Stuffing All of Our Faces at Marco's Coal Fired Pizza

Before having babies, my wife and I used to do a lot of nice things. One of those things was going to eat pizza from Marco's Coal Fired Pizzeria. Since having babies, however, we have been shy to return, because while my wife and I might appreciate the subtleties of a well prepared pizza, my twin toddlers have been seen eating fruit that has fallen into the sandbox out of another kid's mouth. Suffice to say, they are not exactly impressed that Marco's is the only pizza joint in town certified by L'Associazione Vera Pizza Napoletana, and so if they are happy eating 99-cent tacos off of the street, who am I to drag them into a fancy pizzeria? And most of my readers probably already know how good Marco's is, so from a blogging perspective, with all those top of the town and best-of accolades, who cares what I think?

Now usually I pose that as a rhetorical question, because with my mother and wife becoming more and more underwhelmed with my repeated rants and raves about food, the real answer becomes increasingly depressing. On this occasion, however, there was an answer: The Marco's Coal Fired PR team cares what I think. They contacted me not too long ago to say how they actually liked how much I talked about my two kids on my blog. What's more, after such undue praise, they said they wanted me to come down and try Marco's new dessert "s'mores" pizza. They thought my kids would like it.

When I asked my wife if she would want to go to the pizza place of our past lives, her first question was: do we have to bring the kids? I'm not sure if we had to, but as I've reviewed before, leaving them in the car, even with the windows cracked and a can of mace to ward off the creepy people is generally frowned upon.

Once at Marco's we got right to business by ordering a couple of pizzas. The first was the simple Campania. The crust on our Campania-- and on all Marco's pizzas-- is about as close to perfect as it gets in this town, with beautiful blackened edges and burnt bubbles of crust. The rest of the pie was lovely as well, with big sprigs of fresh basil and just the right amount of bufala mozarella. To understand how much we liked this pizza as a family, here is a picture of a two-year-old boy who has stuffed a half slice of pizza in his mouth. (Stuffing too much food in one's mouth is of course, a dominant inheritable trait, and like the burp, is a compliment to any chef)

Our second pizza had prosciutto, arugula, shaved Parmesan and cherry tomatoes--all laid on top of the pizza after being taken out of the oven like they should be. The crust was equally perfect - airy, light, crispy, soft and with just the right amount of black. Classic flavors done well. Can't really ask for more. 

Then it was time for the dessert pizza. Dessert pizza inevitably sounds a little gimmicky, and what came out actually looked more like an interesting combination of pâté and mushrooms than a Nutella ganache topped with shards of graham cracker dusted in powdered sugar. But the taste? It had all the flavors of a s'more plus more of that really great crust, so what wasn't to like? The 1000-plus degree heat of the Marco's pizza oven put a lovely campfire-like char on the marshmallows (which are hard to see in the photo below) and showed a creative use of the super-hot oven. It wasn't nearly as sweet as I thought it would be which I immediately appreciated, but at the same time a little more gooey marshmallow, or even some chunks of un-melted chocolate, would not have disappointed anyone at our table.

Marco's Coal Fired Pizza makes great pizza, but probably you already knew that. My kids loved Marco's too, and even though they eat frozen waffles and raisins they find under the couch, with the amount they ate, and the ferocious speed with which they ate it, I think they too appreciated the fact that they were eating some special pizza. It might be a little more expensive than your everyday pizzeria, and I've never tried their wings, salads, sandwiches, or even their non-Napoletana pies, but for a truly well-made pizza, you can't go wrong at Marco's.

Eating Crazy Shrimp at El Camaron Loco

Remember that Mexican beach vacation you went on where you stumbled upon a seaside restaurant and ordered a shrimp cocktail and a cool, refreshing michelada? The one with the obnoxious murals and bright tropical colors, where, in spite of the gaggle of tourists all of who were squawking way too loudly, you had the best food.  Maybe it was the booze, or watching the sun set over the sea (hopefully you have inserted your Pacific-side Mexican beach vacation here), but that simple meal was transcendental. And even if you've never been to Mexico, you have hopefully experienced a great meal on a beach somewhere. If not, and it is within your powers to do so, you might want to stop reading and figure out a way to make that happen. 

If it isn't going to happen for you anytime soon, or if you are just experiencing some nostalgia for your last beach vacation, there is a place in Denver that has tried very hard to at least bring the gaudy-murals-and-seafood parts of the typical Mexican beachside dive to you-- in fact there are four of El Camarón Locos located all the way from South Federal to Brighton. 

I recently ventured into the Aurora location located on Havana near 6th. I can't think of a place farther from the beauty of a beach than this stretch of Havana, with its empty lots, vacant warehouses, congested strip malls and auto dealers (but then again, I have never been to Brighton). 

With its bright blue roof and striped walls, El Camarón Loco is hard to miss. And the assault of color only gets better (or worse depending on your taste) once inside, where you have a faux-swordfish leaping over one mural, and in another a pack of sharks in floral-print shirts are sharing a round of cold ones. Pirates with eye patches, crabs with forks in their claws, frogs with sunglasses-- any beachside cliche you can think of is very likely on the walls of this small dining room. But don't get too distracted, as you still need to order. 

I would have liked to have had a menu in hand, or even--I never say this-- table service. It was difficult to decide what to order reading from the gigantic wall menu while a toddler pulled my arm (it was mine, I checked) and the line literally snaked out the door. Unable to read through all 80-some menu items, I ordered the first 3 things that caught my eye -- and, you guessed it, they all had shrimp.

We started, or at least intended to start (the food all came at the same time), with a shrimp cocktail. This coctel de camaron was bright and refreshing as it should be, and memories of beach vacations past danced in my head with every bite. As far as landlocked cities not it Mexico go, it really doesn't get much better than this faithful version-- not too acidic, not to sweet and topped with three generous slices of avocado. 

Camarones empanizados, or breaded and fried shrimp, were what we ordered with our toddlers in mind. These butterflied, tail-on shrimp were just what you would expect, and rolled up in a corn tortilla with the very good tomatillo salsa that accompanied them, they made a great taco.

Lastly was a sizzling plate of alambre de camaron. Alambres almost always come with other diced meat, and as the Mexican taqueria and torta custom, when you throw multiple meats together, one of them is inevitably a hot dog. So when I saw the pink fleshy cubes on my skillet along with my shrimp, I assumed it was exactly that, but upon tasting them I looked closer to see layers or marbled fat and I am pretty sure it was a least salt pork-- and while I love hot dogs as much as the next man, salt pork is a big step up from a hot dog in an alambre. 

Instead instead of the roar of the waves we had the sound of six lanes of Friday evening traffic. We saw the sun start to set--not over the breaking surf--but behind a self-storage warehouse. We ate a lot of shrimp on the small but pleasant El Camarón Loco patio, which would be appropriate I suppose, given that the name of this restaurant translates to The Crazy Shrimp. Everything we had was very good, but there were many other plates that I want to try on the huge menu. And based on this experience, I will be back.

A Pig is a Pig: Cuba Cuba Sandwicheria of Boulder

A few weeks ago my family and I were passing through the homey hamlet of Boulder, CO, when from the back of our car came the all too familiar sound of hungry toddlers, who instead of saying, "I want to comer," like any normal Spanglish-raised kids would, simply say, "um," as in a shortened version of "yum."

Um. Um. Um. Um. Um.

It started somewhere north of town, which gave us enough time to come up with a plan. The "umming" reached a feverish pitch when we hit city limits and just as the crying kicked in, we pulled up to Cuba Cuba's self proclaimed "sandwicheria". We jettisoned through the bright entryway and headed straight for the counter, where before ordering I reflected a minute on how much I like the word "sandwicheria", and added it to my mental list of great restaurant names. 

I got a Cuban of course, one of my favorite meat-bread combos. This version was pretty standard, which was good to see as there is really no use in trying to fancy up a sandwich like this. As the saying goes, it would be a little like trying to put lipstick on a pig-- because as everyone knows, pigs, and their natural evolution into sandwiches, taste just fine without lipstick.

My wife ordered a lechón and we both preferred this pulled pig pressed panini over the original Cuban for its rich flavor and generous size.

Meanwhile my twin toddlers tore through a kid's Cuban, an order of rice and beans (that were not called Moros y Cristianos) and a plate of delightful fried plantain.

This being my second or third post on Boulder, I have very few sarcastic, biting comments left to hurl upon our neighbor to the north who continue to annoyingly excel in just about everything (besides diversity). The latest accolade that they can smugly tout (or at least whisper politely behind our backs) is being Colorado's best bike city. I hope the person responsible for that list out didn't spend too much time crunching numbers to decide Boulder was tops. Calling Boulder the best bike city is a little like calling pigs the best food in the animal food kingdom-- it is just stating the plainly obvious. 

Cuba Cuba Sandwicheria is a worthwhile stop in the vast culinary landscape that is Boulder. Whether you are just passing through, re-fueling after a day of some extreme sporting activity or other, or just stoned out of your mind (as were the two young men sitting across from us that day), this sandwicheria and its simple Cuban fare should hit the spot. 

Tocabe and the Frybread Taco

Denver, CO is for some reason or other a hub for the fast-causal restaurant industry. And from burgers to noodles to subs to falafel, the undisputed king of this foothill monarchy is that ubiquitous foil-wrapped place that just about everyone likes. Even those overly-serious "foodie" types and ironic hipsters who don't like to admit they like something so mass-produced and mainstream-- yes, even they like it. And while it is not at the top of my list, what isn't to like about a Mission-style burrito, even if it is a little bland?

It is no surprise then, that this Denver-based success story has inspired a slew of other entrepreneurs, some who have copied the model more closely than others, and how can you blame them? Who wouldn't want to roll around in crisp $100 bills or jump into piles of gold coins ala Scrooge McDuck as the result of a booming capitalist empire with ridiculous profit margins and brilliant strategic marketing?

So I wasn't surprised (nor critical) when I walked into Denver's Tocabe a couple weeks back and did a double-take thinking a Chipotle had gone in so fast they hadn't had time to switch the name on the outside of the building. But no, I had indeed found my way into the NW Denver fast-causal home of the Frybread, or Indian, Taco.

The Frybead Taco, instead of tortilla, has a base of puffy-- you guessed it-- frybread. Frybead if you have never had it, is a little like the New Mexican sopapilla-- fluffy, sweetened dough fired in oil. Made from refined sugar and white flour, it is far from what its inventors, the Navajo, originally dined on. No, Frybread is not a good representation of what this proud tribe consumed centuries ago, but rather represents the blending (oppression is a better word) of this Native American tribe (read more about the fascinating and complicated history of Frybread here) into a cruel new world order.

Whatever meaning frybread might mean to a Navajo living today, at Tocabe, it is about the celebration of this Native American dish. And as is the case with all fast-casual dining, you must wait in line patiently for your food, and make your way down a uncannily familiar looking assembly line of beans, rice, meats and salsas.

The Indian taco was certainly impressive-looking. This one was loaded down with chicken, pinto beans, a mild green salsa (supposed to be hot), and many other burrito-like fixings. It looked like it would be packed with a ton of flavor. It wasn't. It was severely under seasoned-- and not just the mild hot salsa-- everything from the beans to the chicken lacked flavor. I managed to eat it anyway (it is fried dough) but was a little disappointed. Only when I was mostly done and had some strands of stray frybread lying around did I get to appreciate the frybread itself. With a little spread of honey it was fantastic.

The stuffed fry bread was much better. I think that had to do with our choice of meat: the shredded bison. The shredded bison, unlike the chicken, was full of flavor and it stewed with all the other toppings inside this calzone-like creation.

Maybe even better than either frybread plate was the flavorful hominy salad pictured above. And a side of wonderful, earthy long-grained rice dish filled with dried cranberries and corn was probably my favorite plate of the night.

Tocabe is not a chain at this point, and I am not sure what plans this family-owned place has for expansion, if any. And while I think it was for the most part under flavored, it was packed with families the entire time I was there with a constant line of at least 10 people. So who am I to say? I am not not recommending Tocabe, and I do see how it is a nice place to bring the family for a quick meal, but when I think of adding fried dough to what otherwise is a burrito, I expect great things. Tocabe falls a little short of that.

Note: Apparently Tocabe has recently appeared on that one Food Network show with the spiky-haired dude that no one really likes. How refreshing to not have said fact advertised in every little corner of the restaurant--or at all. I had no idea until today. Thanks Tocabe!

Taqueria El Valle of 38th and Federal

The other day, Father's day, to be exact, my family and I set out to celebrate what should be considered a stunning achievement: I have been a father for over 2 years and my kids are (1) still alive, (2) have all their limbs, and (3) have not spent any time in jail. It's really more than I could ask for and brings tears to my eyes. Besides getting eight pairs of socks to commemorate the occasion, I got to pick a breakfast celebration location. That's how we found ourselves pulling up to a strip mall on 2925 W. 38th Ave just East of Federal.

I've written before about the strip malls of Denver, and how they hide some of the city's finest gems. I used to get surprised by this but I realize now, after 12 years in this town, that is just the way it is out West. Of course some of our city's finest eats are in the ugliest of strip malls: South Federal and basically all of Aurora are essentially one big strip mall. But I digress. It wasn't just that there was a good restaurant in this Sunnyside strip mall, it was also a telling representation of what this part of Denver is becoming.

On one end was our destination: El Valle Mexican Restaurant, and on the other a hip, line-out-the-door brunch spot. The parking lot, too, showed the diversifying diversity (that is, the gentrification) with Subarus on one end and big pick-ups on the other. The sad difference was, there was no line out the door at El Valle; in fact it was empty.

We walked in anyway and were greeted by a remarkably cheery server who sat us in one of the rigid wooden booths facing the street--or, um, the parking lot. We were served a still-hot basket of chips with a bowl of fresh-though-mild red salsa with big chunks of cilantro alongside a bowl of steaming pinto bean dip. The bean dip became quite the focus of attention in our 4-top, as my Mexican wife who claims to hate beans, went on and on about how much she loved this particular cup of beans; while I pointed out that every time she reminds us how much she doesn't like beans, it is while stuffing beans in her mouth. In the meantime, our boys, who really do love beans and would readily admit it, had eaten more than half the bowl. It really was good, and it is always a good sign when food that restaurants give away for free has been carefully prepared.

We ordered from the diverse breakfast menu; diverse, that is in the sense that they had both kinds of Mexican food: the Colorado green chile kind and the kind you find more of below our nation's border. We were inspired by the former, and ordered up some wonderfully sounding cultural blends of which, of course, there are infinite possibilities.

I had a smothered burrito filled with machaca. Smothered means lathered with green chile of course, and this was the gravy-like Colorado kind, and packed a nice spicy kick. Machaca usually means dried beef, and is common in Northern Mexico, but this was more like shredded beef. It also had eggs, potatoes and all the other breakfast burrito fixings wrapped up in a giant flour tortilla. It was nothing less than excellent.

My wife had what I believe was called something like a Mexican breakfast skillet. This sounds like something you might get at the Village Inn, but apart from the expected sizzling oval-shaped cast iron plate, this was a much more flavorful meal than could be had at any run-of-the-mill breakfast stop. The fresh chunks of chorizo, grilled onions, peppers, and potatoes made for a great breakfast taco with the accompanying tortillas. And my wife did her own smothering, you guessed it, with those lovely beans.

Gentrification is what it is, and will always happen in every city, but a neighborhood like Sunnyside is a special place, and I hope that it can find some balance like is found in this strip mall, although it would be nice to see a few more Subarus in front of El Valle. If not, the fate of El Valle might go the way of so many other restaurants in nearby hoods-- in fact El Valle was displaced from nearby LoHi not too long ago. If it were to altogether disappear, regardless of what the ethnic makeup of the neighborhood ends up being in the next five or ten years, that would be a shame.

Don't get this El Valle confused with Aurora's El Valle, but either way, you can't go wrong