I have three foodie friends whose names begin with R, and Tuesday night I went to Sketch for the second time with one of them. So, I’ve been to Sketch twice with two different Rs. Got that?
On my first visit to Sketch, in mid-January, the small restaurant was packed. We sat at the back by the only bathroom, where it was quieter. My friend Ruth Tobias was interviewing the man who was redoing the wine list, and we were well attended to. I had a refreshing Prosecco with pear, and she ordered a couple of the spicier red wines, a taste we share. We sampled two cheeses, one of which, the Gouda with nettles, had an intriguing herbal flavor. 
And then we had homemade pasta in a crimini mushroom sauce. The dish featured a light, flavorful mushroom sauce with slivers of zucchini and parmesan, and I was pleased that the chef gave me a small portion. I get tired of the huge amounts of pasta served at some restaurants. 
It was much quieter at Sketch the second time I ate there, on Tuesday. R2 and I would have sat on the patio, but the sun was too blinding at 5 pm, so we went inside to the bar. She tried to order a Roederer sparkling wine but was handed a glass of red wine. When it turned out that the bottle of wine she really wanted had gone flat and they didn’t have one on ice, she got the Segura Viudas Brut Rose Cava instead. I saw “blood orange soda” on the menu and ordered that, made by Rième, a French company that was new to me. I took home the bottle because (1) it was all curvy and (2) Sketch doesn’t recycle.
R2 ordered the pasta with mushrooms, and it looked pretty much the same as the one I had, although she got a larger serving and there were no long slivers of vegetables across the pasta.
The warm brussels sprouts salad was pleasing enough, and simple enough, that I thought I’d try to make it at home. 
Its base, mixed greens in balsamic vinaigrette, was softened by the addition of butternut squash cubes and figs and contrasted with the firmer brussels sprouts leaves. (You can find a few of them in the picture, around the edges. There weren’t as many as I expected.) The last three ingredients were sautéed with something spicy and tossed with the greens and caramelized onions and toasted hazelnuts. I liked the mixture of warm and cool, sweet and spicy and sour, crunchy and silky.
We paid up and walked down Broadway to Delite because one restaurant just wasn’t enough. By then the sun had gone behind the buildings on Broadway, so we could sit in the garage door–style window and watch passersby stare at us. I ordered a rather dull Gruet sparkling wine to go with the mac and cheese, and R2 got spicy edamame and a glass of Clean Slate riesling.
We sat by the DJ and listened to 1980s tunes. You’d think the salad from Sketch would have filled me up, especially after the stomach shrinkage caused by 4 chemo treatments, but the mac, served in a small cast iron pan, had a creamy truffle sauce that I couldn’t resist. I liked it much more than Sputnik’s version, which was rather dry.
and My Brother’s Bar at the corner of 15th and Platte and has painted concrete floors and walls lined with booths.
and a mother and child who were waiting for Dad to come out of the kitchen, in his chef’s whites and a NY cap. My table was dotted with glass and illuminated by the window to its left. Mona’s is full of light and talk. I could hear the voices of diners around the corner, including the distinct voice of one man.
The vinaigrette was just a little sweet. The English muffin I ordered to bulk things up was white bread, naked, lightly toasted, and hot—a perfect combination.
instead of the scramble and then regretted getting yet another sweet in a season of sweets. At least I had the sense to leave some of the 3 generously sized blueberry flapjacks on the plate; I did finish the lovely lemon whipped cream and most of the pure maple sugar, for which I paid $1.50 extra.
Even so, I would have taken it as it was, taco salad bowl and all, but for the romaine strips scattered all over it. That was a little too much new American cuisine. The green chile was spicy enough for me (translation: not too much), the eggs were perfectly scrambled, and the taco bowl, broken up, made great thick chips. But it just didn’t come together into the squishy layered thing.
I had to rest my camera on the bar itself in order to get any semblance of focus, and that was at ISO 1600.
thick with a cheesiness to some of the bites that couldn’t be explained simply by the parmesan shavings on top.
As soon as you walk in past the old garage doors, you see the ice cream (outside the left margin of the picture above). But it’s not just a coffee and desserts shop. It also sells artisan breads and prepared meals such as the thin-crust pizza that tempted Todd, along with Mini-Moos cheese from Canon City and pasta and novelty items such as Too Haute Cowgirls candied popcorn. I was amused by the subtitle, “Hellbent for Chocolate.”
Jessica George painted this Cubism-meets-Abstract-Symbolism piece. (The colors are not true. My camera wasn’t allowing me to adjusting aperture and shutter speed—just a slight drawback.)
that I actually sat down in the restaurant and had a proper meal. I’m not yet willing to award it the title of best Indian restaurant in the Denver Metro area. Possibly because of nostalgia, I’d still give that title to Royal Peacock in Boulder.
we sat in the main room, facing the wine display. There’s a bar upstairs where they have karaoke on Wednesdays. It’s more laid-back upstairs, though I wouldn’t call the main floor formal, just elegant.
The peas, onions, potatoes, carrots, and bell peppers spiced with cardamom were hot and slightly firm but not at all spicy, as we’d asked.
It was a novel sensation for me, tasting Tandoori spices on a relatively tender steak, and I would recommend it for that reason alone. But it was also very good, although the “lemon potatoes” should have been called “rosemary potatoes.” Todd thought my saag was heartier than most, and the blend of garlic, onion, and turmeric still tasted as good the next day.
The blue cheese and hot sauce on the fries seemed like an afterthought, but the sliders had this tender, moist meat that I still dream about.
I changed my mind. It may have been the combination of potato and cheddar and bacon that made the difference. I ate most of them and left the truffle fries for Todd. Again, the topping there seemed incidental.
Todd’s salad dressing had enough garlic and anchovy to be spicy and rich, whereas the veggie bowl was merely spicy without a lot of coconut or other flavor to make up for it.
The small house salad (overpriced at $3.95) huddled next to it; the cilantro ranch dressing tasted of hot pepper rather than cilantro.
and a large beige-and-black chessboard hung diagonally over the counter where you place your orders. Tucked in between the counter and the tables is the coffee roaster. 
The smoking room is off to the left, and there is a cheery bathroom. 
(I have a thing about photographing bathrooms. Someday I’ll do a Denver bathrooms series.) There is a wine bar next door that has a separate entrance.
I heard him calling. Maybe he was lonely in there with the eggplant and potatoes from Colorado and the last of the Rocky Ford cantaloupe and the lemons from California. I paused to look for the source of the voice and ended up going inside.
I tried the doors, but they were locked. There’s not much else nearby except empty storefronts, 1 bar, the Hot House (open for breakfast, the sign says), 
and Krav Maga at 29th. 
A sign on the Strategy Room said it would be opening October 2nd.
I walked up to 32nd, where I found the offices of the Women’s Bean Project in the old Denver Fire Station No. 10. 
On my way back down to 31st, I saw one man striding through the park and a woman playing with her dog. Otherwise the park and pool were quiet, 
waiting for the sun to bring people back.
Blackberries is pretty big as coffeehouses go. Tall windows in the front bathe the piano in light (the same piano played during the gig by Dr. Tone and the Notes at the 
Two people were working the ice cream counter, a little girl was exploring while her mother had a meeting, and other patrons spoke softly to each other at their tables by the windows.
I enjoyed the crisp bread and spicy mayo on that first bite, which was really good, though farther into the sandwich I thought the turkey must have come out of a plastic package.
were able to discuss the way forward for the next year. Adam Brock of 
I ordered a shot of Tesoro de Don Felipe añejo and enjoyed its smoky goodness, as usual. (The first time I ever had it was at 3 Margaritas, in a tiny brandy snifter too small to accommodate my nose. This time, thankfully, the tequila came in a shot glass.) The chips were nothing special, though according to Todd they were homemade, and the salsa was medium.
By the end of dinner, I was so relaxed I couldn’t get too worked up about the missing flan either. Instead we went home and dreamt of Mexican beaches on the Riviera Maya, and we were content.
The tamarind was so red I didn’t recognize it; usually it’s brown. The mint-jalapeno chutney was refreshing, and both chutneys were spicy. Not what I expected, considering how the website mentions the chef’s “low threshold for chili.”
the pattern created by slicing it in half was beautiful. They were best hot, just come from the kitchen, but they were still decent well into the meal.
(When the waitress brought it, she asked, “Are you going to take a picture of this too?” I said I was, and as you can see, I did.) The chicken pate was stuffed with sautéed chicken, broccoli, and cabbage. Although the pastry was a bit doughy on the inside, the pate was hot and the broccoli crisp all the way through. Toward the middle, I began to notice a little spice on the chicken pieces; the cabbage, which I think had been boiled or sautéed with onion beforehand, had a good firm texture.
