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- Where:
- 2601 Larimer St., Denver (RiNo)
- The Draw:
- A vibrant steak house with global influences, fun retro decor, and reasonable prices
- The Drawback:
- Some of the non-steak dishes fall short
- Noise Level:
- Medium
- What To Order:
- Tri-tip with chorizo (or any of the steaks), green chile cheese potatoes, interactive drinks
Dana Rodriguez’s story has become Denver legend, at least to those in the restaurant world. Here’s the four-sentence recap, in case you haven’t heard about the chef-restaurateur’s rise: A single mom leaves Mexico in 1998 to give her three daughters a better life in the United States. After getting ghosted for a job at Casa Bonita (foreshadowing!), she’s hired as a dishwasher at Panzano, where her hard work and talent turn chef Jennifer Jasinski’s head. Jasinski goes on to open Rioja, where Rodriguez rises through the ranks. She eventually ascends to executive chef at Jasinski’s Bistro Vendôme before opening her own RiNo restaurants, Work & Class and Super Mega Bien—and, oh, earning six James Beard Award nominations along the way.
Rodriguez’s experience bears repeating, especially with aggressive U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids occurring at the time of this writing. Asked if she thinks her life and career trajectory could happen now, she says no. “Our challenges are a lot worse than before. You gain respect from people with your work ethic, but these days, there’s only so much you can do,” Rodriguez says. “I would never be able to accomplish [that today].”
Thankfully for anyone who’s tasted her from-the-heart food (which also fills the menu at the relaunched Casa Bonita, where she accepted a high-profile role as culinary partner in 2021 ahead of its 2023 reopening), Rodriguez was given the opportunity to earn her integral place in Colorado’s culinary community.
I imagine there are constraints on Rodriguez’s role at Casa Bonita, but at Carne—the global steak house she opened in RiNo last summer—the culinary playbook is wide open.
It’s her rules, her menu, her swagger. Which is probably why the place feels more like a sexy 1970s basement than a stuffy red-meat palace. And why the bread service comes with coriander-, cumin-, and chile-heavy salsa macha alongside the herbed butter.
Most diners come to Carne for the steaks, which range from a well-priced tri-tip all the way up to a baller-level tomahawk. That tri-tip, served with romesco sauce and a custom-made link of Polidori chorizo, is the perfect introduction to Rodriguez’s cooking (if you need one). The dish is a little rowdy and a little classic; the fiery red-pepper-based sauce and chorizo keeps the chimichurri-rubbed steak on its toes.
Another cut, the six-ounce filet, was so tender I barely needed my butter knife to slice through it. I chose the smokey rub, which tasted as promised, and while the steak was beautiful on its own—a perfect sea-salt-speckled rare—it was even better dunked in the citrusy steak sauce.
The cook on my lamb T-bone was a little over, though, so it benefited from the accompanying peppery cognac and cream sauce. While the steaks are a constant on the menu, other proteins change seasonally, like that lamb preparation and the delicious (but winter-only) duck confit. You’ll need to wait a couple of months, but once the orange- and cardamon-glazed thighs are back on the menu, grab the dish—it’s one of the best in town.
Parts of the adobo-roasted half chicken (which diners deconstruct themselves) on the summer menu were flavorful and moist, especially the charred, crispy-skinned dark meat, which you’ll want to eat right off the bone. But save the creamy queso fresco and ají amarillo pepper sauce for the white meat, which got drier the deeper we dove into the breast.
This is a steak house, so of course there are à la carte sides. My favorite is the green chile cheese potatoes—oh so Denver, but also just a great idea. The kicky take on potatoes au gratin isn’t overly heavy, but it does involve a Parmesan cream sauce bath, so it’s not like you’re eating a virtuous baked potato here.
The drinks program is especially amusing: The tableside martini cart comes with a side of vintage Playboy magazines, and the wine “list” is actually a full wall. For the vino, you walk up and browse the librarylike arrangement, plucking a bottle right off the zig-zag shelves based on the label, short caption, and pricing (which ranges from $35 to more than $100).
The interaction is intentional, as Rodriguez wants Carne to be a restaurant where you participate, rather than merely being served. That’s why the decor revolves around old-school tube TVs, record players, and psychedelic art instead of white tablecloths and high-backed chairs.
Carne is vibrant, energetic, almost scrappy—much like Rodriguez herself, a woman who took a chance in a new and unfamiliar country, who went from washing dishes to orchestrating them. Hers is the story we once called the American dream, a now-endangered piece of folklore. At Carne, at least, the tale continues.
