Blogs

Because Richard Sandoval has so many restaurants to keep track of, because he is one of those multi-unit chefs who seems driven to collect addresses the way some kids collect baseball cards, he has no day-to-day control over his properties. He sets a concept, writes a menu, staffs up with trusted lieutenants, (sometimes) trains a crew and then unlocks the doors. His business is not so much about creating great restaurants as it is about creating great food-service machines that can run flawlessly in his absence. But there’s nothing wrong with that -- so long as customers understand the situation going in. Richard Sandoval is not assembling your tacos. His chef de cuisine is; it’s his job to translate Sandoval’s vision to every plate.

And what do you get on every plate? Well, to find out that you’re just going to have to check out this week’s review of Sandoval’s newest: La Sandia in the Stapleton development. Following that, we’ve got a discussion about celebrity chefs and why they (with the exception of Sandoval) so adamantly refuse to come to Denver, some news about the recent closures and a visit to an old favorite Sandoval address: Zengo over on Little Raven Street.

Oh, and I also get to kick Rocco DiSpirito around a little more. That’s always fun. -- Jason Sheehan

Chef Adam Mali’s also a floorwalker, which bothered me a little. When I see a chef working the room, shaking hands, making nice with the customers, all I can think is that with him on the floor loving up the crowd, who’s in the galley watching my agnolotti or expo-ing that twelve-top? A chef on the floor means no chef on the line. And there are only three places a chef ought to be: his kitchen, his bed or his casket.

Montecito, the newest restaurant in the Master family empire, is this week’s target, and while I didn’t fall in love with the place right away -- didn’t go head-over-heels instantly, the way I so often do -- I have now come around. There are moments at Montecito that are close to perfect, possessed of a balance and beauty and that sweet ache of anticipation that are the hallmarks of great meals in the offing.

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Okay, so the last place I ever expected to find a fantastic sandwich was at Montecito -- the new restaurant from the Master family, open since December at 1120 East Sixth Avenue. Some great fish? Yes. Great apps? Absolutely -- and constantly being tinkered with by chef Adam Mali. And I knew the place would have a solidly California/French board because, well, because that sort of pared-down, grill-heavy, ingredient-driven cooking is what Mali is best at, and because it's about damn time that Mel Master got back into the California Cuisine game, since he played a large part in its genesis and babied it through its first steps outside the cradle of Northern California.

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Estillo Mexicano—those were the magic words at Tacos D.F. Mexican style: just spice and meat—rough-chopped grilled steak, marinated in God knows what, with caramelized onions in the case of the asada, and naked chopped pork, redolent of char for the carnitas. If you had to gussy up the tacos, there was always hot sauce, along with salsas and picos on ice. Tacos D.F. also served a good torta and often switched up the menu, offering sopes, lamb soup, barbacoa—all manner of delicious items you could order if you knew to ask or could read enough Spanish to translate the especiales written out long-hand on neon-colored construction paper.

It amazes me that, for a long time, critics didn't review places like Tacos D.F. In some cases, they weren't allowed to review little ethnic joints. (Most famously, perhaps, was Ruth Reichl's discovery that the New York Times hadn't ever reviewed a Chinese restaurant before she took on the job of critic -- in 1993.) In others, the critics themselves seemed to think that any cuisine that wasn't American, French, French-inspired, Italian, Italian-inspired or some kind of fucked-up fusion of the above was simply below their notice.

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That's when James Mazzio left Colorado for Chicago, where he took on a chef's gig for a restaurant that didn't yet exist and spent a year waiting for its owner to get his shit together before giving up and coming home. And then what line did he walk onto? Via's—with its battered staff and reputation and menu perfectly suited for a suburban Iowa strip mall.

I asked him once why he'd done it.

Double bat-shit crazy, all the way."

That's the Via story, in a nutshell -- a tale of misery, redemption and conchiglie with smoked chicken in Pecorino cream sauce. For all the details, check out this week's review of Via. And when you're done with that, you can read all about the Best of Denver fallout in Bite Me, come along with me on a late-night trip to Viva Burrito for shitfaced drive-thru breakfast burritos, and see what chef Sean Yontz has been up to at Chama -- Denver's second-best restaurant for just about all things Mexican. -- Jason Sheehan