While I now count myself a fan of Izakaya Den, I’ll admit it took me awhile to get on the bus. My first couple of visits there were disappointing, though I was unable to articulate to myself exactly why.
Perhaps I’d allowed my expectations to rise irresponsibly, what with glowing word of mouth from friends and enthusiastic reviews online and elsewhere. I’d really been looking forward to eating there.
A progressive, contemporary restaurant in the tradition of the izakaya, a sort of pub-meets-tapas bar where you drink for a few hours at a stretch with a small-plates menu by your side, ordering bites of this and nibbles of that as the evening wears on — what could be better?
But the place, well, it bored me. Not because it was boring; quite the opposite. I was bored the way I get when an action movie adds one too many plot twists and I lose track of who’s the good guy and who’s the bad guy, so I give up and wish I could just leave.
The spiraling menu of so-called “Mediterranean-Japanese fusion tapas” bewildered me. The loud, apparently disjointed three-ring room and its aural assertiveness disquieted me. The consistent insistence of the wait staff that everything on the menu was “awesome” irritated me. The stop-start pace of the meal, with plates arriving in twos and threes, then ones, then nones, made me feel like I didn’t know what I was doing, which I didn’t. The almost absurd complexity of the dishes (ginger waffle topped with Szechuan-blackened arctic char with ruby red grapefruit-basil beurre blanc and tamari whipped cream) left me rudderless.
And the green tea martini that a friend ordered was so unpalatable it actually ticked me off.
But everyone else liked it so much. It must be me, I figured. I just wasn’t hip to it yet. I had to keep trying. After all, these days I’m not exactly what Madison Avenue calls an early adopter. I’m still trying to get with the skinny jeans trend, two seasons after it’s over.
After two visits and no epiphany, I wondered whether the praise being heaped upon Izakaya Den was actually residual praise for its parent restaurant, the beloved Sushi Den across the street.
(Full disclosure: While I like the Sushi Den just fine, I don’t believe it to be the Second Coming that so many of its more enthusiastic fans do. But I certainly respect the place, a Denver landmark that’s been jammed for years.)
I decided to change my approach. Rather than coming in a group of four or five, I decided to come with just one friend. I’d turn away from the throbbing room, letting the wrap-dressed scenester mayhem fade into white-noise tapestry behind me and sit at the bar facing the open kitchen.
I’d politely ignore my server, who was determined that I should order the crispy tuna, the edamame, that blasted ginger waffle with arctic char and 17,000 other ingredients.
No, I’d order modestly: miso soup. Agedashi tofu. Sashimi with fresh Japanese wasabi. Green beans. Mussels. Stretching just a bit, hoisin duck crostini. Beer.
A few bites into that excellent meal, I finally understood Izakaya Den. Even more, I fell for it.
I realized that Izakaya Den isn’t significant because of its cooking, although the cooking is all-pro. Izakaya Den matters because it vigorously acknowledges the end of our collective misguided understanding that “Japanese food” and “sushi” are synonyms. And it makes the point that contemporary Japanese cuisine is, like any great global cuisine, alive.
Japanese cuisine in Japan isn’t static. It isn’t stuck in the 16th, or 19th or even the 20th century. It’s a vibrant, evolving entity, embracing influences from every corner of the globe. Why should Japanese cuisine in America be any different?
Yes, Izakaya Den’s menu has its share of ubiquitous, yawn-inducing items — sashimi with jalapeño, crunchy tuna, miso-glazed cod — things that were interesting 15 years ago but could now do with a stint on the back burner.
And it has its share of over-wrought fusion dishes, like the crispy Serrano ham and goat cheese napoleon with pumpkin seeds, the curried lobster in an apricot veloute, and the downright bizarre beef tenderloin in puff pastry with tarragon and ginger, a clunky Stroganoff-cum- Wellington that could stand some serious editing.
But the menu also has an unexpected, brilliant crab panzanella, crunchy-sweet with plum wine vinaigrette and pistachios. A soft, saffron-roasted mahi-mahi with akatosaka seaweed and spargel (white asparagus). Beef medallions with watermelon and mint. Roasted monkfish with blood orange balsamic.
And that unskippable sashimi with fresh wasabi.
Too many Japanese restaurants get a pass these days, hawking chewy cuts of fish and ridiculously gimmicky rolls that do little more than serve as soy sauce and powdered-wasabi delivery systems and do not further our understanding of the depth and nuance of 21st century Japanese cooking.
Not so Izakaya Den, which is why it is not just a very good restaurant, but potentially an important one. In amongst all the glitz, it is deepening our experience and furthering our understanding of contemporary global cuisine.
Are there improvements Izakaya Den could make? Certainly. I’d like to see a smaller daily menu and more specials. I’d rather the servers pushed the burdock salad and not the crispy tuna. I wish the way-front of the house, the folks that greet and seat you, were more attentive and efficient.
And while I’m a committed advocate for creativity, in cooking and in cocktails, I’m stumped on what to say about that green martini. Perhaps with nothing nice to say, I’ll follow every grandmother’s advice and clam up.
But Izakaya Den, if properly approached (come with just one friend, sit at the bar and watch the chefs, order modestly, and drink beer or sake), is one of my new favorite restaurants.
Here’s hoping they’ll still have a seat for me as it continues its predictable, deserved ascent.
Tucker Shaw: 303-954-1958 or dining@denverpost.com
Izakaya Den
Japanese. 1518 S. Pearl St., 303-777-0691
*** RATING | Great
Atmosphere: Busy, noisy big restaurant with several seating areas.
Service: Friendly and enthusiastic, if occasionally scattered.
Wine: Large sake list; ask for suggestions.
Plates: Small plates, all under $20 but you’ll order a few.
Hours: 5-10:30 p.m. Sunday-Thursday; 5 p.m. to midnight Friday-Saturday.
Details: All credit cards. Reservations only for large parties; no reservations on weekends. Valet or street parking.
Four visits.
Our star system:
****: Excellent
***: Great
**: Very Good
*: Good
