Eating Right Coast Pizza in Greeley

Greeley, Colorado has slowly been trying to become a real, grown-up town.  We've got a population of about 100,000, a gang problem, and crappy schools--how much more urban can you get?  The Downtown Development Authority has also been trying to fill all of those charming brick storefronts that have remained empty for so many years.  Enter a new brewery (WeldWerks, the only place to go for local brew), a tap house sporting 60 taps of Colorado proud beer (Brix), and now, Right Coast Pizza.

The downtown Greeley location is Right Coast's second, following their flagship restaurant in Wheat Ridge, in suburban Denver.  They specialize in New Jersey style pizza, which seems to be exactly the same as New York Style--thin, floppy crust that's best eaten folded.  When I went to the grand opening a few weeks ago, they were giving out free Tivoli lager (better than free Coke!), but an hour after the party was supposed to start, they had already run out of pizza crust, so there was nothing to eat.  Rookie mistake, except it's their second store.  Perhaps they underestimated Greeley folks' capacity for free pizza and beer. 

So, I was happy to see the place already starting to fill up at 5:30pm a couple of weeks ago.  Service was very attentive (more on that later) and pizza came out promptly.  There was some confusion about who had ordered which beer when they came to the table, which the waitress explained by confessing she "wasn't a beer person" (that was also her explanation for her ignorance over the item on the menu titled "hopped coffee", which I'd still love to see, but they were out). But the pizza came out very quickly, and it was hot and crisp.  

We got an Elmer, which is a white pizza with spinach, bacon, and tomato slices. It was good.  The crust was lightly charred on the underside, blonde but perfectly crisp above. It was really garlicky, tomatoes and spinach were fresh, and the finely chopped bacon was crisp and plentiful.  There was just enough grease to seem like proper pizza.  At $15 for a 14" (medium), it wasn't exactly grungy college food, either. 

Let's talk about the service, because I find it to be a constant, and very puzzling, problem in Greeley.  It's almost like there's some kind of central training office for wait staff in this town being run by a clown. Literally a clown.  There were way too many people working on a Thursday late afternoon, and so they were all hovering pathetically, looking for things to do.  That's a problem with management's decisions, though I have no idea who that would have been, because every staff person in sight could have all been members of the same sorority.

It was a little bit awkward when the hostess walked us so very slowly to our table while trying to make inaudible small talk over our shoulder and asking us how our day was going.  She later came over repeatedly to make sure there weren't any spare beer menus laying around, which she seemed very eager to collect immediately after the first order was placed.  (PS--this is a bad business move!  Wouldn't you sell more beer if we could see your fabulous, long list of taps all night?)

Then came our sweet, though unapologetically ignorant, server.  She couldn't answer any questions about the drinks, but she was certainly chatty.  After we had ordered our pizza and were working on our beers, she actually came over to ask what we had done all day (Again with this? Why does everyone ask me this now? Starbucks has not been a good influence on the service industry.). When I (not) jokingly said that was pretty personal, she proceeded to tell us about the four fillings she got at the dentist that day, including describing the effects of the novocaine as it wore off. It went on and on, and I think it's fair to say we were all avoiding her eye contact by the end, but she continued unperturbed.  When she brought the pizza after her speech, she complained that it was her favorite pizza and that now she was hungry from having to bringing it to us. 

This is a trend I have noticed, particularly in the downtown area--young, socially awkward girls who don't know much about the products they are serving try to make up for their lack of expertise by chatting us up, far too long and too in-depth, in order to make a personal connection.  I don't know how my fellow patrons feel about this; perhaps they find it delightful.  I can handle a little chit-chat, but at some point I feel obligated to entertain them, and that's too much pressure.  Either Greeley restaurants need to start hanging "extroverts only" signs on their doors, or they need to monitor their young, inexperienced wait staff more and tell them when to cool it on the BSing with the customers. 

This is the big problem right now with Right Coast, and if they can correct it, it'll be a great restaurant downtown.  They seem to know what they're doing in the kitchen, but more oversight and thorough training in the front of the house is definitely needed right now. I'm not sure if the owners are dividing their time evenly enough between their established Wheat Ridge location and their fledgling Greeley spot, but if not, it would be worth the investment to hang out a little more up here for a while. 

But I will repeat, the pizza was good. 

A serving of superiority makes the ramen so much better...

I have wanted to eat at Uncle in Denver since they opened. I mean, just look at this beautiful photo of their work that welcomes you upon visiting their website:

I know, right?!  And you know I loves me some ramen. So, I finally went last week on Thanksgiving Eve (after a delicious stop at Station 26 Brewing in the Park Hill neighborhood.  You should go). Here's how that went down:

Uncle does not take reservations.  They state it plainly on their website, so I'm not saying I wasn't warned.  I figured at 5:30pm, practically senior citizen dinner hour, it would be slow, but when we got there, the waiting area was ass-deep in hungry hipsters.  Contributing to the seating issue was the fact that it's very tiny, hot, and loud in the restaurant. Well, it contributed to my issues, anyway.

But it's OK, because Highland Tap & Burger is right next door, and that place is huge. So I gave the hostess my digits (is that so totally dated lingo?) and went next door to drink. That place is good, so I'm going to fill you in on that in another post.

We were told the wait would be 25 minutes. Fine. I was a quarter of the way through my Moscow mule at HT&B when I got a very excited text AND voicemail telling me a table was ready and I had 8 minutes to return and claim it.  I wimpered a little and slammed my very strong drink (OK, I got some help with it) and, lightheaded, stumbled next door.

There was no table ready, and we ended up sitting for the remainder of our originally promised 25-minute wait crammed into a tiny space with said hungry hipsters.  I mean, they were clean, but I still would have preferred to be back in the dark, cozy-yet-spacious bar where that huge copper cup of vodka had gone unloved (consumed, but underappreciated, anyway).  Shame,  I think it tasted good, but it went by too fast to tell.

Our "table" was two awkwardly high stools at the bar, where we got to watch the cooks put together the food.  It was kind of cool to watch what they were doing, but it was also the hottest, most humid, and  noisiest part of the little space being called a restaurant.  And I kept kicking over my purse at my feet, which sucked. Disclaimer: I was buzzed, and I am short, so maybe this wouldn't be a problem for everyone. Maybe just don't carry a purse to Uncle if you go.

Our view from the bar.

So, for the food and service: our waiter was a douchebag extraordinaire, complete with "kindly brontosaurus" posture (I'm on to you, dude!), patronizing voice, and that age-old question: "Alright, have you visited us here at Uncle before?"  Here's why I hate that question:

• I'm not visiting you like you're my aunt I haven't seen in a while.  I am exchanging money for a service. You are a business.
• No, I have not been here before, but your menu is very easy to understand and there isn't much on it, so I think I'll be OK.
• I am not a moron, so please stand upright and stop using your sing-songy voice. 

Now, I have been treated to special free things for being a virgin before, and if that had happened, it would have negated all of my above complaints. But as I suspected, Uncle does not play that game. 

Our waiter also asked if we wanted any drinks to start (their drink menu is actually pretty pedestrian, and how many of these dishes could possibly go with red wine?!). I told him his neighbors had already gotten our drink money, and he rolled his eyes.  OK, it was lame, but I'm still proud of that one, so there you go. 

But you know what?  I'm in a hipster neighborhood in Denver, which is almost akin to Seattle these days with the skinny jeans, bow ties, and nerd glasses, so I merely rolled my eyes back and got ready to dig in to the menu.  The carefully crafted broths, homemade ramen noodles, and steamed buns would be worth the mild irritation.  

We ordered pork belly steamed buns, which comes two to an order.  They look like this: 

It's a slab of fried pork belly with sliced cucumber and scallions and dressed with hoisin sauce.  The bread was really soft and puffy, so that was nice.  The pork had nice flavor and tenderness, but it didn't seem seasoned at all.  It desperately needed some salt at the very least.  Black pepper also would have been nice. And the hoisin sauce was all at the bottom of the bun, so the pork itself was naked, and at the end I got a mouthful of sauce on what was left of the bun. Except for the part that just drizzled onto the plate.  That was my pork belly steamed bun.  $7. Boo. 

Then we got bowls of ramen. I was excited about the kimchi bowl with shredded pork, matchsticks of daikon radish, and a soft egg.  My dinner companion got the spicy chicken, which boasted a creamy sesame broth, bean sprouts, scallion, and a soft egg (that's it to the left).  I was skeptical of the creaminess, but it was actually delicious.  The broth was earthy, bright, and had a present umami flavor.  I don't know what was in it (miso? tahini?), but it was delicious and really unique.  My broth was just spicy with heavy vinegar and salt present.  I guess that describes kimchi, too, but when I make a kimchi stew at home, I make sure there's something else going on in the broth besides that.  I mean, kimchi is a condiment, right?  So it can be over-the-top strong as long as there's something else to balance it.  This was not the case with Uncle's kimchi broth.

The vegetables were nicely cut and laying on top of the bowls; not much to say there.  The eggs were very nicely cooked and, when broken, really added some pleasant richness to the broths.  And the noodles were quite good.  Super chewy and stretchy, they were really satisfying to eat, and the enormous bowls we were served had generous amounts of them in each.  But in the end, it's about the broth for me.  I mean, yes, the noodles too, because they are homemade (though Uncle claims no credit for making them in print, which leads me to believe that they are coming from somewhere else). So, then there's the broth, which provides all the flavor, and is also the main ingredient by volume and weight, in the bowl.  The spicy chicken was worth trying, but the kimchi was not.  And for $14/bowl, you might be just as happy trying similar-looking recipes from The Food Lab or Just One Cookbook.

My age might just be showing, because I found the crowded, noisy quarters slightly uncomfortable, the wait and corresponding, overly controlling texts annoying, and the extreme sense of pride Uncle seems to have in its soup and unseasoned pork a little comical.  So, go ahead and squeeze into your tightest olive green skinny cords and flannel shirt, polish up those enormous 80s-style plastic frames, and give it a try.  But be prepared for the slightly empty feeling you have in heart afterwards.

The best vegetarian restaurant in Fort Collins

Tasty Harmony  is the whole package: located in a dressed-up old storefront, serving things like cashew cheese and fried seitan with gravy and mashed potatoes, and a wait staff that is heavily tattooed and pierced. The bartender even has white dreadlocks.  There is everything in the world to poke fun at here, if you're into rolling your eyes at the hippy-dippy college town stereotypes.  And who isn't?  It's fun. Here's why you should go here:

1. The food is incredible.  More details on our specific meals below, but the short-hand is that ingredients are local and organic whenever possible, plates are beautifully rendered, flavors and combinations are creative and delicious, and there is an amazing amount of time and care represented in a lot of these dishes.  That seitan?  Made in-house.  Cashew cheese and three kinds of raw hummus?  That requires special equipment and a lot of care to make properly. The house-made BBQ sauce is like none I've ever had (and better than any I've ever had), and TH is quite possibly the only place in northern Colorado where you can try jackfruit, the newest super food for vegans.  They go the extra mile--and then some--in the kitchen.

2. The drinks are incredible.  Beers are carefully chosen from the long list of possible suitors brewed in Fort Collins and surrounding towns, and they seem to keep only the best on tap.  Whole meal smoothies and shakes are the real deal--not only are they delicious, but they are packed with actual healthy goodness, like chia seeds, flax oil, and raw honey. These are not sugary shakes disguised as health food; these are honest-to-goodness health tonics packed with fruits, milks, natural protein, and nuts and seeds that will provide healthy fuel for hours.

3.  The wait staff is respectful, patient, and knowledgeable about everything that goes on in the kitchen. Ask them anything about cooking process, ingredients, flavors, and they will answer as if they have made it themselves.  And to prove how appreciative they are of first-time vegetarian diners, they have a page of terms explaining some of the more exotic ingredients and cooking processes on their menu.  It's not condescending, and there's no air of superiority.  They just know their stuff. And they always seem to be available when you need them without hovering at the table.  They leave you alone until you want their attention.

4. Meals are moderately priced by normal standards, but when you think about the price of individual ingredients and the labor-intensive nature of many of their menu items, you are actually getting an incredible deal on your food. You could easily spend $10 on a sandwich made with white bread and cold cuts at a coffee shop, but here you'll get a garlic grilled hoagie roll, homemade raw hummus, cashew cheese, grilled onions, cucumbers, tomatoes, sprouts and fresh basil for the same amount.  Oh , and a side of your choice.  Want some Southern cooked greens with that sandwich?  Good luck ordering it at Panera.  

So, let's talk details.  I had the BBQ pulled jackfruit sandwich because I was  curious to try jackfruit, finally.  I've heard about it so many times but have never been able to find it in my local stores, and quite frankly, I wouldn't know what to do with it if I did.  So, I let Tasty Harmony do the work for me.  I wasn't expecting to like this sandwich, however, because I never like anyone's BBQ sauce.  It's like a liquid candy bar: too much brown sugar and molasses, not enough salty or sour elements. But this homemade sauce was surprising: thick and very smokey, there was only a twinge of sweetness provided by the tomato paste in it.  It was salty, earthy, slightly sweet, and tangy all at once.  I actually loved it.  The fresh tomato slices and coleslaw on the sandwich was just right--very North Carolinian.  And the jackfruit itself had a tender texture and was an appropriate carrier for the sauce (it had a mildly vegetal flavor to it, but mostly it just tasted like the sauce).  The roll was an ordinary kaiser roll that had seen better days, and the side of greens I ordered were completely unseasoned, but the shaker of black and white sesame seeds and salt did the trick.  If I got it again, I think I'd ask for some mustard to put on the greens.  

We also tried the whimsically named "Kentucky Fried Freedom" plate, which had batter-fried, house made seitan cutlets served with mashed potatoes, seasoned greens, black-eyed peas, and vegan gravy.  Everything was spectacular.  The seitan really did mimic chicken pretty successfully, the gravy was nicely salty and flavorful, the potatoes were hand-mashed, and the greens and beans were both seasoned nicely.  The beans had a great al dente bite to them which seems impossible to achieve when you merely open a can.  And the greens in both of our dishes were clearly freshly cooked--still bright green and firm, these were definitely not fished out of a vat of day-old slop.  

Besides the ubiquitous half sandwich / cup of soup deal, I also love that you can choose from a long list of mock meats, vegetables, grains, and beans to make your own "Daily Plate".  It seems like the perfect way to sample everything you're curious about.  

Tasty Harmony is right around the corner from everything else you've already noticed in Old Town Fort Collins--the sports bars, dressed up pizza places, and yet another bar boasting local brews on tap.  But this place offers a truly unique dining experience and an honestly healthy alternative to the typical dining out experience in a laid-back, friendly atmosphere. I cannot recommend it highly enough. 

The Beauty of Whiskey in a Strip Mall

Thank you, Living Social local deals, for introducing me to this oddly satisfying little whiskey bar nestled into the depressing strip mall at Drake Rd. and Timberline in Fort Collins, CO.  If I turned the right way in my seat I could avoid the reflection of windshields lined up in front of King Sooper's and just gaze at my vested, arm-banded bartender pretending it was the 1930s.

William Oliver's Publick House is all that and even more, because once you get inside, it's a pretty nice place to be.  You will curse the traffic and possibly help a senior male up the curb to his Great Clips destination, or possibly see a lady drop a watermelon outside the grocery store, but this place is actually doing a lot of things well.  I only hope they can move out of this location if enough people visit.  And if you're using the Living Social deal you got a few weeks back (every single person was doing so when I was there), be sure to tip on the full amount.  Because they deserve it.

My Living Social deal was for a four 1/2-ounce flight of whiskeys and a snack tray from their sparse menu.  I say it's sparse, but the menu is perfect and perfectly manageable--they make sandwiches, or you can choose from one of the very generously built appetizer platters.  There's hummus and veggies, chips and salsa, or an artisanal cheese plate for the vegetarians in the crowd, or meat eaters can choose from smoked salmon or the Perfect Platter, which was loaded full of spicy, crisp pickled green beans, two very garlicky dill pickle spears, the largest white cheese curds I have ever seen in my life (and they were delightfully salty), some Irish cheddar, sliced corned beef and salami, and Fort Collins-made Nita crisps (also available in low-gluten varieties with any plate).  It was delicious, the ingredients were high-quality (except for the bright yellow French's mustard.  Spicy Coleman's really would have been stunning), and the plate was positively overflowing with food.  Some people got the other Living Social deal for two pints of beer and two sandwiches, and the eager-to-please bartender made each and every one to order: "How's the mustard amount look? You want cheese?"  I mean, really, they were killing themselves to please us.

Let's talk about the whiskey.  My coupon limited me to the Colorado whiskeys available, which took up a full page in the menu and was so overwhelming I was grateful for the limitation.  There were rye whiskeys, corn whiskeys, white whiskeys, single barrel bourbons, etc. etc.  I wanted to try this place because it seemed like a low-cost way to experience some whiskey and try to learn something about it, and I did walk away with a (very expensive) favorite that I would definitely order again: Colorado's own Spring 44 Single Barrel Bourbon.  It was rich and warm, with vanilla and tobacco overtones and a lightly smoky finish.  It was actually delicious, and I am not easy friends with whiskey.

The menu at William Oliver's has 9 pages of whiskeys, bourbons, and even some moonshines, 2 pages of cocktails, and a nice, manageable page of snacks to go with your drinks.  They offer plenty for non-whiskey drinkers, including straight spirits from local distilleries around the Front Range and some great local beers on tap. Coffee and tea are also available, and you know, I bet they're actually delicious.  I do not think there is anything available at this place that they are not prepared to dazzle you with.

William Oliver's is actually a fantastic place in a terrible location.  They would do well in Old Town or near the university, and I hope to see them do well enough to eventually be able to afford those high rent districts.  In the meantime, please go to William Oliver's Publick House.  Because I want to go back, and I don't want them to go out of business because no one wants to go there on the way to Starbucks.

Review: Lingering in Denver

The Highlands neighborhood in Denver has that newly gentrified, post-industrial gleam to it that causes people to roll their eyes. (Well, me.  It causes me to roll my eyes.)  But there is something to be said for repurposed warehouses serving chic small plates and offering up hipster haircuts.  When you need a little break from Lo-Do but don't want to stray too far, it makes for a pleasant half-day of strolling.

On a recent visit to the 'hood, I dined on an artist's rendition of Asian street food at Linger, then headed over to their sister restaurant, Root Down (more on that later).

Linger's menus offer up creative cocktails and small plates of an almost haute cuisine version of traditional street food from around the world (but really focusing on Asia and the Middle East).  Bland, comforting Chinese pork buns become racy, fusion-esque chicken buns with kimchi and maple syrup.  A simple tamale gets stuffed with goat cheese and Swiss chard.

We stuck with water--that's right, I declined to drink in the middle of the day.  What can I say, I'm maturing. You have your choice of a large bottle of still or sparkling water on the house, which is a nice touch.  We started with some small plates to share: the aforementioned chicken bun, chili paneer, and the seasonal ceviche, which was  Hawaiin-style white fish with fresh corn and tomato in lime juice.  That ceviche was really amazing, as was the chicken bun; the fried white meat was extra-crispy and drizzled with a celery root ranch, a tiny bit of maple syrup, and a lovely little clump of tart, spicy kimchi on top.  The bun itself was the usual slightly sweet white bread with a nice glaze on the outside and some sesame seeds sprinkled on the edge, but it was served more like a puffy flatbread folded in half over the fillings, rather than the usual pale dome with hidden treats inside.  I have dreamed of these chicken buns since leaving Linger, I really have.

chicken bun

For me, the chili paneer was so close to being a star, but the sauce just wasn't interesting enough.  There was a generous portion of paneer, but the sauce was sweet and not much else.  More salt, more spice, and a lot more tang were needed.

Dessert was a trio: a corn "puff" (a sweet pate a choux with a sweet corn cream filling and a tender, moist corn-based dough), a chocolate-peanut butter bar (fine, but not adventurous--it was merely a rich little bar of almost-cheesecake, without the extra tang), and a butterscotch pudding.  I was not excited about the butterscotch pudding, but I was certainly going to eat it once it was placed in front  of me.  But here's the thing, and it's a glimmer of the creativity that could be happening all the time in the kitchen: it was the most interesting dessert on the table.  It was a cold, soft, mild blob of pudding, but topped with sugared sesame seeds, a ginger cream, and a house-made lemongrass cotton candy.  The flavors worked perfectly, the textures created a wonderful layering effect, and I loved every bite.  I still don't know how the three desserts fit together, and that's a minor sticking point, but it was certainly fun to eat.

The inside of the restaurant is absolutely beautiful--stunning, minimalist-industrialist decor with small touches of wry humor and a scenic rooftop patio.  Our server, Katherine (I hope I'm spelling your name right if you're out there), was personable, mellow, and very knowledgeable about the menu.  She also really seemed proud of the kitchen and happy to be working there, which is always nice to see.

Expect to pay for your little plates--we left $54 poorer, and that was with no booze.  But the kitchen is generally making true art come alive on the plate, and the adventure of these diverse bites, shared with friends, is a special occasion.  The atmosphere is painfully hip while being totally inviting to an under-dressed 38-year-old with dirty hair (was that too much information?), and that's a pretty good test of their friendliness.

I would have stayed longer, but I was stuffed. I really was.

I went to Las Vegas, and all I got was...broke.

Travelling back in time to Ancient Rome would have been way cheaper.

Eleven years ago, when I last visited Vegas, there were cheap rooms, free entertainment walking along the strip, and breakfast buffets that cost $3.99.  When I went to Vegas last week, there were discounted rooms in overpriced hotels who nickeled and dimed you for everything, 20-minute walks just to cross the street, and $14 breakfasts of scrambled eggs and coffee.  It's not totally fair for me to say this: I was staying at in-love-with-itself Caesar's Palace.  I suspect that, on the outskirts of The Strip, things are still more reasonable.  I have also heard that the downtown area (Fremont Street was recommended, but I never made it that far) yields some great restaurants at much better prices.  I cannot speak to this experience because I was dutifully trying to attend the convention I was supposed to be dutifully attending; all I can say is, if you stay on the strip, expect to get gouged (or at least inconvenienced if you search for alternatives).

Caesar's Palace, by the way, has given up trying to keep customers happy.  There is no uniform policy on anything--check-in time, what's included in the hotel room price, and even the hotel room price itself is all negotiable, depending on who you talk to and how good your social skills are.  I happened to have hitched my wagon to a very sociable star while I was there, but otherwise, I would have been screwed, as I possess no amount of social finesse whatsoever.

So, blah blah blah, the food was too expensive.  But I did manage to find a couple of little gems in the midst of the cigarette smoke and sad gambling people who didn't know what day of the week it was or whether it was night or day.

I think this guy made my noodles!

Beijing Noodle No. 9 

You can pay a lot to eat to eat some pretty mundane Chinese food, of you can stick to the first page of the menu and have one of their noodle dishes with homemade, hand stretched, traditional noodles.  I paid $12 for a big bowl of carb-o-riffic magic that got me through the night and allowed me to skip breakfast the next morning.

Warnings: the service is slow and bitchy.  Bitchy as hell, actually.  The restaurant is loud and all a blindingly bright white, so just go ahead and wear your sunglasses indoors.  It's not the weirdest looking thing they'll see.

payard PÂTISSERIE & BISTRO

This place is a bit more expensive but also offers a much more varied menu in terms of consistent acceptability.  Execution is fine, the bread they bring to the table is actually amazing, and the wine list is quite good.  At dinner (but be forewarned, not at lunch), the lobster bisque suffices as a fine meal, and the quiche and side salad is a satisfying, safe choice.  Portions are large.


Warnings: the service is just as shitty as Beijing Noodle No. 9.  I asked if they could split the check for lunch, and I was actually told, "well, you shouldn't do that if you're not planning on paying separately" with quite a bit of attitude.  So, shitty and incredibly stupid is a more accurate way to describe the service that day.

Rao's
I occasionally buy their jarred sauce as a jump start for a quickie lasagne at home.  The prices were too steep to justify a plate of pasta and tomatoes, but their wine list was not any more expensive than the cheaper in-house restaurants, and they had some real gems.  The cheapest red on the menu, the Primitivo, was quite good--full-bodied yet fruity--and the Prosecco was just right.

Warnings: no complaints about service--they were perfectly lovely.

Flamingo Pizza

When you get sick of the terrible service and overpriced food, it's time to get some carry-out.  Be forewarned, you will have to walk out to the far lane of shuttles and taxi service and meet some sketchy dude in an unmarked, 1990 red Honda Civic and sneak it back up to your room while no one is looking, but it will be worth it.  The pasta with garlic butter and mushrooms is ridiculously simple and good.

Warnings: I think they might be getting stoned at work here.  You will wait a loooong time to get your food, and then it will not come with utensils.  Ask ahead for forks or whatever the obvious choice for eating is, because it will not be obvious to them.

Now that I've recovered from the cigarette smoke and low self-esteem I developed in these restaurants, I've come up with some pretty convincing replications of these dishes (which are all pretty basic, anyway); stay tuned in my next posts for recipes for Chinese noodles with eggs and tomato, Lobster-like bisque, and fettuccine with garlic, butter, and mushrooms.

Epic dinners with weird Italian men...

When I was 21, I spent the summer in Germany playing in a rather unprofessional opera theater.  When we weren't getting drunk before rehearsals, we were traveling all over central Europe, which was a way cooler place to spend my summer than my usual haunts at that time of northern Illinois. Several friends and I took a road trip to northern Italy one extended weekend and ended up in a kooky restaurant in Milan that looked like it had been lifted right out of a Godfather movie.  The non English-speaking proprietress of our hotel (traditional European hotel, so there were two cots, a bidet, and a huge crucifix in each room; running toilets could be found down the hall with middle-aged men lurking nearby) suggested this place, and after a short game of charades, we managed to understand what the hell she was talking about.

This was back in the mid '90s, when Italy was still using the lira for currency and the American dollar traded very favorably. I think at the time $1 was 1,000 lira, which just made everything in my wallet feel like Monopoly money.  Even though we were poor students, we ate like queens all over Europe.  So, we had been sent to what looked like a rather fancy restaurant.  There was no sign over the one subtly placed door we could find, but when we knocked and mentioned our landlady's name, they let us in.  The restaurant was mainly one sparsely decorated room with a few small tables and a few very long tables, barely lit, and adjoined itself to what looked like a massive kitchen.  At 6pm (Midwestern dinnertime!), we were the only ones in the place except for a small army of impeccably dressed waitstaff.  There were five of us, clearly American, young women, and about ten of them.  We were seated at a comically long table in the center of the room and spent the evening being fawned over, flirted with, and given free stuff.  There was no menu (the first time I ever experienced this), but we were promised that we could trust the chefs to take good care of us.

I don't remember every course of that meal exactly, but I do remember that I ate a lot of amazing food, slowly and with great fascination, and I remember the pride with which each dish was set before us.  That was the first time I had ever even considered the genius of cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, the first time I was served a salad after the main course(s), the first time pasta was not the main course, and the first time I had limoncello. There were at least minimum of seven courses that night, and the meal took us over four hours to complete.  It was truly an education in northern Italian dining (and living), and it may have been the incident that really sparked my fascination with great food and local traditions.

I am preparing a (much more modest) Italian-inspired feast for friends, and while there is no way to recreate the otherworldly experience of eating in Milan with two personal waiters assigned to me, I keep thinking back to the bounty of flavors, colors, and textures I enjoyed that night; the perfectly paired, beautifully ripe local foods on each plate; and the utter joy we all experienced in spending time slowly appreciating our food and each other's company.  What could be a better way to spend an evening with friends?  I have appreciated the time it has taken me to research things like putting together a well-paired cheese platter, creating an interesting, unique salad, and figuring out what the hell I can serve with limoncello.

The menu

Cheese plate served with salad: fresh goat cheese, sliced parmigiano reggiano, smoked almonds, mixed olives, and a salad of braised radishes in orange butter over mixed greens (recipe coming soon).  


Main courses: platter of mixed roasted vegetables tossed with lime juice, olive oil, garlic, salt, capers, and crushed red pepper; homemade linguine with arrabiata sauce.


Dessert: homemade limoncello (our guests') with dark chocolate and shortbread.  (But if you wanted to get fancy, I also found a great idea in this pistachio and almond cake with orange salad.)

Le Craperie Fort Collins

This cost me $12.

OK, it is juvenile to call a "creperie" a "craperie"--I apologize for that.  But really, this place kind of sucks.

You may know of my penchant for French goodies from reading my reviews of Le Central, one of my favorite restaurants in Denver, and Cafe Panache, one of the few edible restaurants in Greeley.  The way I see it (and I'm not in the food industry, just picky), great French food is about the ingredients.  It's also about technique if you're dealing with haute Parisian cuisine, but here in Northern Colorado, we just seem to keep getting the same southern French, down-home food.  Fine by me--it means I can get a good egg dish wherever I happen to be.  But all I'm saying is that, when it comes to crepes, omelets, and the occasional plate of mussels and fries, the best dishes are a product of terrific ingredients and minimal alteration by cooking.  The seasoning is not particularly exotic or complicated, either, so you can't hide if you use canned crap (though you should take some care in seasoning, too).

Having said this, I'm pretty sure La Creperie and Bakery of Fort Collins is using some canned crap, or old crap, or something not up to par.  When you look at the menu, it sounds exciting, doesn't it?  And there is no one else satisfying these tastes in Fort Collins right now, so I really wanted to like the place.  Despite the fact that they charge a whole lot more than the fabulous Le Central, I went in with an open mind.  At $12 for a crepe, I wasn't going to become a regular customer, but I would certainly tell you about it if it was tasty.

The galettes are made with the traditional buckwheat flour, and they are lovely--thin, spongy in the middle, crispy on the edges, and quite salty.  The filling is the problem.  The scrambled eggs are inoffensive, but get a bite by itself and you find there is little seasoning added.  Likewise, the spinach was unsalted and not properly drained, creating a big wet ball of slime here and there.  These are cheap and simple ingredients (and a staple of southern French cuisine), but they deserve respect.  Make them delicious--it's not difficult!

Smoked salmon features heavily on the menu, but it was quite fishy the day I visited.  I realize that we are not exactly living near a supply of fresh coho, but other restaurants manage to offer well-balanced fish, and at these prices, La Creperie can do it, too.  Or if not, then they need to cut the salmon from the menu.  It was incredibly unpleasant.  Likewise, the brie is thrown in unevenly in thick hunks, so one bite might be a nice balance of egg, caper, and cheese, but the next mouthful is nothing but a block of chalky, oozing brie and fishy salmon.  Doesn't sound too pretty, does it?

La Creperie also boasts its own bakery, and the croissants are quite nice--fluffy, buttery, and rather salty.  So are the baguettes, though I detected a slight burned flavor to the crust which was a little off-putting.  The coffee is also pleasant--medium-bodied with a pleasant nuttiness--but at $2.25 for a mere cup of the unadorned stuff, it's a pretty expensive way to enjoy a cup of coffee and a pastry in the morning.

Finally, the service is unapologetically slow, and they make no effort to bring meals out together.  They even say in their menu, "They are  made fresh to order and served immediately– hot and delicious – Perhaps not all at  once but don’t worry you won’t have to fend off your tablemates for long."   And then they direct you to eat your galette right away, even if everyone else at your table is still waiting for their food.  I don't understand this--do they only have one crepe maker?  Perhaps they could use some of that $15 I spent on lunch the other day and start saving up to order another one.  


Obviously, I don't have much to say that is positive about this place.  I would like for there to be a charming, delicious French bakery/creperie in Fort Collins, and I would even be willing to pay a little more once in a while to keep a great creperie going.  But La Creperie of Fort Collins is collecting  high fees for a low-quality product, and I can't wrap my brain around the notion of rewarding such behavior.  Perhaps, like Cafe Panache in Greeley, they need to create a smaller menu that they can consistently recreate every day.  But for the time being, I'd put my money on some nice Indian food down the street instead.

The Lovely Ladies do dinner

I went out for dinner the other night, and the food was fine.  It was an Italian place near my house and I could have easily made the dish myself (as is often true with Italian restaurants), but it's still nice to not have dishes to wash now and then, right?  That's worth getting robbed for a glass of wine once in a while, I think.  But the food was not the problem.  They knew how to boil pasta and toss it with some chopped vegetables and butter just fine.  It was the service that weirded me out.

Our waiter was named Buzz.  I don't know if that was his real name--maybe he's preparing to become a very famous server and he's trying out some splashier names for the future publicity.  He looked like a Darryl or maybe a Brett to me, but what do I know?

He was painfully eager when we first sat down, but my friend and I, who made the mistake of being happy to see each other after about a year of subsisting on Facebook messages, chatted before opening our menus, so the first two times he asked to take our order (he came twice in five minutes), we were not yet ready.  It was 5pm and we were the only ones there, so I don't think they needed the table right away.

By the time we were ready to order, he had given up on us.  Or more likely, his nicotine craving had kicked in, because when we finally flagged him down to give him what he'd been waiting for (just the order, guys--come on) he reeked of cigarette smoke.  Reeked.  He had also failed to give us a drink menu, although he had certainly been eager to take our drink order earlier.  So we ordered our meals and when he said "and how about those drinks then?!", I told him that, although we did not have a wine list, I would like a glass of Pinot Grigio if they had it.  He didn't hear the last part because he scampered away to the bar to grab the drink menu.  OK.  So he gives it to me and then reads it over my shoulder with me, and he finds the Pinot Grigio before I do, because he gets all in my space and points it out, shouting "there it is!" a little too loudly in my ear, which is quite close to his ashtray-smelling mouth at this point.  So, problem solved.  Bravo, you have Pinot Grigio.

We proceed to wait for a good 30 minutes for our pasta with butter, white wine, and vegetables to arrive, though he came screaming out of the kitchen with that glass of wine, perhaps hoping I'd have time to order a second.  The food was good, though I wasn't quite ready to discuss dessert five minutes into the meal, which is when he first started asking.  Another ten minutes passed and he checked on us ("Are you Lovely Ladies saving room for some dessert?"  I won't go into the multiple problems with this query.)

Finally he went away, I feared for good.  Just as I was starting to think we could make it out of there without having to pay, he appeared and asked very specifically if we would like a piece of Tiramisu to share.  I don't know if being that very specific is taught, but  as it so happens, we both dislike Tiramisu.  And why did we need to share?  Were we looking bloated and Less Lovely?  We looked at each other, said no, thank you, and he left before we could order the coffee we had wanted.  He returned soon, looking somewhat dejected, I thought, with the bill.  We had to stop him in the middle of his "You ladies have a great night" shtick to ask for said coffee (big mistake--pretty sure it was Sanka) and make him redo the bill.  He came by later to ask how the coffee was, but he quickly answered his own question with a "pretty good, huh?" and an enthusiastic thumbs up.  I'm not kidding you.  I was so dumbfounded I just said "OK", which I realize does not quite answer the question, but he seemed happy enough.

And when he brought us the bill, he said, "You lovely ladies have a great night, whatever you're headed out to do."  Is it me, or is that just a little weird?