly painted former school bus — from the Sports Authority parking lot, just a few blocks away.  The bus, driven by the friendly Maria, dropped us off at the Farm around 4:00.  And we were immediately treated to a delicious selection of hors d’oeuvres: dates wrapped in bacon; fresh vegetables; MouCo ColoRouge and Camembert cheeses; Il Mondo Vecchio cured meats. And wine and cocktails, too.  We were particularly fond of a very refreshing cucumber and mint gin and tonic.  I am a huge fan of the G&T and I usually don’t like it messed with, but this was very tasty and something I might just have to try at home.

Bus as Chicken Coop

Grant Family Farms is not just a family business, it’s also a family business, if you know what I mean, not at all what I was expecting in northern Colorado.  I was very much at home.  After a walk around the beautiful grounds we all hopped back on the bus — cocktails in hand — for a tour of the farm.  We bumped down the lane as farmer Chelsea explained how the farm works.  They farm about 2,000 acres, 600 of which they own; the rest they lease.  They harvest an astounding array of fruits, vegetables, flowers, and trees: eggplants, tomatoes, parsley, onions, raspberries, basil, sunflowers, and so much more.  They grow more cilantro than anywhere in the nation outside of Arizona and California.  Everything — including all the chicken, ducks, geese, and pigs — are raised organically and many of the chickens live in roving coops fashioned out of old school buses.

Before the Feast Commenced

Following the tour it was time for our four-course meal.  We began with a Romaine and butter lettuce salad, topped with poblano vinaigrette, wax beans, carrots, and tomatoes. Then came a very tasty green pepper stuffed with Lebanese zucchini, corn, Anaheim peppers, and cherry tomatoes.  It was served with goat cheese and a cabbage slaw.  I had just eaten two courses without meat and I was satisfied; who knew?  Following a brief interlude of dancing and hula hooping — music courtesy of Cowboy Jazz — we were served our main course: oven roasted duck with wilted spinach, cauliflower, and spicy pico de gallo. This was definitely my favorite of the four courses.  Dessert was a peach cobbler with a biscuit and a surprise flavored ice cream (it was Cap’n Crunch!). Food was prepared by the staff of Café Vino and the wines were courtesy of Vintages. Dinner is served at a very long table, set with beautiful flowers from the farm.  After a couple glasses of wine had loosened everyone up we were chatting with our table neighbors from Fort Collins, Boulder, and Denver, many of whom are members of the farm and regularly partake of their eggs, vegetables, or milk.

Fire Dancers Perform Mid-Meal. It was even more dramatic in the dark.

But the fun was just beginning!  After dinner and in between sets by Cowboy Jazz, fire dancers performed in the dark.  Two dancers had ropes that were lit at each end and then swung round rhythmically in a coordinated routine.  As we lounged on blankets spread out on the lawn, the fire dancers lit up the night sky.  And then there were fireworks! One must say this for the staff of Grant Family Farms: they pull out all the stops to insure that their guests have a good time.  I was expecting fresh and tasty food, maybe even a tour, but the cocktails, the music, the performers, and the fireworks made this so much more than just a dinner out; it was an extravaganza.  For those interested, GFF will be hosting a two-day Harvestival on September 11th and 12th: tours, activities for kids, a farmer’s market, and live music (featuring the one and only Judy Collins!).  If Harvestival is anything like their dinners, it’s sure to be a good (and tasty!) time.

Happy Birthday ej!  Happy Birthday Historiann!

Alastair was an early convert to Denver B-Cycle.  It took me longer, largely because I don’t mind walking everywhere.  But I just joined, and last night was to be my very first night using a B-Cycle.  I signed up Friday online and was told that while my membership card would not arrive for a little while (understandably) I could use the credit card that I’d registered with in order to take out a bike. It was not to be.  I inserted said card at the B-Cycle station at Boulder and 16th in the Highlands: not recognized, no membership.  As I waited on hold with B-Cycle headquarters I walked over the Highland Bridge to the station at 16th and Platte.  The nice gentleman on the other end of the phone told me there was a glitch in the system and that it wasn’t fixable right now.  However, I could sign up for a $5 one-day membership that he would reimburse to my credit card.  Done. Except that when I tried to take out a bike the system froze.  No luck.  Alastair advised me there was a station across the park at 16th and Little Raven.  There I finally met with success.  I sailed off down the Cherry Creek Trail (on the pedestrian side; I’m still getting acquainted with bicycling etiquette) to meet Alastair at Sketch Wine Bar for a glass of vinho verde, served up by the ever-friendly J.D.

Update: Denver B-Cycle called me on Monday and has straightened out the entire problem with the credit card.  Seems like they run a pretty tight ship!

Red Lights over the bar at El Diablo

Alastair had arrived at El Diablo before me and put our names on the waiting list before heading over to Sketch (located next door and also run by Jesse Morreale, who brought us Tambien, Mezcal, and La Rumba).  Midway through our second glass of wine at Sketch, we were approached by one of the hosts at El Diablo: had we put our names on the list?  Indeed we had.  Now that’s service! While the host and hostess were indeed very accommodating, the table service left a little to be desired.  Granted, it was their second night in action, but we waited a long time to have our order taken, and even longer to have it actually appear. While some of the waitstaff seemed to be wandering around aimlessly, ours was often nowhere to be found or rushed by our table without looking at us.  The food and drinks were tasty, though nothing remarkably special.  We started with chips y tres salsas and two very tall glasses of sangria.  The salsas were good, if a little runny, and the sangria — perhaps because so plentiful — was pretty watery and devoid of much fruit flavor. (The pricier sangria made with more fruit was unavailable last night.)  Our tacos — one order of carne asada y papas and one order of carnitas with salsa — were very tasty, though the tortillas had become hardened and brittle. And our very small sides of rice and beans — at $4.95 each — were overpriced and underwhelming.  It was opening weekend so Alastair and I agreed we’d give it another chance. The place is packed and the atmosphere is fun.  It’s dark and the tacky red lights worked well with the bad plasticized tabletops.  It reminded both of us of a place in the Mission in San Francisco called Velvet Cantina: hipster Mexican.

And we were off!  A night of karaoke awaited us at Armida’s, site of a wild night in early May that I documented here. This was actually our gal pal’s Whitney’s birthday party and she once again delivered some stellar performances, even joining Alastair for a rendition of Estelle and Kanye’s “American Boy.” Alastair took Estelle’s part, natch.  And they were not the only enthusiastic singers.  A gang of six thirty-something straight guys got up to deliver a somewhat too rousing rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Blaze of Glory.” One couldn’t help but wonder if they were mourning their own youth, gone in the aforementioned blaze. And there was even a lady fight!  Involving actual punches. One very drunken young woman (part of an entourage of mid-20s women in strappy dresses and large engagement rings; is this Denver?) took a swing at another young woman who had spent most of her awful rendition of Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” trying to show off her quads to the audience. Oh my. It was not pretty.

Stay tuned for Alastair’s report on our delicious (and boozy) Sunday brunch at Root Down…

I know… you may be thinking to yourself  that Alastair seems a little less DOWN (and out) these days. Well, don’t be fooled… I’m trying to focus on the positive. Perhaps it’s the warm and sunny weather, or the weekend bike rides, but I’m sure that will all change after my trip back to the Bay Area at the end of this month.

In the meantime, I’m riding high and I’m happy to report that my Oklahoman gal pal, her gal pal Whitney, and I recently stumbled upon a lovely new wine bar in Denver’s LoHi neighborhood, Cellar Wine Bar. Located on the perfect corner (where 15th becomes 29th Avenue), Cellar Wine Bar offers a nice selection of reasonably priced wines, (we shared a shockingly well priced bottle of the rosé) a small beer list (for those of you who must have beer), and cheeses, meats and sweets. Sorry, no whiskey, vodka or gin available here.

We were all very impressed by the well appointed interior. Whitney was a fan of the chalkboard in the ladies room. While my Oklahoman gal pal and I were rather impressed by the table tops and lighting choices. The large street-front windows make for great people watching and I felt like I was instantly transported to Seattle given the interior atmosphere and the light rain that washed the streets of Denver.

View of the Ponte Vecchio from the Uffizi Gallery, Firenze

Forgive my silence of late (not that you’ve probably noticed, Alastair has been so busy in his postings), but I have been abroad.  In Italy, to be specific, with mi famiglia (that is about the extent of my Italian).  La famiglia di Blake rented a house on a working vineyard in the hills northeast of Siena (courtesy of la mamma di Blake).  We spent a couple nights in Firenze and then rented a car and drove south. When we arrived at what we had somewhat facetiously been calling “the villa,” we realized the description was not far off.  It was a house on the property of an actual eighteenth-century villa.  We were met by the scion of the wine-making family, who acted as caretaker for the rental properties. Pietro came in from a nearby field he had been tending, and, dear reader, he was seriously cute.  He was also a former semi-professional tennis player. Were I a heterosexual teenage girl, this would have all the makings of a summer blockbuster starting Amanda Seyfried. We would have had a romance complete with moonlit chases in fields of grapes and chaste makeout sessions in abandoned medieval castellos on winding lanes.  It would have ended in heartache when I returned stateside, but then Pietro would have…  I digress.  Instead let me share some of my observations on the pluses and minuses of Italia.

The pluses:

1. Gelato.  In all of its many wonderful flavors.  My two favorites — which, I kid you not, I consumed every single day — are caffè and cioccolato.

2. Wine.  As I believe I mentioned, we were staying on a working vineyard and while we consumed plenty of wine just about every time we ate (including lunches), we also got a tour of the vineyard and a private wine-tasting with Pietro’s older brother, Alessandro, who heads up the vineyard.  Though it is purely coincidental to Alastair’s recent post on the wonders of the rosé, I brought back a bottle of the very stuff that I look forward to sharing with him soon.

3. Wine, part due.  We mostly drank red — we were in Chianti, after all — but ordering a glass of house white in Italia you can be almost guaranteed you will not be served a dreaded, oaky, buttery California chardonnay.  It’s pinot grigio and soave and orvieto all the way.

4. Acqua gassata.  I hate water.  I need flavor or carbonation to drink the stuff.  And so I love that at all restaurants in Italy you are automatically given the choice of acqua naturale OR gassata.

One of the tamer moccasins at Maledetti Toscani

5. Footwear.  The shoes are gorgeous.  From the moment we landed at Roma’s Fiumicino airport, I knew I was in a different land because people were just so well shorn.  The leather!  The stitching! The colors!  The shapes!  Women and men, boys and girls.  I picked up two hand-stitched pairs in a shop in Montelpulciano called Maledetti Toscani.  Check out their men’s selection here.

6. Eyewear.  Ditto above (minus the leather and the stitching).  The colors!  The shapes!  Italians just are not constrained by trying to blend in and the men especially don’t seem to be super concerned with appearing masculine so they take chances that straight American men would see as “gay.”

7. Which brings me to my final point.  Italian men wear clothes that fit.  And while some of them are tight (even overly so at times), this is not my real point.  They buy clothes in their actual sizes, not in the American straight man’s baggy large and extra-large.  This is bad in one way because one of the American homosexual male’s tried and true methods for identifying his brethren is to look at the fit of clothing and Italian men (like many of Europeans) are thus confusing.  But it is good for two even more important reasons: (a) it is so easy to find clothes that actually fit!  Stores there have real size small and even the equivalent of an extra small.  (b) Italian men look good in their fitting clothes!

Minuses:

1. The bread was surprisingly awful.  Dry, tasteless, floury.  As my mother remarked at one dinner, “And they’re  really not that far from France, you’d think they could figure it out.”  Indeed.

2. The showers (or lack thereof).  Many European homes still insist on those cumbersome bathtubs with handheld shower heads that you have to manipulate yourself while trying not to flood the whole room.

That might be it.  And when you’ve got a view like this one to come home to every night, complaints seem foolish:

View from the porch

We had a cocktail at Sputnik first but we weren’t really feeling it.  So we headed on over to a new DOD favorite, Sketch Wine Bar, at Broadway and 1st Avenue.  We split a bottle of Prosecco and then each had a glass of wine.  There were 8 of us by this point, but J.D., the friendly barkeep, knew all our names by about halfway through our stay.  Now that’s the kind of service we can get excited about!  Add to that the great selection of wines by the bottle and glass, and we were happy campers.

But even that was not enough for one of our gal pals, whom I shall call Whitney (you’ll see why in a minute).  Whitney was hell bent on singing karaoke and she swears by Armida’s (on Lincoln between 8th and 9th).  She twisted our arms and so we pried ourselves away from our lovely window nook at Sketch and piled into cabs bound for Armida’s.  (Our surly driver told us we should have walked but he dropped us off nevertheless.)

The Karaoke Viewer at Armida's

Turns out that by the time we arrived, Whitney (who got there first) had already signed up both the DOD boys.  We had earlier made the mistake of telling her what we would sing if we had been so inclined.  The key word there is “if.”  I do not sing.  I had a karaoke stint in high school when, apparently, I had fewer inhibitions, but I haven’t done it in years.  I have a horrible voice and I wasn’t keen to subject anyone else to my out-of-key keening.  But Whitney was having none of it.

This is the thing: she can sing.  And she’s fearless (the cocktails didn’t hurt).  After a rousing rendition of “Your Love” by Outfield (which we have on video, but which WordPress would charge me too much to upload), it came my turn.  I was dreading it, so I brought Whitney up on stage with me and we recaptured some of my high school glory with Bananarama’s version of the classic “Venus” (It didn’t hurt that my mic was set to backup and Whitney’s was the lead).  Alastair rounded out the evening with “Midnight Cowboy.”

A great time was had by all.  A few suggestions for our fellow singers: No ballads unless you can actually sing.  And even then, think twice; they’re just not as much fun for the audience.  If you’re a white boy, avoid songs where you’ll be required to to say n***er.  Really.  And no matter who you are, sing with enthusiasm.  A little dancing never hurt anyone either.  If Blake can do it, pretty much anyone can!

In the meantime, I can share with you the dinner that Alastair and I had last night.  We ventured out in the wind and the rain to one of our longtime faves, Parallel 17, the Vietnamese restaurant named for the line of latitude that once separated North from South Vietnam and presumably for the fact that it’s on 17th Avenue (at Franklin).  We haven’t been to P17 in a while and the menu has changed somewhat; it seems like there are more appetizers but perhaps fewer entrées.  That said, there seemed to be a number of specials we overheard servers telling their tables about; we were not informed of these ourselves (!).  No great loss, as our meal was very tasty!  We began with the calamari, which P17 serves with deep-fried slices of jalapeños, oranges, and other citrus fruits as well as a salad of watercress and a tangy dressing.  Delicious.  We followed that up with an order of the steamed pork buns, themselves served with a spicy cilantro and cabbage slaw.  These appetizers, it must be said, are not small.

Braised Short Ribs with Chinese Broccoli, Potatoes, and Onion Rings

We would have been fine splitting just one entrée but of course we had already ordered two.  And they, too, were generous.  This was the rare moment where your DOD boys were unable to clean their plates (or, in my case, cutting board).  Alastair ordered the coffee-braised short ribs, which he’d had before.  They come with a potato purée, onion rings, and Chinese broccoli that looked very green and very tasty.

Duck Four Wraps

I ordered the “Duck Four Wraps”: duck prepared four ways (rillette, mousse pâté, pan seared, and confit) and about a million other things (pickled onions, radishes, garlic; scallions, jicama, basil, and on and on).  All of this one wraps up in four pancakes.  So. Much. Food.  All of it very good indeed, particularly the confit (skin so crispy!) and the pâté, which was so rich I couldn’t finish it. Alastair and I paired our meals with two different glasses of dry Italian white chosen from P17′s good selection of wines by the glass.

P17 was awarded Westword’s Best Nouvelle Vietnamese in 2008; I wonder of course whether or not Denver actually provides much competition in this category. Regardless, the food is delicious, the service is friendly (even if only certain diners get told about the specials), and the ambiance — save the TV featuring the basketball game (why do ALL Denver restaurants have TVs for showing sports? The subject for another post) — is warm and pleasant.  Especially on an evening of gusting winds and occasional rain.

Tomte: small, but strong.

I did a little research. A tomte is a mythical creature of Scandinavian folklore. It’s believed that they watched over a farmer’s home, as well as his children, protecting them from misfortune, especially at night, when everyone was asleep. Cute little guy. 

Tomte features lots of great  handmade products, many of them made locally: sewn goods, tea towels, shirts, and glassware. Some of the products that stood out to us were some amazing  little terrariums incorporating tiny, beautiful ceramic deer. I can’t recall that last time I saw a terrarium, let alone one that I would want to display in my own home. Other highlights included a collection of rather uniquely hand crafted mushroom-shaped birdhouses that hung from a tree branch suspended from the ceiling; graphic tees printed on what has to be one of the best made shirts out there these days; a noteworthy selection of screen-printed tea towels, coasters, and placemats; and a collection of buttons employing recycled security envelope patterns.  

Birdhouses by Denver’s own Michael McDowell

I could have easily dropped more than the ten-spot on the handmade tote bag I picked up for myself. And, before we headed off to grape filled pastures, I quickly made a few notes to myself for my gal pal’s upcoming birthday. If you have the chance to stop by Tomte. Modern Craft, I highly suggest it… not only are you supporting locally made products, but showing Denver that talented local designers are worth investing in.

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

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!