Woody's Wings & (Asian) Things

Can't decide between Asian or American for dinner? The answer is Woody's Wings & Things—a smallish chain of Denver-area restaurants specializing in hot wings and other fried items, but with one exception. Walk into the Westminster location, and along with the standard wing menu you'll be greeted with a thick hardbound volume filled with pictures of Cambodian, Thai, Chinese, and Vietnamese specialties.

ES and I had dinner there after returning from Black Hawk and Central City, and started with this dish of mussels and assorted vegetables in a green curry. I loved the tender mussels, and the thick, slightly spicy curry, rich with coconut milk and ground peanuts, was delicious over rice.

Delicious, too, was a creamy and soothing chicken-rice soup, as well as a Thai beef salad. We had originally intended to order the Cambodian beef salad, but the waiter insisted that the Cambodian version was bitter and that the Thai one was the best on the menu.

There was also a dish of pad see ew, with that wonderful slightly charred and smoky quality that I'm always looking for in this dish. It also struck the perfect balance between not-sweet-enough and too-sweet, and was less oily than usual; though I might have quibbled with the usage of what seemed like dried rice noodles instead of fresh ones, the flavor was so good that I didn't quibble for long.

From what I observed, neither menu at Woody's Wings & Things goes ignored; in the restaurant that night there were an equal number of tables ordering from the American menu and from the Asian menu. Some tables even boasted platters of hot wings alongside noodle soups and rice plates: those who couldn't decide which way their tastes were leaning, or those who decided that heck—they just want a little bit of both.

An elevated gamble: Ameristar Centennial Buffet

On a bright Saturday afternoon at the end of my spring break, ES and I drove a half hour out of Denver and up into the mountain gambling towns of Black Hawk and Central City. While mellower than Atlantic City and certainly smaller and quieter than Las Vegas, these two towns boast a number of large casinos interspersed with humbler ones, all set along a gulch that had once been a hub for gold mining and processing.

Upon arrival, we stepped outside and breathed in the cold, crisp air. Behind the casinos tree-speckled mountains rose in the background, and the sun shone high overhead. Since we had arrived around noon, our first stop was Ameristar—one of the newer casinos to arrive to Black Hawk—to eat lunch.

Ameristar's Centennial Buffet is pretty standard "international buffet" fare, with the notable addition of a pho station amid the steam tables of American, Mexican, Chinese, and Italian offerings. ES got himself a bowl and declared it actually okay.

This, by the way, is also where I hatched a renovation idea for pho restaurants: installing a buffet station for the garnishes—sprouts, limes, mint, jalapenos, cilantro, etc.—instead of having servers bring over a pre-plated portion for each table. I don't know about you, but whenever I eat pho the garnishes never seem to match what I want; I rarely put in as many sprouts or herbs, and I always end up asking for more limes. A serve-yourself buffet station would allow everyone to get exactly what they need, and decrease waste for the restaurant, too. Brilliant…no?

Err, anyway. Back to the buffet. Pictured here are mac and cheese, corn souffle, meatballs in gravy, a king crab leg, breaded mini hot dogs, a spring roll, a piece of country fried steak with cream gravy, and a piece of smoked salmon with capers. All of it not bad, all of it not great.

The same could be said for the desserts, where one bite of each was pretty much enough. But that's how it goes with buffets, isn't it? You don't go for the high quality of each and every dish, but rather for the unfettered ability to sample your way through as much as you can.


We spent the rest of the afternoon letting our stomachs digest by taking a stroll down the main strip of Black Hawk. Afterward we drove a mile over to the much quieter Central City, where we found tiny casinos set up in houses and former bars and restaurants; it was delightfully strange to walk into a kitchen or a living room and to find it lined with working slot machines. All in all it was a wonderful day excursion, a unique little part of Colorado that I was happy to explore.

Also, one day I'm going to save up my money and buy these ten acres. With views, privacy, access, power, and its own gold mine, surely this is the perfect purchase?

A giant, juicy burger with many hats at Cherry Cricket

So what makes a good burger?

At The Cherry Cricket in Denver's Cherry Creek area, it's an extraordinarily juicy half pound beef patty on a squishy sesame seed bun, along with whatever you desire from a long list of add-ons. In addition to the standard cheeses and vegetables, you can request to top your patty with salsa, peanut butter, guacamole, or sour cream; drown it in green chile; or toss it in spicy blackened seasoning or wing sauce. Standard practice among ES and his friends, too, is to never skip adding a fried egg. But it's easy to overload, so on my visit I went with a more classic version: swiss cheese, sauteed mushrooms, and grilled bermuda onions.

First, though, as part of an ongoing effort to understand Colorado's obsession with green chile, ES and I had Cherry Cricket's version, in the extra-large side portion (you're looking at about six ounces). Unfortunately, this green chile was nothing like what I expected; it was thin, lacked spiciness, and barely tasted of green chiles. (Then again, I'm not really sure what makes a really good rendition—anyone? Suggestions on where to find the best are welcome!) And there were also frings, a mixed basket of onion rings and fries, which were good enough to quickly disappear between all of us.

Then, the main event. I found my burger rather too greasy, the sesame bun so unable to stand up to the copious beef juices that the bottom half completely collapsed into sogginess. The meat seemed as if it could have been more flavorful, too, and as I ate the toppings slid this way and that, a problem of all multiple-topping burgers. Still, it's worth noting that I was alone in my struggle, being squeamish at times about getting grubby while eating; as demonstrated by the above photo, ES and his friends had no problem wolfing their burgers down—oozing yolk, running grease, glistening fingers, and all.

The happiest hour at Colt & Gray

The restaurant Colt & Gray has won more than a few accolades since it opened on Platte Street in Denver several years ago, and is also conveniently located right next to ES's workplace. But how do you eat at a high-end gastropub without dropping a load of cash on a full meal?

Enter happy hour. Colt & Gray has a particularly nice one, boasting a variety of specialty cocktails along with a small, low-priced menu of interesting nibbles.

All of this takes place in the restaurant's elegant and clubby-feeling barroom, full of tall, cushy leather chairs and extremely pleasant, white-aproned servers. So one afternoon ES and I settled ourselves at a corner table—and then proceeded to order nearly everything on the happy hour menu.

Our first drink order consisted of a Sazerac (rye, absinthe, and Peychaud’s bitters) for ES, and a Platte St. Sling (gin, rhubarb, lemon, basil, and club soda) for me. Though ES found my drink too sour, and though I wrinkled my nose at the taste of whiskey in his, we were both perfectly pleased with our choices. I loved the floral sweet-tartness of the cocktail, as well as the surprising saltiness of the olive garnish, and I wasn't a bit sorry that ES wasn't trying to steal sips.

The cocktails made a nice accompaniment to the food—or was it the other way around? The one-bite wings tasted like very tender pieces of barbecued short ribs, or some other kind of fatty, succulent meat; the sheep's milk cheese (whose name I can't remember) came with a delightful apple compote that made a strangely excellent pairing with its funk. And while the gougères were not what I expected—instead of small puffs of a savory pâte à choux, these were Utz cheeseball–sized nuggets dusted with what tasted like a slightly more complex version of neon "cheez" powder, and with an oddly grainy and pasty texture within—they were crisp and warm and made for good snacking.

The only one I wasn't impressed with was the crispy pig trotter, which ES had fondly remembered from past visits. I was imagining a whole, deep-fried pig foot, like something I'd get in a Filipino restaurant, but out came two breaded pucks of chopped and mushy meat in a pool of mild-tasting mustard sauce, the whole of which tasted a lot more like tuna than pork. Nothing against tuna; the disconnect was strange, is all.

And then along came the caramel popcorn. Not just any caramel popcorn, but a bacon and cashew caramel popcorn, each bite smoky and salty and chewy and sweet all at once. It was so good that we ordered it twice, our fingers having reached the bottom of the bowl too soon. Apparently we're not the only ones enamored with this popcorn's charms; the recipe can be found as part of Bon Appétit's 2010 "Best Bar Snacks" feature.

All the while we were having more cocktails, such as the Marguerite (gin, Dolin Blanc vermouth, and orange bitters), the Picador (tequila, lime, and Curaçao), and the Bees Knees (gin, lemon, and honey). I also ordered Colt & Gray's housemade Brandy Milk Punch, which according to the menu consists of "Smith & Cross Jamaican rum, applejack, Batavia Arrack, milk, Teatulia green tea, lemon, and spices." I expected the punch to be, I don't know, milky, but actually it wasn't at all—just clean and sharp with the taste of mingled rums and liqueurs and freshly grated nutmeg.

By the time we left, both of us were full and I was just a little bit tipsy. More than that, however: I was satisfied that I'd taken in not just food and cocktails, but also the pleasures of dining in an eminently civilized, stylish, and somehow still friendly atmosphere—all without breaking the bank. It is obvious that I'll be returning, right?

The tale behind the veal

A new post is coming soon, but in the meanwhile, I thought you guys might enjoy reading a guest post I wrote for the Colorado Review's Editor's Blog. There's a cooking story here, but it's not solely mine—it really begins with that of writer Floyd Skloot and his exploration of preparing a mysterious recipe that surfaced after his mother's passing. Get the full meal, here!

Two dinners, one night: Ototo Den and Sushi Den

Ototo Den is the newest of a set of long-established Denver restaurants that also includes Izakaya Den, a self-described "sake house with tapas," and Sushi Den, one of the city's most popular sushi restaurants, all of which I'd been hearing about for a while. It so happened that I was in town the week that the three restaurants were pledging to donate a portion of their dinner sales toward Japan relief efforts, and it seemed like a good time to finally give the place a try.

ES had heard that Ototo Den was offering ramen, and as the night was chilly we drove to Pearl Street especially eager for big, steamy bowls of noodles and soup. Unfortunately, when we sat down and opened up the menu there was no such bowl to be found. A query to the server revealed that the restaurant had decided to revise their offerings and decided ramen didn't fit in. He suggested that we have some snacks at Ototo Den while happy hour was still on, and then walk across the street to Sushi Den, where ramen was still being prepared. Ototo Den has a great happy hour list, with both food and drink at a good discount, and I was totally fine with that plan.

We ordered a number of small plates, not knowing exactly how much food we would end up with, but figuring that we couldn't get that full just off of appetizers. The foie gras terrine came out first, drizzled with marinated beetroot cubes and microgreens and accompanied by grilled triangles of chewy bread. For five bucks this was an ample amount, and the sweetness of the beets set off the rich creaminess of the duck liver beautifully.

Roasted sunchokes with aioli were wonderful too, the preparation bringing out the tuber's gentle sweetness and lightly crunchy texture, not quite potato and not quite water chestnut. A coating of garlic and parsley finished the dish, and the aioli was a nice touch.

We'd ordered all of the three skewers that were on the happy hour menu, and they came out at once. I didn't get to try the oyster skewer, but the single bite of panko-crusted calamari I had was tender and perfectly fried. I liked the charred shishito peppers and fat shiitake mushrooms too—each bite was earthy, intensely smoky, almost bitter.

The last thing we'd ordered was the country pate, which came out with more grilled bread and accompaniments of grainy mustard, greens, and cornichons. You can't really tell in this photo, but this was a fairly large slab—maybe a few centimeters thick and a little bigger than the size of a playing card deck. This is definitely a hearty appetizer, especially at the same price as the foie gras terrine.

Both of us were getting full at this point, but we'd had our hearts set on ramen all along, and so even after all that food somehow it wasn't a question that we would still head over to Sushi Den. Though there was a busy crowd that night, we were seated at the sushi bar after only about twenty minutes. Hot hand towels and water were set down before us, as well as little bowls of a refreshing cucumber and squid salad.

But wait! There was udon on the menu, but again, no sign of ramen. We flagged down a server and once more made an inquiry, and his reply? To try Ototo Den, "because they're still serving it." ES and I shook our heads and, with sadness, filled in our server on the situation.

No matter. Since we were already sitting we figured there were other intriguing items to try, including the Dynamite, which ES checked off on the sushi bar menu immediately, explaining that he orders this appetizer every time. Shrimp, button mushrooms, and tiny scallops blanketed in a thick, creamy layer of broiled mayonnaise—sure, what's not to love? The richness of the dish made eating too much of it at once a little bit sickening, but it was nonetheless a trashily delicious indulgence.

The meat in the Kobe Beef Roll, paired with lettuce, asparagus, mayo, and a sprinkling of shichimi, was thinly sliced, marinated in a sweet soy-based sauce, and tasted exactly like Korean bulgogi. While it was good, it really wasn't all that special—the beef could have been any beef, and the roll was hastily constructed and already unraveling when it reached us.

Better was the Tuna Firecracker Roll, filled with tuna, avocado, and cucumber and paved with wasabi tobiko, and then topped with cilantro, shallots, and slices of raw jalapeno. Normally I'm not a fan of fusion-y Japanese food like this, but something about the flavors really worked, with the jalapeno adding freshness, crunch, and heat. I admired the rice, too, which was perfectly done—each warm grain flavorful and distinct but also melding together with the ingredients to create a tasty mouthful.

By now we'd eaten so much food I was about to burst, but nonetheless out came the "new style" salmon roll, where the raw fish had been quickly passed through hot oil seasoned with ginger and scallion—just enough to warm up the fish and lightly cook the outside. These tender pieces arrived draped over a roll that held asparagus, cucumber, and avocado, and I really enjoyed the interplay of textures and temperatures in each bite.

Thankfully, that was the end of our meal. Somehow ES and I had managed to consume two dinners in one evening, our brains believing that because each plate had been so small, and that so many had been billed as appetizers, we hadn't eaten as much as we really had. Our groaning bellies told the truth, though, and though we'd had no ramen that night, we'd definitely had plenty else to satisfy, and how.

Back at it

Soft serve sampler from Momofuku Milk Bar in the East Village: horchata, red velvet, old-fashioned donut, cereal milk flavors; caramelized corn flakes, toasted coconut, and cinnamon sugar toppings. Consumed, with friends, January 2011.

Readers, I've mentioned this before, but you really don't know how sad I was that I was unable to keep up Salty/Savory/Sweet for the last few years. Those of you who follow me (anyone still out there?) know that I rely on this blog to serve as a document of my adventures, both in eating and in life, as well as a record of my success or failure with the recipes I try. Unfortunately, the work involved in pursuing my fiction MFA degree while teaching simply made regular attention to this blog impossible. It's all appropriate, I suppose, but it didn't make my prolonged departure from this venue any easier.

Polish meal at Karczma in Greenpoint, Brooklyn: white borchst; pickle soup; stuffed cabbage; pierogis; kielbasa; sauteed cabbage; and roasted ham hock in beer. Consumed, with friends, January 2011. We followed this meal with donuts from Peter Pan.

But hey! I've submitted and defended my thesis, and am due to graduate at the end of the semester. My workload has lessened, which means I now—finally—have time again to restart this blog. So stay tuned, willya? Posts on recent Denver-area eating are forthcoming: a buffet at a casino nestled deep in the mountains; a burger so large and juicy that I needed a stack of napkins to consume it; a cream-cheese frosted cinnamon roll as large as my face; and a buffalo wing joint that also serves an extensive menu of Cambodian and Indonesian food. An upcoming weekend in Taos, New Mexico promises encounters with Pueblo green chili and the slopper, and I'll also be back in NYC for a visit in May, armed with a long list of places I want to try or revisit.

Hotpot at home: consumed, with family, Christmas 2010. Who needs ham or a roasted bird?

In the meanwhile, here are the rest of the Coloradoan restaurant profiles I've written since the last roundup:


"Big Al's Burgers and Dogs serves up satisfying fare"
"A Mediterranean feast awaits diners in Old Town"
"Ace Gillette's Lounge indulges sophisticated pleasures"
"BBQ Buffet: Nordy's a comfort food haven"


"Vincent Heavenly Pies and Pasta serve it up in an elegant atmosphere"
"Farmer's Table fills you up with no-fuss comfort food"
"Souza's Smokin' BBQ should be on your radar"
"Fresh choices make Little Bird Bakeshop irresistible"

So there it is—I'm excited, are you? See you soon!