Bennett's BBQ, Arvada

Sick dog-sick cat-sick dog-sick cat. Rinse and repeat.

Clocked up a lot of miles the past four days, going between house-and-dog sitting a large Ridgeback (with an equally large bladder) across town who peed out a quart of steroids every four hours, to my ‘hood and a feral cat with apocalyptic diarrhea (enough to put me off Hershey's Milk Chocolate s’mores for a while).

What a way to start a food blog.

Meaning take-out or ready made meals, comfort food after days spent wiping down and cleaning up. I had the itch for fried pickles and I heard Bennett’s BBQ had them. Southern Fried Dill Pickles, turns out, and in the shape of the superior chip instead of spear. It's hard to monkey up a fried pickle–good batter, hot oil, crisp pickles. Found these a little oily; the could-have-been crunchier coating slid off many. The pickles fried up at Cinebarre (Eat. Drink. Watch Movies.) are better, crisp coating that chews like it's cornmeal based and thick chips. Far better, but far fewer to an order; the "Big Lebowskies" (the movie-themed moniker they're known by) run $8 for about that many. Okay maybe a dozen.

Bennett’s two-person and then some appetizer size order is served with “…tangy dippin’ sauce. Dilly-icious!” Not really, the sauce more reminiscent of Thousand Island dressing out of bottle, too sweet to offset the tangy bites. Opted instead for fresh ground pepper over top and a dunk into the side of ranch that came with the Hickory Smoked Chicken Wings, a price performer at $8.99 for 8 plump wings (more wingette than drumette though). Found the mild lip tingly spicy–I don't do hot since I don't care to sweat when I eat. Smoking wings is the way to git 'er done and these were exceptional–no heavy dredge of sauce coating the crispy edges and tender meat.

Intrigued by Bennett's take on chips and salsa, ordered the Chili Verde Dip & Chips (homemade pork green chili, topped with cheddar jack cheese, scallions and a dollop of sour cream) out of curiosity. Eh. Don’t know if the chips where house made but light and crispy and just the right amount of course salt.

I ate less than half my food. They serve ‘em big at Bennett’s.

A weekend foregoing my rule of chowing at chain restaurants. Sigh. But no worries, because in just days Eat it, Denver! heads south to Eat it, St Louis!

Imagine the stories I'll have to tell.

McAlister's Deli, Aurora

Pretty much typifies why I really, really dislike chain restaurants.

Stopped in McAlister's Deli on the way to a DIA drop off. Really wish we'd have picked another Google option. But we saw "deli" in the unfamiliar name, strip mall placement and (from the outside looking in big picture windows) cute sit down tables, sort of Chipotle-ish.

The deli moniker is a bit of stretch. A “deli” by definition, I guess—sandwiches and soups and such—but McAllister’s is like kissing through Saran Wrap, missing the earthy passion of an oily meat and cheese, whole grain mustard and Branston Pickle true-blue deli.

Was curious about their “spud” offerings, pictured on the overhead menu boards as giant, overstuffed potatoes. Hell they've even trademarked the Spud Max™ (note, when a restaurant web site uses a proliferation of exclamation points to describe the food, steer clear.) I was drawn to both the cheeky name and belly warming description of The Big Nasty® Spud (roast beef smothered in gravy and topped with cheddar-jack cheese), but at 6 p.m. on a Thursday night they had none cooked and ready. Huh. Opted for the French Dip. The thin, pre-packaged roast beef was speckled with green patina and sat under a thin layer of melted cold (yes, there is such a thing) cheddar cheese. CHEDDAR. Could have been an interesting take on a classic if topped with caramelized red onions and served on a crunchy wheat baguette (not Wonder Bread squishy hoagie roll.) The side of potato salad suggested by the cashier was a cold, hard lump of yellow mayo sprinkled with paprika. One bite and it was over.

My leaving-on-a-jet-plane companion fared better, choosing the Half a New Orleans Muffuletta (authentic muffuletta bread with olive oil, ham, salami, olive salad and provolone) and side of Asiago Bisque. The sandwich was a chewy good time, but then you can’t go wrong with good bread, green olive tapenade and meat. Expected more from the soup, but the slightly sour bite of asiago and white pepper worked well.

And what is up with the huge ass plastic drink cups? Think Big Gulp, on eleven.

True a chain and yes, a family sammie shop in the ‘burbs (I quickly learned). So next week when he drives me to an airport departure, we're going the long way ‘round and getting some real deli.

Because I know where to find it...

I got love in my tummy

For breakfast I had a bowl of Rice Krispies with REAL STRAWBERRIES (says so right on the box in big, happy red letters) tossed with a handful of mini marshmallows and covered in soy milk. When you were a kid, didn’t you really, really try to hear “snap, crackle and pop” coming from the bowl? Put your head right to the rim and lisssstttteeennned for it. I believed those three little guys (are they gay chefs? what's with the fey scarves and Sgt Pepper coats?) lived in the box. “Where do they pee?” I wondered.

Peanut Butter Crunch, my childhood and college days fave, had sharp edges that tore the roof of your mouth if entered at the wrong angle (and left an oily sheen). Cookie Crisp was like eating cookies for breakfast! HAH! Suck on that, Mom! We were rabid for Count Chocula, FrankenBerry and Boo Berry, but really they were all the same cereal with a different coating that changed the color of your milk. Perfection in marketing. There was a fourth in the trilogy, "Fruity Yummy Mummy,” but it never caught on.

The first “record” I ever owned came from the back of a Super Sugar Crisp box, a 45 you actually cut out with scissors. The Archies “Sugar Sugar.” Imagine the parent who found their dumb ass kid playing that sweet smelling, warped piece of flexi cardboard on the HiFi. Sorry, Dad. The Super Sugar Crisp mascot Sugar Bear was creepy; he wore a thick blue turtleneck sweater and no pants. He was a mod.

"A is for apple, J is for Jacks, Cinnamon-toasty Apple Jacks!" tasted nothing like fruit. I won't speculate on the “jack.”

In the early 70’s, oddly enough during my lifetime, there was actually a cereal called “Buc Wheats.” They were goooooo oooood, political incorrectness aside.

Yummy, yummy, yummy.

~ March 27, 2008

Sushi Sasa, Denver

I have a tip for hosts and hostesses at more “upscale” restaurants (meaning Applebee’s and Cracker Barrel employees can stop reading now). When it comes to seating, if a well-dressed (little black Calvin Klein dress, flat fronts and long sleeve crisp cotton) couple comes in with a reservation, seat them close. Chances are it’s a date.

Many eateries embrace the “bench-twofer” architecture; one long plush, continuous bench hugging an entire wall with one chair placed at the opposite side of tiny table (rectangular yet, less elbow room but packs them in). A space saver and certainly doable for a friendly night out or first date while computing boundaries, but in a mostly empty dining room at 7:30 p.m. on a Tuesday night we felt far apart. We like to sit close. Yes we are that couple that sits on the same side of the booth or catty corner at a four top. We share food, we hold hands. Yes we are that couple, especially when out for a lovely and lingering evening, bottle of wine and bill (most likely) in triple digits. A couple who came in after was seated at a four top. Asked our accommodating server if we could do the same, and they obliged (oddly enough, 15 minutes or so later a group of four young ladies moved from a too large for proper chat half moon booth as well).

Read your client, use your room.

Because Sushi Sasa you had me at hello. Sushi is a favorite, and sushi done right a near religious experience. Sasa has a local cult following and deservedly so. Fresh ingredients, inspired rolls and an impressive wine list. Our server recommended a Bieler Pere et Fils Rose' (50% Syrah, 30% Grenache, 20% CabSaiv). Strawberry and watermelon in a dry, slightly acidic blush, it paired perfectly with the sweet and delicate Ochazuke starter (green tea broth rice soup with pickles, seaweed and crispy baked konbu cured salmon). Less soup and more comfort food, it's good all the way down to your belly and into your toes, like the feeling after a slow and wonderful kiss.

We ate through the Fire Fry Roll (spicy tuna and shrimp tempura), basic flavors and humble middle child of a night that included the Salmon Tartare (creamy salmon, Japanese mayo, capers, black pepper, avocado, tobiko and sturgeon caviar). The caviar was an exquisite, wonderful popping finish to creamy texture, caper bite and peppery touches. Last the Poki Hama, a Hawaiian style roll (chopped yellowtail, cucumber, toasted pine nuts, granny smith apple, kaiware sprouts, soy based poki sauce, wasabi tobiko and kochijan sauce.) Never had it before, want it again. Salty (more so than expected but no overly so), with a sweet crunch of apple and cucumber and friendly melding of sauces.

When the kitchen prepared Smoked Salmon sashimi instead of the traditional (and requested) sushi, our server happily brought a second order on the house. Both were divine. It’s a personal quest to find good–no great–smoked salmon; at worst it can be overpowering, like liquid smoke from a bottle. But Sasa’s is firm fleshed, buttery under your teeth and leaves just a breeze of smoke in the back of the throat. I declare it the best.

So far.

Shop it, Denver!

I don’t eat out every day. And as a work-at-home writer who doesn’t wish to expand ass cheeks outside the parameter of my lumbar support desk chair, I eschew fast food and cook healthy meals at home instead. It’s a fortunate thing really. There’s ease and simplicity to whipping up a dark berry, coca nibs and coconut oil smoothie for breakfast or light lunch of sautéed tomato, giant green olives and capers over last nights leftover spaghetti squash and baby bella mushrooms.

So a girl has gotta shop. There are loads of choices, from big box stores to small boutique markets in small boutique neighborhoods. And I’ve shopped them all. Well, a bunch. And for those markets with more than one location, these are my experiences at specific stores.

Do yourself a solid and wander Arash International Market. Stop by the deli and sample a variety of feta (the french is a knock out, better yet in scrambled eggs) and sold at ridiculously low prices. What truly makes this shop trip-worthy is the fresh hummus. Smooth and shiny, silky and light as soft whipped butter, I check ingredients every time I’m dipping into a tub (baby carrots skim nicely) and find nothing out of the ordinary that would account for such dreamy and divine texture. God bless the chick pea. The butcher block offers an interesting mix of ground beef and lamb (imagine that meatloaf) and produce ranges from identifiable to exotic (at least to a white girl from the ‘burbs).

Traipse across and up a few blocks to H Mart if only for the fantastically bizarro experience. H Mart is the Asian Walmart, from overly stocked aisles, food vendors passing odd squirmy nibbles on toothpicks and floral department stocked with bonsai. You won’t find McDonald's here, a groin-presenting-seated-cross-legged plastic Ronnie McDonnie beckoning the kids. There's a McSushi. I couldn’t make this stuff up. I left after little more than half-hour of perusing, however, partly because of the platoons of shoppers behind the wheels of comically large carts and partly because it smelled odd, especially in the refrigerator/freezer aisles. Something akin to wet cat and cheese.

King Soopers (Kroger’s), in an attempt to revitalize and keep up with the growing number of “Farmers Market" facades, are updating older stores with a fresh new footprint and expanded offerings. Points for the well-stocked and always interesting cheese cooler (any available for a taste, just ask) and Mediterranean serve-yourself-to-go bar, featuring pearl wheat salads with raisins, a plethora of olives, tabouli and couscous, tapenades and more (but watch what you scoop; at $7.99/lb it adds up quickly). Two must buys are Colorado’s Jumping Good Goats Buffalo Peaks Feta cheese, creamy but crumbly and more tart than briny and a bag of Udi’s crostini. Day old baguettes sliced and perfectly toasted, these little disks of crunch are an addictive snack with just drizzle with olive oil, flake salt, pepper and a touch of grated hard cheese (I’m on an asiago kick).

Marczyk Fine Foods is exactly the kind of boutique store I love to visit but rarely shop. Sent there on a mission one Sunday afternoon; stopped by Sweet Action Ice Cream for a taste of Stranahan's Whiskey Brittle, but found it off the daily menu. Individual pints, however, are sold at Marczyk. This tiny little shop is home to one of the best meat counters, thick cut and beautifully marbled cuts of beef, fresh fish and fowl. And the high(er) prices you’d expect (similar to Whole Foods). Special occasion worthy.

Sprouts Farmers Market is the new(ish) kid and a fiesty one. The deli-fresh made chicken sausages are winner, ground not from beaks and feet but thigh meat. And score, sushi grade Ahi tuna available for when I want to roll my own (find it vacuum sealed in the freezer section). Bulk bins offer up everything from a variety of flours and sugars, to nuts and trail mix, chocolate and Australian licorice and my salty Kryptonite, chinese crackers. Sprouts is my regular weekly run for fresh veggies and lean proteins. The produce department is well-stocked and one of the few to carry a variety of sweet potatoes, from garnet red to banana yellow. With weekly sales and specials (overlapping every Wednesday in double ad days, when sale prices for the past and current weeks are honored), Sprouts regularly beats the competition in price. If you’re prone to using such things, find smart and efficient help in the natural supplement department (better yet during 25% off entire line sales). A must pick up, thinkThin® protein bars (this store carries more flavors than I knew existed). I don’t subscribe to the “diet food” industry, but find these nutritionally packed bars tasty and perfect before-or-après gym.

Sunflower Farmers Market (enough with the marketing, it's like calling everything "sustainable") is Sprouts bullying older brother. Both times I’ve ventured in I've met up with a snide and surly butcher. When I asked about the “stuff” in the stuffed pork chops, he barked he could get the recipe card, "...if I really wanted to know." One bad apple may not spoil the bunch, but what an awful thing the feta-and-spinach chicken sausage was; dried to bird jerky half-way up the casing like it’d been sitting on the bottom of the pile a day or two too long. The produce section doesn’t inspire, the staff is mostly inattentive. I may have visited on off days, but just don’t feel the need and the love to try again.

Given the former CEO of both Sunflower and Whole Foods quit after his recent arrest in a child sex sting, both stores may want to update the employee handbook. Just sayin', because Whole Foods, although I dig your crunchy, pretentious-but-trying-not-to-show-it vibe, it’s best not to make a suggestive comment while in the presence of a–however cool and cute–lady customer. I only thanked you for the chicken sausage. I wasn’t referring to any of your penises. Peni?

I always get the plural wrong.

CD's Wings, Westminster, CO

“It’s nice to have someone to eat chicken wings with.”

That's what he said.

It's good to spend a Saturday night at home in leggings and a tank (no underwires) and a much-too-big zip hoodie munching take-out chicken wings. Especially since, to quote the movie Clueless, “My party clothes are so binding.” So as much as I adore dress-up-and-sit-down sushi dates, lingering over a linen tablecloth and full bottle of red and prix fixe menus, sometimes a girl just wants to rip into some chicken, eat with her hands and lick every finger.

CD's Wings boosts a "Best of Westword" nod on it's web site and dozens of 5-star yelp reviews. I have a lovely memory from my wild(er) and single(r) days of enjoying a relaxing roll with one accommodating young man, and another taking me later that night for CD’s Wings. Damn, I was a rock star.

But I digress.

The CD “House Special” might very well be all wing sauces combined (and you can’t order just a few "…full orders only, no mixing dude," said the stoner behind the counter.) A sweet teriyaki vibe, dash of peppery Cajun and crispy, spicy BBQ crust that (oddly enough) really worked. On a return visit however, the “specials” were wet and chewy and so overly-seasoned I couldn’t stomach them. Tried rinsing a bit of the comically overwhelming and super-duper-Africa hot sauce off under the faucet (I know, right?) but the limp drumette underneath, so wrinkly and pinkish yellow in color, conjured images of eating a small babies foot. 

Like those two boys, CD's Wings was filed under, "casual fling, over quickly."

Since then I haven’t found the must-have-go-to spot, but Wingman (transplants from New York to Colorado who, in search of true “Buffalo" wings, opened shop and got themselves franchised) satiate the need. This little stop in a little strip mall in Northglenn used to house Woody's Wings, a local and much missed icon. Still the odd, creamy Wingman mild sauce is a winner - imagine red sauce mixed with sour cream, milky and opaque. It sticks beautifully in the extra-crispy-fried crevices.

Now I’m in the mood. For wings, cheeky monkeys. I have a half-dozen soaking up coconut milk and harissa in the 'fridge right now. Light the Hibachi soon.

Because sometimes a girl just gotta do for herself.