May 2010

Baur's
Maybe it was the too long interval between dinners out and extra loot was burning a hole, or maybe we just got swept up in the fever that is Doors Open Denver, but we went all out this month, to Baur's. The place had been a Denver staple at one time, a restaurant and confectioner shop that gave away free ice cream to neighborhood kids twice a year during the Depression. There's a whole long story here, which is colorful and steeped in history, even modern history, but I'll let you read about that on their website. Long story short, the once grand, mistakenly moved, disbanded, and deservedly restored Baur's is back in business on 14th in the theater district.

For perhaps the first time in 3rd Thursday history, we went to a place that could barely squeeze us in. I called the day before our date to make a reservation (which is rarely necessary, we're often the only party in the places we pick) and I couldn't get my first choice of 7pm! Had to wait until 7:30 to account for the theater crowd. This has NEVER happened before. But that's what I get for choosing a restaurant above my humble station in life.

And this place was definitely above my station and I knew it. I walked into the lobby, freshly damp from the rain, in my Casual Corner sweater and Gap chinos, well below the standard set by the stained hardwood, crisp linens and deep wine list. But, in true Front Range fashion, there were several people wearing jeans.

We were treated to little porcelain dishes of olives and spiced nuts while we waited for the waiter. The bread basket was interesting too. I do not recommend the olive studded slices.
First thing I notice about the menu, which immediately won my heart, was that the list of entrees was barely longer than the list of desserts. Well, they were once a candy shop...

First a tapas plate with excellent hummas and the Beef Tenderloin Carpaccio as appetizers to share. One of our party satisfied the craving she'd been having for weeks with a bowl of cheesy, brothy onion soup.

I then started my solo venture with a caprese salad. The mozzarella was creamily perfect even if the tomatoes were not romas and a little jagged at that.

For my entree, I chose the Dover Sole (not the bottom of an Englishman's shoe, a fish, flat like a flounder but more decisive). It's a white fish, but more solid (is that the right word?) than other white fishes, breaded and buttery and scattered over with sliced almonds. I'm afraid I was too occupied with flakes of Dover's best to get a good read on what others thought of their dishes. There was a paella dish to my left with a showy lobster tail crowning the rice.

Then a Straw and haystack across the table next to gorgeous pile of chops then a lovely looking steak atop slabs (slabs!) of herb butter and finally... BUFFALO! Not the stampede, the dinner.

Settling on a dessert was the toughest part of the meal, I have to say. While I'm a sucker for a good creme brulee and chocolate cake is ever a temptation, not to mention a good cannoli, the special of the day called to me. Would you like to repeat that, whispering in your ear? Maybe I could softly stroke your back while I do?

My neighbor choose the signature apple pie with cinnemon ice cream. I stole a bite and almost regretted my own choice. Down the way, two friends shared the Baur's Famous Mija pie, which didn't so much look like a pie as a tiny tart overflowing with gooey delicious sweetness.
I was stuffed, can I tell you? I could have easily done with out the salad (and been $9 less poor).
The wait staff was attentive. At one point, the busser asked to remove my plate in a very professional manner, but it scared the bejeezus out of me when he did it sneakily from behind. Our patient waiter could hide his chagrin at our teetotally ways, but wasn't as successful at hiding his tattoo peaking out from under his cuff. The best part was when he asked if we were there as part of the convention for heart surgeons. He thought (even an outside chance) that we were surgeons! Maybe I fit in better than I had thought.

January 2010

Felix's
I know, I know. I totally skipped this month. It didn't deserve skipping and I am ashamed.
Quick highlights:
Felix's is located in the newly hip Highlands area north and west of downtown. It looks like the kind of place I would love to go to every week if I were a better sort of person, the kind that drank piquant wines, and carried clutch purses stuffed with cloth hankies. But I'm not, so I settled into the bench seat, slightly away from the ceiling to floor windows that faced the picturesque street.
The menu, not long (which i guess is a good thing, meaning the chefs had a good things to get really right instead of staking blind stabs at many things), reads like a best-of-Julia-Childs greats. I think all but one of us went for the pre-fixed menu. The choices were few but just too good looking, we had to limit ourselves that much more.
I went for the Beef Stew (notice I am not attempting the French title), which came with a wild pile of greens with a perfect round crouton and smear of goat cheese. The vinaigrette was lemony and fresh. The beef stew arrived in a half-globe bowl of white porcelain, filled artfully with tender tender beef, baby potatoes, interloping mushrooms, and little carrots which had been pared down to dagger points all in a reduced red wine sauce. Again I wished I were that better person and could have appreciated the taste of wine, but I still loved it. I repeated the words "Beof Burgenion" (is that even close? No? Well, what are you gonna do?) over and over to drive in the fact of what I was eating. I felt like I stepped off the screen during a showing of Julie and Julia.
Also represented on the table was Coq Au Van (better? no? sorry) and a lovely simple steak for my lovely steak loving friend.
The service wasn't great. It seemed the waiter liked the two other occupied tables more than us, since they got constant wine refills and we had to go to the bar to beg for a water pitcher. But maybe that's the French way? They do let you linger as long as you want over a dinner.
One thing that was particularly winning of them was dessert. With our preset meals, five of us got a profiterole, a puffed pastry filled with vanilla ice cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce. Our poor entree only friend didn't have one coming to her with her meal. This fact broke our sweet waiter's heart and he included her in the merriment that only a carb-fest inspires.
Soom day, when I have the clutch purse and cloth hankies enough, I'll venture up to the Highlands again and maybe give those wine soaked veggies another chance.