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Bill Ward, the club guy behind Slim 7 at 1443 Larimer Street and owner of Denver’s new, and until recently unnamed, pizza restaurant in the alley between 14th and 15th streets on Larimer Square, has finally settled on a moniker: the Pie Hole.

Ward had been fighting for his right to use Pi as a name and the mathematical symbol for pi as on his logo, but in doing so, he ran up against the lawyers for Stonebridge Companies, a hotel management company in the process of opening a pizza joint called Pi Kitchen + Bar inside the new Hilton at 1400 Welton Street. The way these fights usually go, he who has the most scratch wins, and Stonebridge brought more pesos to the fight than Ward -- not to mention the not insignificant weight of law firm Brownstein Hyatt Farber Schreck. Also, Stonebridge was willing to pay the money for a full, national trademark on the name Pi -- a move that generally settles these kinds of slap fights toot sweet.

So Ward lost the name Pi, despite his claims of having registered the name with the Secretary of State long before the other Pi started slinging cease-and-desist papers. And what does he do next? He picks a name -- Pie Hole -- that’s not only used by several other pizza joints across the country, but also happens to be the name of the all-pie restaurant owned by the main character on the new ABC show Pushing Daisies.

Anyone want to start laying bets on how long he gets to keep this one? -- Jason Sheehan

When a half-pound of ground, nicely fatty Angus beef is whacked onto the hot steel, it produces a flood of meat juice that caramelizes instantly into a crispy halo of blood and fat around the edge of the burger. It’s like meat candy, the delicacy you lose when a burger is cooked on a slotted grill, which is the traditional cooking surface for burgers smashed by hand.

Line up, vegetarians, for your meat candy, your halo of blood and fat.

Although I’m not going to make any new friends this week among Denver’s gentle herbivores, all you meat-eaters should be happy. Because I’ve just found two fantastic burger joints where we can get our fix. One is Smashburger, a new outpost at Colorado and Mississippi (there’s a second in Wheat Ridge), where the Cervantes Capital investment group has come up with a better burger for burger-lovers. The second is an export from the Midwest to Thornton: Culver’s, which serves a butterburger -- much to the delight of gastroenterologists and cardiac surgeons everywhere. Come back here on Wednesday for the full details. – Jason Sheehan

Never mind that I’ve spent the last three hours in the kitchen with Ian, O’s chef de cuisine and the mad scientist responsible for this cheese plate. Never mind that I’ve followed every step in its construction, been in on the testing and tasting, watched him make caviar out of grape slurry and turn vinegar into a cloud. Knowing all that, I also know that I will never be able to fully describe this single bite -- and that I will never, ever forget it. It will be with me for the rest of my life, because this is the moment when everything changes for me.

This is the moment when it all makes sense.

That single bite, the plate that contained it, the chef who constructed it, the kitchen that served it – that’s all in one king -hell behind-the-scenes peek at chef Ian Kleinman and his work at O’s Steak & Seafood at the Westin Westminster. This week, forget everything you know about food and fine dining. Forget everything you thought you knew about chefs and their work. Forget even that balsamic vinegar is a liquid, that caviar is fish eggs and that fire is made for cooking. Because when it comes to the freaky super-science of molecular gastronomy, there are no rules, no boundaries, and anything is possible.

You’ll never look at dinner the same way again. Meet “Mr. Wizard” in the next Café section, coming here Wednesday. – Jason Sheehan

In my best moments, I like to think of myself sitting alone at the bar with a fine, fluted glass, like James Bond just ten seconds before the girl walks in. In my worst, I fear I’m more like one of Candace Bushnell’s cosmo-skanks, getting giggly and paralytic after too many glasses, rolling the stem of a Riedel flute between my fingers and watching the bubbles ladder upward like my own private lava lamp.

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In the October 4 Bite Me, I asked for suggestions for a new, true Denver omelet. The best recipe so far comes from my friend Stephen Crout, a champion gastronaut of the first order, who’s clearly given the matter some thought. He also reminded me that the prep and service directions are just as important as the recipe itself, and he’s right. So follow his directions, and then enjoy:

The Snowy Peaks and Sunflowers Denver Omelet (one serving)

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Like me, you could just say fuck it and eat the pound of bacon guilt-free, figuring there’s also a chance that you’ll get hit by a bus out in front of the new Oceanaire Seafood Room and, if you do, you’ll at least die with a sated smile of your face and a belly full of bacon steak. Cholesterol and high blood pressure are killers, no doubt. But so is a tour bus shipping in a bunch of blue-hairs to see Spamalot and jumping a stale yellow at forty miles an hour. Pick your poison. Make your choice.

I, obviously, have made mine. And someday, when I eventually do go down, I can only hope it is with a pound of bacon in me and a blissed-out grin on my mug, regretting nothing and giving the finger to all the world’s cardiologists.

This week I review Oceanaire – the ultra-luxe fish house that opened a few months back and gave unto Denver the joys of the bacon steak. Also, the place does some nice fish and assorted sea critters. Come back Wednesday for all the yummy, yummy details.

If fish isn’t your thing, I also sink my teeth into some of Ted’s buffalo at Ted’s Montana Grill, make fun of Tom Colicchio and Padma Lakshmi from Top Chef and report on sad news from Sean Yontz and Jamey Fader. And remember: With the first Diamondbacks/Rockies game set for this Thursday, you’ll be able to get reservations at just about any restaurant in the city, so plan ahead. Let the baseball fans have their sports bars; I think I’ll be down at Fruition eating cake. – Jason Sheehan

On a Saturday night, Cherry Crest Restaurant & Seafood Market is all business. There are twenty entrees on the menu, not counting pastas or salads; the chalkboards and dry-erase boards are full of daily specials; and the kitchen -- an open hot-line arranged in a tight, cramped square -- is tiny. Three guys are banging around inside, bumping shoulders, slinging sizzle platters, saucing, topping and arranging a dozen different fish, pulling live lobsters from the tank with the calm coolness of veteran executioners…

Oh, yeah. It’s hang ‘em and bang ‘em time at Cherry Crest -- the least hip restaurant operating in Denver today and, of course, one of the busiest. The parking lot is full of murderous old men and a woman with an enchilada fetish, but inside I found a great lobster dinner and the best piece of salmon I’ve had in I don’t know how long.

For full details, come back to this spot in a few hours. You’ll also find my rant about that ubiquitous taste of Denver: the awful Denver omelet. Isn’t it time to break a few eggs and come up with another culinary mascot? – Jason Sheehan

I feel the same way about pig roasts that I do my morning run: I like the idea of it, but the execution is rarely so satisfying. My first pig roast happened when I was a senior in high school. As student body vice president, I was charged with turning the hulking porker on a spit set up on the football field for homecoming.

Although I never brought myself to taste the barbecue, I smelled like pig for a week. My second roast was even less appetizing. A college buddy bought a pig for our graduation party. When it was done, her uncle nearly mounted it as he pulled it apart on a picnic table. Bleccchhh.

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