Tzatziki's of Greenwood Village: Middle Eastern in the Southern Suburbs

Note: I wrote this right before the arrival of my twins and in the haste of the delivery completely forgot to post it. Here you have it six weeks later, Middle Eastern in Greenwood Village.

The other day in the middle of an exhausting day running errands into every corner of Denver and its suburbs, my wife and I found ourselves hungry and at the corner of University and Orchard in Greenwood Village. If you're like many Denverites you might think of Greenwood Village as economically and racially uniform-- void of diversity of any kind. That is mostly a true statement, but it is also true that you will likely find more culinary diversity on this corner than there is in Denver's entire North Cherry Creek neighborhood. I draw the comparison for the obvious similarities between the two areas ($$$), but also partly out of continued spite of all the rampant closings in Cherry Creek over recent years that have all but destroyed any feeble grasp that diversity held in this pocket of Denver; and more specifically because the surviving half of what I thought would always be a Cherry Creek institution-- Chez Jose-- remains standing here in a strip mall.

Normally in this state of hunger I would have walked into the familiar Chez Jose, inhaled a prawn burrito and moved on with my day; but due to my heightened state of blog-potential awareness (my wife has other names for it when she is hungry) another restaurant across the street caught my eye: Tzatziki's. And it was more than the old-school yellow and blue marquee that featured it as a headliner of the classic Cherry Crest Shoppete.

It was more like me wondering what a Middle Eastern restaurant was doing in the middle of this neighborhood. I've already established that Greenwood Village is no Cherry Creek North, but let's be real, the only things brown and white melting in a pot here are chocolate chips behind secure gates and locked doors in a $400 fondue pot.

But of course I jest. There are actually a few good and diverse options to be had in this village, and good food is good food regardless of who makes it or what kind of neighborhood it is made in. I love the idea of cultures mixing, and if that means going to Greenwood Village, so be it. But the question remains after my rambling introduction: How exactly is the food at Tzatziki's?

We started with an order of falafel. I love these little fried balls, and like hummus and pita, I find them a good measure of a restaurant claiming any sort of Middle Eastern ties. These were soft and delightful (balls) on the inside and although ever-so-slightly over-fried on the outside, still very good.

Lunch is a great time to go to Tzatziki's because for just over seven bucks you can get a bunch of food. The special goes something like this: choice of meat, rice or fries, green or tabouli salad, hummus or baba ganoush, sauce. I got the gyro which was thick sliced, well-flavored . The rice on the other hand was of the bland variety, though doused in the good tzatziki sauce it became an acceptable vehicle for the ubiquitous and addictive yogurt-cucumber blend.  Back on the good side, the tabouli salad was vibrant and fresh. And the hummus was creamy and smooth, although ever-so-slightly lacking in flavor, lest it was simply my palate that was overwhelmed with the garlic of my tzatziki.

The gyro was sliced off a spit which is of course a huge bonus. Likewise I spied the shwarmas roasting on spits of their own in the kitchen. My wife's chicken "kabob" on the other hand was simply a sliced chicken breast that looked like it spent some time in a non-stick skillet and certainly never knew the sharp point of a skewer. Her baba ganoush though was smoky, creamy and layered with flavor.

The pita was a little sad and store bought. It was warmed, but it is always a little sad to see a promising Middle Eastern place use thin, dry and generic pita (though it is common). The fries too were
very run-of-the-mill and overall the spread of my wife's lunch-- save that fantastic baba ganoush-- was seemingly made for potentially plain palates.

As far as I can tell Tzatziki's serves a mix of well-executed and flavored Middle Eastern classics alongside plain crowd-pleasers for what I imagine cater to its numerous non-Middle Eastern clientele. That being said, I think it's great that this part of Greenwood Village has a little slice of the Middle East in its midst. While not everything was amazing to me, there was enough that would encourage me to stop by if I'm able to get that far away from home again in the next few years.

A Last Meal of Sorts at Silla Korean BBQ

As you may know by reading the last paragraph of this prior post (OK, I know very few make it to the last paragraph) I have had my hands busy with the recent arrival of twin babies. For the most part when it comes to food and family, more is better, and these past three weeks--however exhausting they have been-- have proved to be no exception. But while my world now revolves around feeding, crapping and diaper changes (well, I suppose not much has changed except for the diapers) it is nice to poke my head out of the maelstrom from time to time and check in on the world through the lens of the internet. This time I thought it would be nice to post about the very last meal that my wife and I ate as a childless couple.

It was fitting that this "last" meal was shared with our good friends Denveater and her beau the Director. We broke bread (or dumplings) in a small booth of Silla, possibly my favorite Korean BBQ restaurant in the city. What follows are some thoughts she had on our night. For my words, go to her blog.

Me: You and the director were in hurry to get a few drinks down that night so you beat us there by about a half-hour. What was your first impression of Silla? 

Her: Okay, this may be TMI, but when we walked in, we couldn’t help but notice the elderly, disabled man seated at the table across from us. It was clear the employees knew him well; though he was with his family, it was they who were spoon-feeding him now and then, wiping his mouth. There were dribbles on his clothes, spills on the floor. When they left someone cleaned up the mess. It wasn’t pleasant, but that was the reality. I found it touching that he was being treated with such respect, like any other customer, not hidden away in a corner.

The overall vibe is very warm, despite the fact that the décor is totally nondescript. You could as easily mistake it for a pizza parlor or a barbecue shack if it weren’t for all the families and hulking teenage boys, mostly Korean, chowing down. Great people watching here.

And how was your sake?

As for the sake, it was your basic cheap stuff, served warm. Soju is of course what we should have had—but the Director’s goal was to thaw out his insides, and I was fine with that. I’ll drink anything except mass-produced American lager, and I’d probably even drink that if it were my only option, alcohol-wise.

You were set on ordering Naeng myun. We did and I thought it was great. Did it meet your expectations and how would you describe it? 

Naeng myun (here listed as  yu-chun chik mool nengmyun). It’s a cold buckwheat noodle soup, generally eaten in summer, but I had to get it despite the nasty weather because I love it so. The key is the broth, which is refreshingly sour—a combination of beef or chicken broth and rice vinegar. The mound of noodles in the center of the bowl is topped with slices of cold boiled beef, julienned cucumber and radish, and slices of hard-boiled egg. Silla’s version did not include the sliced Asian pear that’s also common, which was a slight disappointment because the crisp fruit contrasts so well with the meat, while its acidity softly highlights the tangy broth. But otherwise it hit the spot.  

How about that button? 

Hilarious. As awkward as we felt about using it, it definitely comes in handy when the place is packed and there are only two servers working the floor. You gotta wonder though if it gets to be a nuisance, with little kids and drunk teens pressing it all the time, to the point where they just ignore it, like a car alarm.

What about the rest of the meal? 
Of course, we ordered (and ate) way too much as usual—if we’d just had the kalbi (here galbee) with all those pan chan, the four of us would have been fine. Yes, the short-rib meat was positively silky, and I was especially fond of the marinated eggplant on the side. That said, I know you’re going to disagree with me on this, but I think the barbecue at Korea House is just as good as Silla’s. Someday, when you’re no longer so overwhelmed by new parenthood, I’ll drag you there for comparison’s sake.

Meanwhile, we learned a lesson regarding bibimbop: you have to scrape up the rice stuck to the bottom of the pan before it cools, or it’ll harden in place. Those crunchy bits are the best part! Still, it was beautifully done, with a perfect, molten yolk on top. Those jumbo dumplings stuffed with kimchi were the surprise hit, however. Despite their ridiculous size—no way you could pick one up with chopsticks—the dough was still thin enough that you could see through it to the filling, which was great, plenty spicy but tempered with, what did we decide it was, soft bits of tofu?

If we’d had another hour and more than one stomach each, I’d also have insisted on oyster pancake. Except then we’d probably have ended up at the hospital too, you guys emerging with twins and us leaving with a half-digested mass of fermented cabbage.

That meal at Silla was our last meal as a free and independent couple for at least the next 18-26 years (depending on how long my boys will end up living in my basement). As far as last meals go it wasn't too bad-- what would your last meal be?

Ha, that's great—I'm honored it was with us!

Well, if it could be anywhere, I'd fly to Boston to go to Neptune Oyster—which will always be my home away from home since literally the day it opened. It's a seafood-centric little neighborhood joint in the North End that, for all its laurels (it served as the setting for Ben Affleck and Rebecca Hall's first date in The Town), never rests on them, turning out the most surprising dishes, like fried oysters with pickled beef tongue, time after time. I'm hoping TAG Raw Bar will have half its mojo.

But if I were here in Denver, I'd probably empty my bank account at Beatrice & Woodsley.  From the moody, transporting decor to the inventive small plates, there's just no place quite like it—anywhere.

In the Meantime, A Cheeseburger Wallet for You

Every week I get all kinds of emails asking to promote all kinds of things. I am not sure why, though I guess I must give the impression somehow that more people than my mom, wife and a handful of close friends obligingly read my posts every week. That being said it has led to some perks for me like a book with a respectable recipe for tacos al pastor as well as some great perks for those who do manage to make their way through my posts, like the recent Denver Film Society membership or the much coveted EatDenver coupon cards.

Well since I am essentially locked in my home and have very little time in between feeding my newborn twins to write original content, this post will actually link you to another post where they are giving away-- get ready -- a cheeseburger wallet. The game is like Lori Midson's Guess Where I'm Eating. You look at the cheeseburger and guess where it is from. I am assured that it is from some locale in Colorado. I for one do not know where, but then again I rarely look at a cheeseburger like that long enough to have any memory of it. Good Luck! Click Here!

I've Been Home Cooking Pozole

I am an ametuer cook at best and this is definitely not a recipe blog. For that matter, if anyone has fallen ill after trying one of my recipes, by reading this sentence you absolve me from any wrongdoing or associated responsibility. My lawyer counseled me to put that in-- just to be safe-- for what is another recipe post.

I don't actually have a lawyer per se, but if I needed one I would choose the man I alluded to above. Not only was it his drunken, campfire brainstorming that came up with the name of this blog but he also likes to argue more than than anyone I know and as far as I can tell this is what makes a good lawyer. For example, I could say this to him: "You like to argue."

His answer would be: "No I don't."

And surely when he reads that he will think: "I wouldn't say that." His is a viscous circle of debate, and all who enter are instantly overwhelmed with argument.

Anyway, the other night my wife and I had this lawyer friend and his lawyer wife over for dinner. With their two little lawyers-to-be in tow, going out to eat was not in the cards so we settled for what was possibly the fourth-best option for eating after that (after ordering in, having someone else cook and microwaving pizza): me cooking.

I decided to cook a big pot of red pozole which if all the stars align just right is something I can do relatively well. I originally stumbled across a recipe I liked in a Rick Bayless cookbook. What caught my attention was that Mr. Bayless had somehow pilfered the recipe from a small market stall in the pozole-rich bohemian neighboorhood of Coyaocan in Mexico City. My wife is from this part of the city and we visit this exact market just about every time we go to the Federal District. It is, without a doubt the best pozole I have ever eaten. I played with the Bayless recipe for a year or so but never felt it replicated the version we know and love from Coyoacan. Maybe because I never bought and boiled a pig's head, but I think somewhere in Mr. Bayless' recipe gathering, some items or steps were lost or more likely intentionally omitted. I mean, clearly Bayless is a culturally sensitive guy and I really do appreciate his respect of the Mexican culture, but we all know he isn't sending royalty checks out to these market-stall chefs he "borrows" recipes from, so I can't blame the pozole-master of Coyoacan for holding back a little.

To supplement my Bayless recipe, over the years I have watched my mother-in-law make pozole and from that come up with more or less my own version that I like to think comes out pretty damn well.

I start with a big can of hominy. Actually going back, I start all my pozole dishes with a trip to Liborio or other similar Mexican grocery. There you will want to get the big can of hominy. Also at Liborio you can get a big menudo/ tamale-steamer pot for a great price that is a perfect size for a healthy portion of this soup.

I drain and rinse the hominy well and add it to the pot. On top of it I add probably about two gallons of water. I start the flame and bring it to a rolling boil, lower to a simmer and add in five or six medium-sized cloves of garlic. After that I throw in the pork.

The pork for the pozole is likely the most important part. While it is true that a pig's head yields the tastiest dish, I've found that it is acceptable to get about a kilo each (it's fun to order in the metric system while in a Mexican market) of pork ribs, pork stew meat and something else bony or fatty like more ribs, neck bones or even the hodgepodge of meat at Loborio labeled "para pozole". Put all that in now with the garlic and let that simmer for at least a couple hours or until the hominy is soft. Stir often.

Once that is going break out 8-10 chiles anchos and 8-10 chiles guajillos. Open them, de-vein them and remove the stem and all the seeds. Heat a cast iron skillet and toast each side of each chile briefly until they blister but be careful not to burn them. If you do burn one, toss it and try again. This is really important.

Once all the chiles are toasted put them in a bowl and cover them with boiling water. Cover that bowl and let it sit for 20-30 minutes. Don't forget to stir your hominy, it likes to stick to the bottom of the pot.

Drain most of the water out of the chiles but save it. Blend the rest until it reaches the consistency of a runny paste. Add the chile water as needed. Strain the mixture through a medium-sized colander into the pot. At this time peal an onion, cut it in half and add it to the pot.

Take the pork out thirty minutes or so after the hominy is soft. Let it cool and shred it into a bowl. Now is the time to start adding salt. Taste every time you salt, but know that it is hard to over-salt anything with hominy. I usually start by adding 3-4 tablespoons and go from there. Remove the onion halves and adjust the flavor as needed by adding salt, boiling off some more liquid or adding some of the water the chiles soaked in.

When you get pozole in a market stall in Mexico the pork is added into each bowl. Likely this is so everyone gets his or her share of the good stuff, and one can also chose which parts of the pig he or she likes best. I just toss all the pork back in after I shred it and let it boil some more.

Traditional toppings for this red pozole include sliced radishes, chopped iceberg lettuce, diced onion, oregano and chile powder. It is also good to have some tostadas handy. Enjoy. Pozole, like many slow-cooked dishes is best the next day or when it has cooled some and is re-heated.

Well, if you are so inclined to try this recipe I hope you like it. Chance are there will be more of these recipe posts in my future as my life has suddenly and wonderfully changed a week ago with the arrival of healthy and beautiful twin boys. And so it might take me a few weeks to get back on board with a restaurant review (and leave the house again).

Denver al Pastor Take 9: The Tent Next to La Flor de Michoacan in Thornton

Lately I've been in a lull when it comes to restaurants and new food experiences. Don't get me wrong, I've had some good food here and there, but nothing mind-blowing, and mixed in have been some disappointments as well. And then there was the other night. Every once in a while a restaurant or food experience will remind me why I spend countless hours of my already busy life seeking out, eating and writing about food in the first place. And that is exactly what happened the other night when following the lead of a friend I made my way into the heart of Thornton to the Carniceria y Taquieria La Flor de Michoacan to track down a spit of pastor.

It's shouldn't be surprising that this rejuvenating experience involved tacos al pastor. It has been a long time since I've written about a good taco al pastor, and for those of you that don't know, please click here or here to see just how deep my passion for this marinated pork-on-a-spit goes. You ought to (and might already) know that while many places in Denver advertise pastor on the menu, very few have it roasting on spit like it was meant to be.

"Exquisite and Delicious"

But back to that night. It was not the Carneceria that I was after per se, though we wandered to the back of it where they also sell tacos only to elicit a confused stare from the guy when we asked for pastor.

"Aqui no hay," he stated, passing his hand over a relatively enticing (but a little old-looking) guisado buffet as my heart sank into my stomach thinking we had arrived too late and missed the pastor bounty.

"Afuera?" I asked. Outside? He only shrugged, mumbled something about being new and disappeared back into the bowels of the store. In fact this guy was so clueless about the existence of pastor just a few steps away from him that if I hadn't already seen the tent at the side of the building I might have panicked a little.

We wandered back out of the little store and into the tent that was actually more like a lean-to conglomerate of brick, concrete and wood with the canvas facade of a tent. They had not run out of pastor.

Quite the opposite, in fact: The taquero was sharpening his knife, eying the stacked meat and grinning like a man who is at that moment happy to be doing exactly what he is doing. Before him was a lovely spit of marinated pork with a proper chunk of pineapple over its top. In the grill next to him bubbled chorizo sausages and chopped steak. Behind him a smiling woman who took our orders and motioned for us to sit.

We made our way to some plastic chairs in the back, away from the music of the ubiquitous CD vendors. As primitive as this set-up was, there was of course a flat-screen TV, and during our entire meal it was blaring Al Extremo, a nightly highlight reel of car crashes, natural disasters and general tragedy. The tires screeches and gratuitous screams of horror from the TV were partially silenced by the heater in front of us, which was essentially a miniature jet engine. In fact despite the cold on the other side of the canvas we were instantly boiling hot in front of this super-powered propane heater.

The chaotic din, the smells of frying meat, the dark, temporary shelter that was all-too permanent created an oasis of Mexican street life--it was only the occasional gust of frigid air through the cracks in the wood that reminded us we were just fifteen minutes from downtown Denver.

Our tacos came shortly after on small Styrofoam trays with a bounty of grilled onions and a grilled jalepeño. The salsa bar was pretty standard but featured an excellent smoky red and a tremendous tomatillo-avocado salsa.

The taco al pastor was excellent. I will have to go back and try it again before I put it towards the top of my list, but based on this experience it was close. The meat was sliced a little thick but it was charred well and the marinade was very good. It might have been a little sweet, but then again, I went a little overboard with the pineapple, which was self-serve up at the salsa bar.

Below is round two, less drenched in salsa though not pineapples. Equally as incredible. Though I have to admit the environment of this taco stall enhances the flavor significantly.

The tortillas on all the tacos were soft, and oily in a good way. On them I tried all the rest of the tacos that they had to offer that night. Chorizo is always good, but here it was a little better than average being that it was grilled to order in the open air of the tent. I followed that with a moist and tender taco de carne asada which was equally as good.

I finished the night with a couple of cabeza tacos. The specific meat can vary, but it is slow-cooked with steam and comes from various places in the cow's head. When done right it is succulent to the point where it falls apart in your hand. The flavor of La Flor's cabeza is rich and this taco rivaled the pastor.

La Flor de Michoacan reminds us how little is needed to create a meaningful, unforgettable food experience. No smoke and mirrors, hell, not even four solid walls. I needed a night like this to feel invigorated about food again. I've said a couple times before that certain places in Denver have felt like being back in Mexico, but they don't compare to crossing the threshold of this tent. Here I really felt like I entered a different world, and it was such a surreal experience that after getting back into my car and driving home, it almost didn't seem like it could have happened. I don't throw the term around loosely, but this is about as close as you can get to an "authentic" Mexican taco experience in this town-- both "real and honest" and "true to the original".

There are very few places like this in our fair city and I feel somehow reassured and good again just knowing that it is there. Surely this place won't be for everyone (you want to know your way around a taco stand), and for that matter I hope everyone that reads this doesn't rush out to go there (OK, I won't flatter myself, that never happens). In fact part of me struggled to even write about this place-- preferring to keep it to myself and my close friends-- and even after I publish it I think I will still have second thoughts. But I trust that those that go there will do so because they will know what to expect, crave and respect that; and will savor every single moment.

Visit Carniceria y Taquieria La Flor de Michoacan en Thorton at 2001 North Coronado Parkway on Friday, Saturday or Sunday starting at 4pm and go directly to the tent. If you also happen to need some freshly butchered meat, or are low on some groceries stop in the store itself and stock up.