Entrepreneur June 201218| June 2012 Entrepreneur |19

Salt stays true to its earthy roots

By CarriE BaCh

An old, worn-out restaurant changes hands—the kind of place that has been dishing out mediocre burgers for years. The carpet is

threadbare; a musty-fried odor lingers on your shirt and in your hair after you leave. Yet despite its flaws we manage to love it, and when it’s gone we miss it. Restaurants close, and seldom do we ever remember what used to be there; the laughter at the table is forgotten, the chiming of glasses fades into the grease-stained walls. The customers move on, anticipating the next grand opening, and hoping for something fresh—a new addition to the neighborhood. So the story goes . . .

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June 2012 Red Raspberry Ink |21red raspberry ink June 201220|

people lined up around the corner in the final days, and i’m confident in saying it wasn’t the food that brought them there. don’t get me wrong, the burgers weren’t half bad, but Tom didn’t build this love-affair reputation from being the best around. it was the memories—the family dinners when they were kids, the burger-and-fry hangover remedy that got them through college, the cold beers shared among friends after a hike—that’s why people loved this place so much and why, unlike so many before, its memory lingers.

When chef Bradford Heap, owner of the acclaimed restaurant colterra in niwot, colo., decided to take over the spot in 2009, to create his casual, farm-to-table concept—simply named Salt—it was a no-brainer that he would incorporate the memory of Tom’s into the locally themed restaurant. Whether he did this purely for the sake of altru-ism or savvy marketing, there’s no doubt it was a good move. The history of the tavern is tangible inside Salt, and i couldn’t help but feel intoxicated by it. This, coupled with Salt’s commitment to sourcing local ingredients whenever possible, made me feel like i was doing the right thing just by choosing to eat there. its mantra is simple: The best food travels the shortest distance from farm to table. Read the menu and you know where your food, even your beer, is coming from. That’s refreshing.

Heap’s vision of sourcing locally didn’t end with the food; it translated into his earth-friendly approach toward renovating the tavern. He teamed up with Boulder-based ReSource, an architectural salvage and secondhand

building material depot, and gave new life to tiles, counters, glass shelves and doors. Heap even reused and recycled building materials from the original space wherever possible. The sagging floor joists were cleverly repurposed into doors and tables; the glass windows found a new home in the entrance of the restaurant as a visual room divider. But the true gem and focal point of the space is a perfectly preserved tin ceiling, hid-den for the last half of a century behind

recessed panels. The result is a warm, rustic dining area that elicits notes of a rich history, exudes comfort from the crackling sounds and smoky aromas of the wood oven and highlights a modern approach to dining with a seamless flow between kitchen and dining room.

i look around the restaurant; one man is slouching in his seat, legs crossed, flip-flops snapping against his heels, drinking a bubbling cocktail with a lemon wedge. another table laughs

loudly as one woman ashamedly admits she likes her tuna steak cooked well-done. Her friends erupt in laughter, shaking their heads at the audacity. There is an ease and comfort among my fellow diners—fresh freckles on their faces, and not a quiet table in sight. i can’t help but slip into the euphoria of the moment and forget about my kids, the babysitter, my job. i think only about the asparagus-pesto-prosciutto flatbread approaching my table as the effervescence from my pineapple Rum fizz bounces off the tip of my nose. our server places two salts in front of me: cyprus Sea and pink Himalayan. Since Salt is the restaurant’s name, i ignore the taboo about salting food when dining out, and i sprinkle half of my flatbread with each kind. i slip deeper into my euphoria. i’m a closet salter. i love the way a good salt (even a kosher salt) forces a dish to give me one more complex punch of flavor, like fin-ishing off pasta with a dash of good olive oil or adding a touch of cream to a steak au poivre sauce.

my girlfriends and i share a cheese plate from Haystack mountain, an artisanal cheese company based in nearby longmont, accompanied with a tangy, three-onion jam, grilled bread and mostarda. Haystack produces a refined goat cheese with a unique subtlety and smoothness, less overwhelming than its counterparts tend to be. We had three varieties: a traditional soft chèvre; the firmer Queso de mano, its consistency similar to a gouda; and Snowdrop, which has a clever, brie-like texture. i wave our attentive server back to the table and ask for more bread.

The seasonal menu changes several times a month depending on harvests; the only staple is the Tom’s Tavern burger, made with grass-fed beef, pickled onions and cheddar, and priced at an exorbitant $12, five bucks more than its once-thought-overpriced predeces-

sor. When i’m looking at a menu with alluring choices like prosciutto-wrapped alaskan cod in a tomato chardonnay broth and oak-fired meyer Ranch sirloin steak with fried artichokes and aged sherry, i don’t care how good that burger is—i’m here to indulge in originality and discover Salt’s true specialties. So burger, i do not.

everything on the menu looks equally enticing, so i defer to the wisdom of the server, who, without hesitation, says, “The long farm pork chop is the best on the menu.” Before i agree, i question her about the quality: “is it dry like pork al-most always is nowadays? How were the little piggies fed to ensure better-quality pork?” She doesn’t know, but she assures me my prejudices about pork will fade. “and pair it with a malbec,” she adds.

She is right, on both counts. With a fleeting smoky aroma, this grilled, simply seasoned, 2-inch thick chop with a mus-tard vinaigrette is simplicity refined, the way all pork should be, but rarely is.

The $15 homemade fettuccine with locally grown shiitake mushrooms from

Hazel dell, roasted asparagus and a delicate garlic flavor teases me with its small portion size—but this is its only shortfall. The specials tonight: a unique roast-ed lamb cannelloni, and a spring salad with perfectly grilled wild alaskan salmon atop a crusty italian bread. i can’t resist soaking up the last remnants of the herbal vinaigrette with my bread; the dish is reminiscent of a Tuscan panzanella, the flavors seductive and crisp. We finish with a parade of desserts. While the panna cotta lacks imagina-tion, the chèvre cheesecake inspires even the skeptics at the table. it is topped with candied pecan crumbles and balsamic-glazed strawberries that add the perfect amount of sweet to counter the tanginess of the goat cheese.

Heap towers behind the kitchen counter. He is tall, strong and intense in his kitchen, but gracious and at times almost out-

right silly with his customers. i glance his way and catch him dancing on the sidelines of the kitchen as a pan-roasted tilapia is plated; on another occasion he’s high-fiving my kids when he discovers they ate their whole meal.

Heap boasts an impressive résumé, but the high point from his formal culinary training was working with alain ducasse at the Hotel de paris in monte carlo, where Heap refined his knowledge and techniques of french cuisine. The menu at Salt, however, is inspired less from the traditional in-tensity of the french kitchen and more from northern italy, where, enchanted by the rustic and pastoral elements in the cuisine, Heap finished his european training. This simplicity, which should not be mistaken for unoriginality, is what i love about Salt. it is the kind of food i’m always in the mood to eat and that truly represents the passionate and utilitarian ways of both the italian and the colorado kitchen—seasonal, fresh and uncomplicated.

The best food travels the shortest distance from farm to table.

But Tom’s Tavern has a different story. The beloved Boulder, colo., eatery that sat on the corner of 11th and pearl for 50 years closed its doors in 2007, much to the disappointment of its loyal customers and the city of Boulder. after Tom eldridge, the restaurant’s namesake and owner, died of a brain tumor, the family decided to close the doors of this iconic burger joint and move on.

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