Leaving the House Without Kids: Fast Times at Euclid Hall

When I sat down to start writing about Euclid Hall, it hardly seemed worth it--not because I didn't like it--but rather because I spent all of thirty-five minutes inside its retrofitted Larimer-Square-worthy space. You see my wife and I, in another rare evening out without babies, visited a few weeks ago before catching a film at this year's Denver Film Festival. By the time we finally got out of the house, down to the Auraria Campus and had picked up our tickets we had exactly 45 minutes before show time. We decided to make the most of our time and made a mad dash to the closest restaurant that we could find.

On 14th St just across Cherry Creek, Euclid Hall's glowing, giant-sized beer-tap-sign appeared like a beacon (again, excuse the photo quality, I'm in the market for a new camera). We hesitated for a moment before heading in, briefly contemplating whether or not it was possible to dine so quickly in one of the Jasinski Empire restaurants. It crossed our minds that we might have better luck with our quick meal at the media-mogul-owned-burger-factory next door. But this was once-a-month-at-best date night and we had been wanting to try Euclid Hall for a while--so we crossed our fingers and headed in.

I checked my phone for the time as we leaped up the entrance stairs: Just about 40 minutes until the lights would dim and the film would start. I interrupted the hostess as politely as I could to exaplin our time crunch as she started her welcome shpeal. (Yes, I was going to be that guy tonight.) She took it wonderfully in stride and steered us away from the Chef's table at the entrance to the bar upstairs where she thought it would be faster.

After hustling up the stairs we sidled up to the bar and were greeted by a barkeep with a museum-worthy handlebar mustache. He started another shpeal that I could tell was going to be much, much longer than the hostess' as he began flipping through pages of drinks and food. When I cut him off (and this time apologized for being that guy) and asked him, "Do you think you can get us fed and out of here in 30 minutes?" He closed the menus, stepped back, and without missing a beat or seeming annoyed in the least he confidently told me that yes, he could--and maybe sensing the troubled decision-maker that I am, he added that it would, of course, "Depend on how fast I could decide what to order."

"Touche, young barman," I thought to myself. If I had a dueling glove and we both had ten-gallon cowboy hats to match his mustache (and I could grow facial hair) we could have had faced off like true gentlemen at ten paces. I glanced the menu over and in a decision-making out-of-body-experience I rattled off: "Mushroom poutine, sausage sampler and the pickle plate." Outside of ordering a hot-dog from a hot-dog stand, that was the fastest ordering I have ever done.

Photo source here

We then got a couple beers from the relatively pretentious but well-endowed beer menu, toasted to our efficiency up until now and took big, satisfying sips--then a quick breath, a few laughs and suddenly our food started rolling out.

All ribbing aside, our barman was a consummate professional. He checked in just enough to make us feel looked after, but without interrupting or being bothersome. He thoughtfully made the point of putting our orders in separately so that each item would be delivered when ready. When all the clutter of our meal arrived and we were about to dig in hastily, he took a minute to arrange the plates and drinks in a much more ascetically pleasing way. "Even in a hurry," he was telling us wordlessly, "take the time to enjoy it the right way." After our plates were just right, we took another breath--our second or third of the night I believe--and went to work.

The pickled vegetable platter was full of a variety of house-pickled foodstuffs. There were of course pickled cucumbers of at least two kinds, as well as nice fat cauliflower and carrots.

The sausages were the star of our back-bar dining night. The veal sausage was light and was spiced with orange or another citrus. The subtle sweetness and delicate veal flavor was a good place to start. The Kielbasa was much heavier. It was a great version of this Eastern European classic: bold, simple and meaty. The bratwurst was stuffed with cheddar, which I normally don't love--I prefer my brats straight-up, so to speak, but it was still a worthy brat.

The best of the best hands down was the blood sausage. This dark, slightly sweet, richly flavored tube of meat was absolutely fantastic. If I make it back to Euclid Hall I will skip all the other sausages and double-up on this congealed wonder. It was that good.

I forgot to mention that when each dish was served to us it was done with the obligatory Euclid Hall shpeal. Our poutine was no exception, and after her relatively lengthy and formal explanation (remember, this is poutine we are talking about) our server almost bowed in retreat as she backed away from the bar. I bet in Canada they would never believe that this much formality could be given to their ubiquitous hangover-curing poutine.

The Euclid Hall version was good. It is, after all, gravy and cheese on top of fries. The mushrooms did add a nice earthy flavor that complimented the rich gravy and starchy fries very well.

I settled our tab, left what I hope was considered a generous gratuity and we rushed out the door. In sum: good food and phenomenal service. We still had to jog a little to make it back to our film in time. (Note: jogging--much less after eating poutine-- is not something I recommend.) Sadly, this was the only film we were able to see at Film Fest. It was a stirring, bittersweet story; a nice film for our night out made all the better with a full stomach of sausage, potatoes, pickles and gravy thanks to the professionals working at Euclid Hall.

Going Out With Babies: Ernie's Bar and Pizza

As those of you with kids know, having them completely changes the way you do certain things--and has you doing things you have never done before. For example: I regularly wake up at 5am, I spend endless hours and copious amounts of money in stores that I barely even knew existed a year ago, and when trying to make the crying stop (theirs not mine) I find myself jumping up and down like a chimpanzee. One thing, however, that my wife and I have tried hard not to change is going out to eat.

If I were writing a blog about Denver's hippest and fanciest dining, I would have long ago shut down (not just because the public would have demanded it) because I wouldn't feel right rolling into a new opening (not that I would be invited anyway) with two infants that at any moment could scream bloody murder.

Luckily, however, the places my wife and I tend to frequent serve food from cultures where, for lack of a better phrase, babies rule. Take for example the many Mexican taquerias that we patronize: One couldn't feel more welcome with two babies in his arms. In fact, when was the last time you went to a crowded taqueria and didn't have some being under three years old screaming and/or running and/or crying and/or causing general mayhem?

So when I received a text from a few of our baby-less friends one Saturday afternoon asking if we would be joining them at Ernie's Bar. I was hesitant. I had never been to this somewhat new establishment that replaced Three Son's on Federal and 44th so I wasn't sure how welcoming they would be of two 10-month old infants who though generally quite well-behaved have been known to, well, act like 10-month old babies. But we were out that evening anyway so decided to drive by and check it out.

Immediately the hostess and staff made us feel extremely welcome. They hurried to rearrange chairs and tables so that we could fit at our friends' table. They asked over and over again if we were comfortable and if we needed anything for the boys. We settled in as comfortably as you can "settle in" with infant twins, and it was only then that I looked around I noticed that despite the "Bar" in the name "Ernie's Bar", this was very much a family place.

And the food? It almost doesn't matter, because to be in a restaurant with table service, big screen TVs and a full bar was pleasure enough for us. To sip on a freshly pulled draught beer from a cold pint glass while hearing the din of bar-room conversations in the background was a very good feeling. I could see a sporting event on the television from where I sat. I was ecstatic.

It is with this considerable bias that I say that I really enjoyed the food. We started with buffalo wings. They were well-cooked and spicy. The sauce was classic.

The pizza special for that night was a white clam pie. I had already sampled a friend's chicken and caramelized onion pizza with Fontina cheese. The crust was incredibly thin, but didn't fall apart or flop around as you might expect. It was crispy but with enough heft to have a little softness to it. The edges were light and fluffy without being dry. I remember thinking that it was excellent. The toppings were fine, but I didn't love this particular combination.

When I got my white clam pizza I was equally as smitten with the crust, but also just as neutral on the toppings. I did like it, but I guess I prefer pizza toppings like basil, tomato sauce and the like. (Again, the bliss of this bar-experience was clouding my judgment.) I will withhold final take on Ernie's until I am able to go back and try a more simple and traditional pizza, but based solely on this crust I would expect very good things.

This review of mine was clearly clouded by my I'm-back-in-a-bar glasses, but from what I could tell Ernie's Bar serves solid pizza and wings. I don't want to dissuade those without kids from going to Ernie's either. I bet after eight or nine some good old adult drinking goes on in there, and being on the corner of 44th and Federal means that you just never know what excitement might be awaiting you.

Maria Empanada: Buenos Aires Comes to Lakewood

A couple weeks ago my wife and I (and babies) went to a party hosted by our friend of Cuban descent. We arrived late--extremely so-- as is our custom (or flaw depending on how you look at it), so our ropa vieja and other Cuban delights had to be re-heated in the microwave. While I was waiting for my plate to heat, I espied on other guests' plates the uneaten edges and leftover bits of Argentino-style empanadas withering away in the afternoon sun.

In other eras of my life, half-eaten empanadas would have been a step up from my usual meal, and it did cross my mind to reach over onto my neighbor's plate and sample his cold, already-been-chewed-on pastry. But I didn't really know too many people at this party, and I try not to embarrass my wife in front of her friends when I can help it, so I restrained myself and let it be.

A plateful of Cuban food later I was content and had just about forgotten those empanadas, but as we were leaving I saw a black-white menu on the counter; it read: Maria Empanada. I proceeded to stuff it in my pocket only to get a glare from my wife that read: "We don't take things from other people's homes without asking." Point taken, and since our hostess was busy with goodbyes, and all the hugging and kissing that goes along with that, I made the questionable call to try and remember to check out Maria Empanada as soon as possible.

Luckily my memory for eating potentially great food is better than my memory for the rest of life's more mundane tasks, and a few weeks later we made the trip to Lakewood to check it out.

Maria Empanada is an inviting little building that Buenos Aires native Lorena Cantarovici recently opened on Mississippi just East of Sheridan. Made to look like a rustic log cabin (it used to be a BBQ joint), it practically glows with welcoming warmth on an otherwise grungy street ripe with strip mall storefronts and half-empty parking lots. The inside is cozy and has a simple elegance that will make you want to stay all day, but the small space only has two tables and four chairs so the preferred method of ordering is take-out.

The empanada spread was thin when we entered, but it was an hour from closing and Lorena gladly offered to make us anything we wanted if we were willing to wait about seven minutes. With both babies asleep in their car seats on the floor we couldn't think of anything better than to catch our collective breath and sniff at the aroma of baking dough as it wafted from the kitchen.

In addition to the empanadas, there is also a lovely display of Spanish Tortillas and Argentine Tartas. After about three minutes of staring at these savory cakes, we decided we definitely needed to take home a couple slices.

Soon after the empanadas started to appear, and the very attentive man at the register arranged the dozen in a box, painstakingly labeling each on the lid above.

He then asked us if we would like any dipping sauce. From the four options we picked the chimichurri and the hot red salsa. We loaded it all up in our arms, excited to get home and enjoy our Argentine feast.

As is my wife's custom (a product of being raised in a big city where being cheated is the norm), on the way to the car she scrutinized the receipt and pointed out that we were charged for the sauces. That's like having to pay more for the salsa on your tacos, or for a packet of mustard for your hot dog. Sure it was only 70 cents on top of a 30-some dollar tab, but as they say, it's the principle of the thing.

70 cents worth of chimichurri and a mild hot sauce

Seconds later, however, I forgot all about being nickel-and-dimed for my chimichurri as I was biting into a spicy beef empanada and loving it. Still hot from the oven, the dough was flaky and slightly crisp. It was delicate but just hardy enough that the juicy fillings didn't leak all over my lap. The beef was not spicy in the least when you eat as many tacos as I do, but we are talking Argentina, Che, and if I closed my eyes and concentrated, I think I could taste that Porteño "kick".

Upon arriving home and re-warming our haul in the oven, I dug into a traditional beef, which has raisins on top of the spicy beef ingredients of olives, onions, peppers and eggs. This Argentine classic is what I had been hoping for when I first espied that menu and it did not disappoint. Even reheated it did not lose any of its crisp, flaky allure, and the subtle sweetness of the occasional raisin rounded out the strong, savory olives.

The only one I didn't love was the Blue Cheese that also came stuffed with melted queso fresco, walnuts olives and eggs. All the flavors, even the fresh-baked excellent dough got lost in an abyss of pungent cheese. The earthy Mushroom empanada, however, had just the right amount of cheese, and with plenty of simply seasoned sauteed mushrooms, this was one of my favorites.

The classic Ham and Cheese along with the Tango (ham, cheese, bell peppers, onions) were also excellent as the simple flavors let the dough shine.

My absolute favorite of the night was the Spinach. In the middle of this sauteed-spinach-and-onion-filled empanada was a hard boiled egg yolk. The meaty yolk and the gooey spinach were perfect together, and once again, the flavors were enhanced by the wonderful dough.

Cantarovici also makes Argentine Tartas, essentially a large pie with a flaky, empanada-like crust. We chose the Vegetable tarta. It was densely packed with finely julienned veggies (carrots, zucchini, bell pepper, onion) and a ton of fresh flavor. It was delicious.

And finally we tried a simple Tortilla Española. The layers of thin potatoes were perfectly cooked, as was the egg holding it all together. Bits of red and green bell peppers rounded out this well-executed, tasty tortilla.

The good of paying money for miniscule amounts of sauce is that it teaches one conservation. Maybe that was the point. In a move true to my Midwestern upbringing that would make my mother (and mother-in-law) proud, instead of throwing out the remains as I might have with free salsa, I put both almost-empty containers back in the fridge. It was only yesterday, almost two weeks after our empanada run that I felt compelled to finally throw them out.

There is still 7 or 8 cents of sauce left in there!

Cantarovici's empanadas have that home-cooked feel, and they should, as each is hand rolled and baked fresh continuously throughout the day. All in all I was impressed. Having spent a bit of time in the Capital Federal de Argentina, I would say it is well worth a trip to visit for a taste of a Porteña-made empanada right here in Denver. I only hope she is able to expand the seating options at some point, as it is such a great space. 

Tacos y Salsas y Zombies: A Denver Taco Institution Opens Downtown

Saturday, October 22nd I found myself with my family and our friends on an evening stroll through the surreal and rather impressive gathering of zombies in the Denver Zombie Crawl on the 16th Street Mall. The Mall was literally packed with walking-dead look-a-likes, many head-to-toe in incredibly detailed costumes and make-up jobs. I imagine an entire evening of zombie impersonation requires one to be well-fed and more than a little drunk, and the surrounding bars and restaurants were overflowing with the undead. Hungry ourselves after our saunter, we decided to check out the newest  of the Tacos y Salsas branches (the eighth if you are counting) on Stout Street just off the Mall.

In contrast to the zombie mania just steps away, we walked into Tacos y Salsas and were greeted by a nice young lady who escorted us to a booth. But before we could sit down we were intercepted by an absolutely crazy--albeit friendly--employee who shook all of our hands and insisted that he knew me--get this-- from television. Although I can't say that this has happened ever before, I wasn't all that surprised, as I've always thought that my uncanny resemblance to the great LDP (or more likely, as I have confessed in another post, an older, creepier version of Cory Haim as Lucas) has potential to create confusion. Whatever the reason, after our initial greeting, each time he passed our table, he gave me several exaggerated winks and excited points, or winkpoints, and laughed in a half-maniacal, half-nervous manner.

I start every morning like this, too. 
Photo Source

Since Tacos y Salsas opened its downtown location earlier this year, I have been extremely happy to see what I view as a legitimate taqueria move to the Mall. Despite this, I have also been concerned that they would, for lack of a better expression, "gringo-up" the place, including the food. Our server, though he might have scared off both Mexicans and non-Mexicans alike, was case in point that Tacos y Salsas was not out to pander to what can be a mundane mix of tourists and business folk that frequent the Mall.

Guys on the back of the booth, hard at work. 

The decorations were another story. Many restaurants that market their food and services to those not accustomed to Mexican food with spice, depth or flavor often go overboard on the "Mexican" decor in order to presumably make up for their otherwise lack of Mexican-ness. In that vein, your first impression of the newest Tacos y Salsas branch might lead you to believe that they had gone this route in anticipation of a more bland clientele. But this place is beyond the typical Mexican-kitsch, and whoever was in charge of designing it went absolutely over the top. Every booth, table, chair and other adornment you can think of was a faux-ceramic creation featuring some "typical" scene from some "typical" pueblo in Mexico.

Lady on the table: elated with my salsa

If nothing else the visual impact was in itself stunning for the sheer assault of bright color, sombreros and serapes. And if that weren't enough (it was), along one wall running the entire length of the long space was a mural in the grandest of forms featuring as its centerpiece a lovely airbrushed woman under a Tacos y Salsas canopy tent.

The Tacos y Salsas Matron

If this were a conversation instead of a platform for me to endlessly rant and rave as I see fit, this would be where you, dear reader, might say something to the effect of: "Shut up and tell me about the food." Decoration and staff insanity levels can only tell one so much about a place, and what we all really want to know about the new downtown Tacos y Salsas location is: Did they change anything about their food?

I ordered pastor like I always do from Tacos y Salsas though I'm never sure why. It does come from a spit in their Federal and Colfax locations (though I didn't see one here), but it is chunky, not crisp and has a decidedly "adobada" flavor to it. Nevertheless the words just roll off my tongue when I am there (as they do in many other situations in my life, some less appropriate than others). Its taste and texture was the same as the other locations as far as I could tell which is OK, but still nothing all that special.

I also tried the barbacoa taco (beef not goat) and at first bite wished everything I ordered that night had this luscious, tender beef in, on or all over it. Although I can't compare it to the other locations (as for some reason I had never ordered this before), the barbacoa that night was phenomenal.

Although now usurped by the barbacoa, carnitas was one of my Tacos y Salsas staple meats. This night I ordered them in gordita form. It was slightly over-fried and was stuffed New Mexican-style with chopped lettuce, onions, tomatoes and a yellow-white mix of cheese. Not what I was expecting and not my favorite toppings for a gordita, but nonetheless it was good and--no surprise-- I ate it all.

By the end of our meal, the crazy man who knew me from television ended up being pretty much just another nice and mostly attentive server--that is, until it came time to pay. In classic Mexican market-stall fashion, when my friend and I started to hand him our cash to settle our $24 tab, he insisted that he didn't have change for our two twenties. In fact, when he spied the ones in my wallet (yes he was trying to look in my wallet) he asked me to hand them over. We explained that we were splitting the bill so would also have to split the change, but he just gave us a loud sigh and an exasperated look. Knowing this game all too well I shoved the two twenties into his hand, and though still annoyed, he pulled out an unwiedly wad of ones, fives and tens; and proceeded to count off our change with a look like he was doing us a favor. Ridiculous, but classic.

It is good to see from my small sampling that night that Tacos y Salsas has seemingly stayed true to the Mexican food (and its taco-stand anti-change-making roots) it is known for--even on the 16th Street Mall. It isn't the best taqueria around but it is all-round solid in its tacos and for a late-night joint downtown it simply can't be beat.

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After the meal we were lured back out onto the street to parade around in the growing madness of what seemed like even more zombies, by now all the drunker and more, well, zombie-like than before. It was pleasantly chaotic. From everywhere zombies were lurching, wrestling, moaning and--much to the displeasure of several tourists I saw (but not to our children)--jumping out from behind corners and startling whoever happened to be walking by.

Tarasco's New Latino Cuisine: Masterful Mole and More

Many, many weeks ago my wife and I met some friends in what was a rare but much-needed rest during my frenetically-paced September. Completely wired and simultaneously tired from a month-long toxic mix of caffeine, a computer screen, and squealing infants all through the wee hours of the night, I decided it was time to finally check out a place that had been at the top of my list for a while now. I am referring to Tarasco's Nuevo Latino Restaurant which was recommended to me at least two years ago by the knowledgeable Examiner reporter Thomas Spahr for its made-from-scratch mole.

Mr. Spahr

Mole is something that is hard to find done right. There are good moles around town to be sure (El Diablo, Laughing Ladies, Chili Verde, El Paraiso to name a few), but the best I have had Stateside have been those I have made in my own kitchen using Patricia Quintana's Mulli recipe book as a guide. When Mr. Spahr touted Tarasco's as Denver's best, I knew I had to go. I just didn't plan on taking two years to get there.

If you have ever arrived at Tarasco's and ordered mole from its menu without an explicit recommendation from someone else then I commend you. Located just South of the busy Alameda and Federal intersection, it is understandable that you would drive right past it on the way to one of your other favorite taquerias, pho shops, Banh Mi bakeries or other "ethnic" eateries. If you originally set out to find Tarasco's, it would be no fault of yours if you missed it, as it is hidden at the end of a narrow parking lot, and there doesn't seem to have been any concerted effort to advertise its presence closer to the street. If you did manage to get as far as the parking lot, you would have had to push your way through the thick plumes of smoke coming from the dispensary next door and fight off your sudden growing sense of apathy.

One-stop shopping

Next, as you pondered whether or not you should open the door and step inside for some Mexican food, you would not be alone in having second thoughts, as the outside walls are plastered with signs touting the great--indeed "los mejores perros calientes"-- hot dogs. If you decided to enter, you were greeted with even more signs tempting you to try the hot dogs (I didn't have any, but even a bacon-wrapped Mexican hot dog can't beat a good mole). If by now you hadn't already ordered a hot dog (because you now had the munchies), you sat down to open a busy menu full of many typical Mexican platters. If you made your way past the first page and onto the second, there was a small section of "Especialidades". Here were your two mole options. If you ordered them, well done.

The hot dog sign is bigger than the restaurant sign

To be fair I have not sampled the hot dogs or many other dishes from the Tarasco menu, but for your first visit here there are really only three places you need to look for ordering options: One is the "Specials" board on the back wall, the second is the aforementioned "Especialidades" section of the menu and third are the items highlighted with an "*". It is not really clear what the asterisk refers to, but take it as a subtle hint (versus the explicit hot dog signs) that will take you down a path of great Mexican food.

From the asterisk-ed menu items we started with the guacamole. A mash of avocado with any combination of cilantro, onion, tomato, garlic and chiles is bound to be good, but the Tarasco's version was truly great. It was full of big chunky onions, copious amounts of cilantro and healthy portions of both tomatoes and jalapenos. I believe it was even mixed and molcajete-d to order.

The nopales were my wife's favorite, as this Mexican cactus is not often on Mexican restaurant menus in our city--much less done two ways. She chose the nopales asados over the ensalada and we were not disappointed. The grilled nopales were perfectly cooked so as not to be rubbery nor particularly slimy, and simply seasoned with salt. A generous squeeze of lime and a few dabs of a hot red salsa made for one of the better nopales I have had on either side of the border.

Tamales de elote might seem like a redundant choice: corn masa filled with corn--but the corn filling inside of these steamed corn masa appetizers was creamy and sweet; and over the top was drizzled that typical and fabulous Mexican crema, which is much more like crème fraîche than your usual sour cream.  

For the mole there were two options, a red "siete chiles" mole and a green tomatillo-based one. Each (I preferred red, my wife green) is the the kind of plate where you may very well find yourself "mmmm-ing" out loud as you savor every rich, complex flavor. As you feel the chile's heat slowly build in your mouth after layers of sesame, garlic, cumin (and too many more to even guess at or list) you may smile or even burst into spontaneous laughter that you could have a mole this good in a place this far from Mexico. In fact I have eaten my fair share of moles in Mexico, and besides a few experiences of very literal mole nirvana--one at a table with Chef Quintana herself, the others during a homestay in college with a family in Morelia--Tarasco's was better than most of them.

The siete chiles: dark and rich; bitter, nutty, sweet and then pleasantly spicy. I got mine with shredded pork carnitas. Absolutely incredible.

The green mole: lighter and more acidic likely from the tomatillo base. Also a rich and complex mix of flavors but without as many layers as the red siete chiles. Still it was an excellent mole and reason enough to make a trip out here.

Other menu items sampled at our table that night were impressive as well. A highlight was this house-made huarache piled high with among other things thick cuts of nopales and smothered in the excellent red mole.

I could go on and on about the great food we had. In fact I will for just a bit. It is worth mentioning that Tarasco's also has an impressive assortment of fresh made liquados (shakes) and jugos. There are more combinations of fruit and vegetable drinks than would seem necessary, and the health benefits of many are found lining the walls of the restaurant along with Mexicanismos, or dichos (sayings), that are always good for a laugh. My favorite, loosely translated, read: "Guns are loaded by the devil, and fired by pendejos."

One last menu item I need to cram in here are the churros. For whatever reason I have had the hardest time finding a good churro in this town, and Tarasco's has one of the better ones I have tried. It was nothing special; just perfectly fried, sweetened and served piping hot. A fitting way to end one of the best Mexican meals I have had in Denver.

I am kicking myself (which is a step up from the usual: other people kicking me) for taking my sweet time to eat at Tarasco's Nuevo Latino Cuisine. The crew and owners of Tarasco's clearly take pride in their food and take the time to do things the right way. The result of their careful efforts was for us a most memorable Mexican meal. I would urge you not to make the same mistake I did and get to Tarasco's as soon as you are able. And maybe next time I'll get around to trying that hot dog, but only if it's covered in mole.