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Shape Shifter

Yes, cabbage can add a punch. Head to these four restaurants to the taste it for yourself.

It may not be the sexiest of vegetables, but cabbage can transform a dish—whether it’s the center of attention or just a finishing touch. Taste for yourself how these four restaurants expertly use the leafy plant to add punch to their menus.

Uncle’s house-made kimchi—the pungent, healthy, cabbage-based Korean staple—delivers the bitter counterpunch rich ramen soup demands. A week of fermenting Napa cabbage, scallions, and carrots coated in salt, sugar, and Uncle’s kimchi paste transforms the humble veggie into a deliciously funky condiment. The kimchi is added to broth with wheat noodles, shredded pork shoulder, and slow-poached egg. Raw cabbage, sprinkled on top, gives the meal a fresh, crunchy finish. 2215 W. 32nd St., 303-433-3263,

Masterpiece Delicatessen
The main attraction of Masterpiece Delicatessen’s seared ahi tuna sandwich may be the spicy togarashi-rubbed fish, but it’s the sweet Asian slaw that ties it all together. Prepared by cold pickling cabbage and carrots in rice wine vinegar, sugar, and salt, the crunchy salad offsets the tuna’s spiciness and the sharpness of the wasabi aïoli—resulting in a lovely balance of flavors tucked into a toasted English muffin. 1575 Central St., 303-561-3354; 1710 Sherman St., 303-832-5555,

Belvedere’s cozy dining room emulates a classic European cafe, and the restaurant’s golabki, or stuffed cabbage rolls, are no less authentic. This age-old comfort food is prepared by boiling green cabbage leaves in salt water and folding them snugly around a filling of rice, ground pork, sautéed onions, and black pepper. After baking, the rolls are topped with a traditional paprika tomato sauce and served with roasted potatoes for a complete, hearty Polish meal. 323 24th St., 720-974-4052,

Continental Deli
It’s easy to overlook Continental Deli’s pickled red cabbage salad amid the high-quality meats, German pastries, and shelves lined with European delicacies. But that would be a mistake. A unique take on the traditional Eastern European dish, Continental’s salad is made by stewing pickled red cabbage with bay leaves, lemon juice, brown sugar, and white vinegar. Try adding the cabbage to a toasted club sandwich for an accompaniment that’s both sweet and tangy. 250 Steele St., 303-388-3354,

Image by Tessa Trager/Trunk Archive

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Shape Shifter

Satchel’s on 6th searches for an identity.

Satchel’s on 6th

1710 E. Sixth Ave.

The DrawA laid-back, come-as-you-are neighborhood restaurant with a diverse, seasonally driven menu.

The DrawbacksThe kitchen is inconsistent, and the atmosphere is a confusing work in progress.

Don’t Miss Goat cheese sticks, butternut squash risotto, venison shank, bread pudding.

Price $$$ (Average price per entrée: $23)


You could argue that all restaurants, on some level, are works in progress. Menus evolve. Chefs come and go. The server who always remembers your name gets lured away by bigger tips downtown. But these are minor tweaks in the major scheme of things. Smart restaurateurs know that most diners don’t like change. Once customers find a spot with the perfect cassoulet, boutique wine list, and flattering lighting, they want all three elements to remain the same, thank you very much.

This is especially true in dining markets where new and noteworthy restaurants open with astonishing regularity. Simply put: If diners don’t get what they’ve come to expect, they ain’t gonna come back.

This is the uncomfortable challenge Satchel’s on 6th faces. The restaurant, owned by Andrew Casalini, 39, has great bones—a five-year history of success in its previous incarnation as Satchel’s Market in Park Hill, an inviting, exposed-brick, glass-front space, and a Country Club/Cheesman Park location filled with enthusiastic diners accustomed to finely wrought cuisine. Barolo Grill and Fruition, two of Denver’s best, are located just blocks away.

But while Satchel’s bones are good, its body has yet to fill out. Some dishes arrive with fresh and flawless execution. Others feel like last night’s leftovers. One night, the walls inside the tiny, 10-table restaurant are self-consciously bare. Two weeks later, there’s art for sale! Pulsating music! A video projector showing French films! It’s like watching your teenage daughter trying to decide if she’s the pale brooding type in skinny black jeans, or a girly girl who loves Uggs and emoticons.

Casalini admits Satchel’s is evolving, that he’s constantly tweaking lighting and acoustics, and that he’s not entirely sure whether the films will remain. A little dialing up or pulling back is fine—even expected—in a new venture. But a restaurant should not be an ongoing project, especially when you’re asking diners to pony up $23 for an entrée, or about $100 for a typical meal for two. Something else that’s a no-no at this—or any—price: allowing the chef’s 10-year-old daughter to race around the restaurant, occasionally stopping to play server. She came to my table twice one busy Friday night and, as cute and engaging as she was, I wasn’t about to tell a 10-year-old that one entrée had been forgotten or that we needed a second glass of wine.

The missteps in atmosphere put the responsibility for luring repeat customers on chef Kurt Boucher and his menu of seasonally driven cuisine. Conceptually, he’s up to the challenge. The menu contains a mix of the mirthful (an appetizer of duck fat french fries tossed, East Coast style, in salt and vinegar), and the mature (a fork-tender venison shank slowly braised in red wine). I especially admire Boucher’s willingness to take standard menu items such as goat cheese and duck confit into unexpected territory. One of my favorite dishes— the crunchy, panko-coated goat cheese sticks—combines these very ingredients in an appetizer that is both tangy and succulent, and is offset by the sweet acidity in the accompanying tomato sauce.

Boucher, 40, is new to the Mile High City, having spent the last 20 years cooking at various high-altitude spots in the Roaring Fork Valley. At Satchel’s, he’s clearly enjoying the availability of seasonal Front Range produce. His fall menu took full advantage of autumn favorites such as butternut squash (in the creamy and flawlessly al dente risotto), mushrooms (a mix of local chanterelle and lobster mushrooms in the light crêpe appetizer), and apples (in the cinnamony apple sauce used to top the pork tenderloin).

But although the thinking behind each dish is solid, execution is another story. While I liked most every dish on the fall menu, I didn’t love them because every hit was accompanied by a miss. The pork tenderloin was well cooked, but the bacon-and-panko coating overwhelmed the meat with a layer of crunch so extreme it was almost painful to chew. The scallops were dusted with a fragrant, house-made pumpkin powder, but they were overcooked and gummy. The carrot purée served with the venison shank was sweet and colorful, but so thin it dripped through the fork. (Perhaps it should have been called carrot cream?) One week the roasted beet salad came with a tantalizing, peppery farmers’ market arugula; the next week, I could barely taste the greens, causing me to wonder if Boucher had substituted a commercial variety for local produce.

You get the idea.

When Boucher does strike the right balance—as he did with the poblano pepper stuffed with a colorful mélange of cuminy black beans and square-cut zucchini, squash, and red pepper, and topped with light crema fresca—the effect is hugely satisfying. But this culinary symmetry doesn’t happen often enough.

For their part, the Satchel’s waitstaff does an impressive job trying to overcome these deficiencies and make diners feel welcome. In fact, servers were the high point of every visit—which is something I’ve never written in a review. All too often in Denver restaurants, the kitchen and concept are working, but the servers can’t pull it together. At Satchel’s, it’s just the opposite.

When you combine the inconsistency in the kitchen with the indecisiveness at the front of the house, the net effect is impatience—and impatient diners can easily take their business elsewhere.

Fixing the flaws is far from impossible. With a bit more focus, confidence, and care, the cozy and reliable neighborhood joint Casalini is striving for could become a reality. The question is: How long are diners willing to wait?