Hop Alley Still Has It 10 Years In

Where:

3500 Larimer St., Denver (RiNo)

The Draw:

Riotous Chinese food in a hip-hop-inspired setting

The Drawback:

Plates can arrive in an odd order; some may find dishes too salty.

Noise Level:

Medium

What To Order:

Sichuan boiled beef, la zi ji, chile oil dumplings, and, for high rollers, the chef’s counter

There’s an industry joke that says an eatery’s age is measured in dog years. That would make Hop Alley, the RiNo Chinese spot turning 10 later this year, a septuagenarian. And yet it still somehow tastes and feels like the cool kid on the scene.

Tommy Lee opened Hop Alley in late 2015, when local diners and food media were glorifying—neurotically, sometimes obnoxiously—the chaste simplicity of farm-to-table cuisine. Hop Alley was…not that. The flavors were, and remain, in-your-face and complicated. The kitchen tricks out shrimp with earthy, zingy fermented bean paste and uses a heavy hand when sprinkling tongue-numbing Sichuan peppercorns into numerous dishes. And there’s salt—so much salt.

A decade in, more than a third of the dishes remain from the restaurant’s opening menu, and the vibe—all gritty hip-hop energy—hasn’t budged. So how is it still one of the most stylish restaurants going?

For one, Lee (also of Uncle ramen shop fame) was ahead of the curve: a fairly early RiNo adopter who wasn’t afraid to blast Biggie on the speakers or hang up a portrait of Ice Cube. Same with the messy boldness of the flavors, which took a sharp turn when almost everyone else was exalting that farm-to-table purity.

But there have been some changes. An early-2023 expansion added room for 20 more diners, and a six-seat chef’s counter debuted in February 2024. The counter essentially operates as a separate restaurant, where two chefs flex on a rotating eight-to-10-course menu that dips in and out of Asia for its influences.

My favorite dishes at those exclusive bar stools were the hiramasa crudo with salted plum granita, compressed apples, and buttermilk; the creamiest miso banana ice cream with brûléed banana and briny caviar; and the celery-root-stuffed pasta served in a pool of white wine sauce with a smattering of pickled mustard seeds. If you can’t imagine what those dishes might taste like, well, I’m right there with you. And I think that’s the point. You’re not spending $170 a head—before drinks, tax, and tip—to eat a perfectly cooked steak. You want to taste things you’ve never before experienced and may never again.

The hospitality is just as rarefied as the food at the counter, where the chefs and sommelier are totally dedicated to you, from customized pacing to chitchat preference to overall direction—while still providing theatrical flourish with each plate and drink. It’s a lot of money for dinner, especially when restaurants with a similar service style, like the Michelin-starred Wolf’s Tailor and the new Sushi by Scratch, cost about the same, but it’s certainly one of the most extraordinary dinners I’ve had in a while.

More predictable is Hop Alley’s regular menu, where chile oil dumplings and la zi ji—chunks of fried chicken thigh with toasty whole dry chiles and citrusy, mouth-numbing Sichuan peppercorns so potent the mere scent of the next table’s order got my tongue tingling—remain top sellers. Beware the dumplings; they’re seriously spicy. The seven calla-lily-shaped bundles have an ideal dough-to-pork-filling ratio, but the sauce will have even heat seekers sweating.

At the top of my list from a recent visit, though, is a relatively new item. The unfortunately named boiled beef is so much more vibrant and complex than its moniker lets on. Thin slices of flank steak are slow-simmered in doubanjang (fermented black bean and chile paste) broth alongside whole garlic cloves, kale, onion curls, and Sichuan peppercorns. Make sure you save some rice—cleverly delivered in traditional takeout boxes—for this one, because you’ll want to scoop up every drop of the deep crimson broth, even if it means temporarily losing your taste buds to those peppercorns.

Vegetable options are plentiful, both in number of choices and portion sizes. I like the gai lan: wilted Chinese broccoli dressed in schmaltz, Duck Salt, and oyster sauce and capped with Funyuns-esque fried shallots. The large size makes this one better for a group; my table of two was left with a soggy Funyuns-topped mound of broccoli by the end of dinner.

While the chef’s counter pacing was tailored to us, the regular restaurant’s was weird. One entrée arrived quickly, before the dumplings and broccoli and at least 20 minutes ahead of the beef. This also isn’t the spot for ordering individually, so make sure you’re accompanied by friends who don’t mind slurping from a shared bowl.

That’s part of the enduring appeal of Hop Alley, though: a camaraderie born of diners down with the clamor of adventurous flavors and a lively setting. Hop Alley is still packed and relevant 10 years in because it’s always done things its own way—and boldness never goes out of style.

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3 Wine Pairings at Hop Alley

Asian restaurant wine lists have long been overlooked, but Hop Alley’s caught the attention of the James Beard Foundation, which shortlisted it in the Outstanding Wine and Other Beverages Program category earlier this year. We asked sommelier Jacob Roadhouse how he picks bottles that live up to the restaurant’s most iconic dishes.

To go with: The tongue-tingling Sichuan peppercorns in the la zi ji
You want: Powerful, high-acid, full-bodied wines, like expressions of Chenin Blanc from France’s Loire Valley
Try: Jérôme Lambert Coule de Source ’22 ($118)

To go with: Sweeter dishes, like the hoisin-heavy Beijing duck roll
You want: A light-bodied Gamay to match the sweet, salty, and umami flavors
Try: Gamay Yann Bertrand ’22 ($88)

To go with: Everything, because, come on, you’re ordering the whole menu
You want: A versatile orange wine, which has the brightness of a white and the savory elements of a red
Try: Domaine Adrien Dacquin Mammouth ’22 ($64)