Wild game’s a civilized way to eat
By RALPH MILLIS, THE GAZETTE

EDITOR’S NOTE: This will be Ralph Millis’ last review for The Gazette. He plans to move out of state to pursue a teaching job. We asked that, for his final review, he choose a restaurant with regional flavor. Not surprisingly, he chose the Craftwood Inn in Manitou Springs. Although Ralph doesn’t give fork or star ratings because they’re almost impossible to use with consistency, he would give The Craftwood the highest rating on any scale.

    Germans call them, literally, “wild” restaurants. They are a culinary tradition in Europe, where hares, roe deer, stags, pheasants, reindeer, pigeons and other wild animals represent food habits dating to prehistory.

    Wild game restaurants are rare in the United States, which is a shame since many of our traditional recipes such as Brunswick stew began as vehicles for deer, squirrels, wild turkey and stray possums only to end up today as a nicely balanced, middle-of-the-road vegetable and beef/chicken/pork loin ragout.

    This is a shame, because the tastes of game are elemental, at the core of life — this is what Noah ate at the barbecue beside the ark’s shuffleboard court on his Ararat Lines 40-day cruise to exotic destinations.

    We’re lucky in the Springs, though, because we have a world-class game restaurant serving a distinctive Colorado menu. Craftwood Inn was one of the first places I tried when I came to Colorado Springs nine years ago, so it seems appropriate that my last Gazette review is of Craftwood circa 2004.

    Farm-raised wild game — much of it native to Colorado or other areas of the Rocky Mountain region — and ingredients indigenous to the Southwest are at the core of the menu. Let me be clear from the get-go: This is terrific food, as great as, or better than, the best of the few other fine restaurants in town.

    So clear the decks, because I’m going to walk you through — and recommend — the meal our party of four recently enjoyed at Craftwood.

    Begin with the combination appetizer ($35, serves four to six generously), four very different, but complementary, choices from the first pages of the menu.

    You’ve never tasted anything like the Pistachio Pesto Ravioli — huge, freshly stuffed pasta pillows, al dente and toothsome Italia inside.

    Then jump to the Roulade of Venison, marinated assertive collops rolled around artichoke hearts and flash grilled — this is so good you’ll bite your tongue in your enthusiasm.

    The Wild Game Quesadillas will ruin Tex-Mex quesadillas for you forever; served with a crunchy corn relish, a thick mound of crushed spicy black beans, and crème fraîche that tastes almost like Devonshire cream, these are the best I’ve ever tasted.

    With apologies to Churchill, finally go to “the end of the beginning” and savor the Sautéed Loin of Ostrich, a marinated, thick, crust-seared large loin oval cut into eight or so one-inch strips. It’s rich and wonderful (no, it doesn’t taste like chicken). This is a great way to introduce yourself to a new red-meat sensation. Try it and you’ll understand why a breeding pair of ostriches can cost thousands of dollars.

    Now, take a break with a salad. You can hail Caesar ($6), an unusual version with tomato slices ringing the plate, but the garlicky parmigiano taste and viscosity of the dressing are classic, as is the garnish of whole anchovy fillets.

    Or you can opt for the Craftwood salad ($5) made up of crunchy green things, freshly torn — select the raspberry vinaigrette dressing, one of the smoothest, gentlest melded versions I’ve had in a while; it goes stunningly well with the slightly bitter greens mixed in with the more traditional leaves.

    Better still — and more daringly — go for the Hearts of Yucca, Chayote and Nopal salad ($10), a huge bowl of bitter greens, crisp fried yucca, crunchy pear-like chayote slices, and strips of parboiled fresh nopal (peeled cactus pads). It’s garnished with individual endive leaves and tomatoes, and tossed with a pricklypear cactus dressing. The latter is the color of beet or pomegranate juice, but with a natural sweetness that is unique.

    This salad is filled with natural Colorado, to the point where you might want to rethink the whole concept of “salad.”

    The main courses. Where to begin? I tried to talk the least adventurous member of our party out of ordering the Sage Seared Beef Tenderloin ($29). After all, the menu ran all the way from antelope to zebra (Just kidding, PETA! I meant venison!), so why order domesticated steer in a mecca of wild game? Well, I had to eat my words . . . and a few bites of her medium-rare tenderloin.

    This was the best steak I have had in southern Colorado — better than the steaks at places famous for them, better than places where they are the signature dish. Served with a sage-infused demiglace with shallots and morels, it was cooked perfectly and absolutely the heart of the tenderloin. This is worth a trip to Craftwood if you order nothing else. Stunning.

    And now for something completely different. The Honey Teriyaki Marinated Wild Boar ($28) with caramelized onions sounds a lot more complicated than it is. Frankly, the impact of the marinade and the onions was minimal: instead, what you get is the wildest of the wild. The chain of evolutionary descent from wild boars to the modern “other white meat” doesn’t speak much for 21st-century hog producers’ programmed in-breeding of their charges.

    The taste of the wild boar here is absolutely primal; surely this is what animal sacrifices must have tasted like after gods were propitiated.

    It’s like biting through the curtain of the world and swallowing it whole. Sorry, but only metaphor, not an “objective” description, can do it justice.

    The Pecan Crusted Venison ($27) in a merlot lingonberry sauce hides a secret. The pecans and sauce are nice, but they mask a treasure beneath. Scrape away most of the sauce and eat it on bread after you finish the large venison rounds. These are cooked perfectly — barely touched by heat, as the tender parts of venison must be. Seared briefly, only until the surface sets and the inside juices seal, the meat is startlingly tender. I have had rare-rare filet mignon tougher than this. And the taste? Pow! And no mistake! Now you know why true hunters hunt for the table and not for the trophy head.

    Can’t decide? The Wild Grill ($33) is a solution. You’ll get to try three game entrees so you can give the lie to the ignorant assertion that “All wild game tastes strong, and it all tastes the same.” Hah! The braised venison sausage is a sausage freak’s wildest dream. Very peppery, it has just enough added fat for tenderness; bite into one and you’ll see why some hunters have the entire carcass ground up to make savory links and patties, the heck with roasts and steaks and loins.

    Probably the mildest-tasting of the four-legged game animals on the menu here is the antelope. The Seared Loin on the Wild Grill is a great introduction to game dishes for folks who haven’t taken the plunge yet. To my taste, antelope is almost like the baby beef grills my family used to eat in Juarez back when I was a kid in the Pleistocene era.

    The Grilled Elk, however, was the standard for all the game dishes our group tried: Everyone liked it. Distinctive without being “weird,” as the youngest member of our party characterized it, the generous serving was, well, elegant. Afterward, I kept thinking that I would love to try elk steak unadorned, in the Florentine manner, i.e., seared very briefly on each side, touched with a few drops of extra-virgin olive oil, with a wedge of fresh lemon squeezed over.

    Believe it or not, even after feasting on — by my unofficial count — nine game and beef preparations and various other things magically appearing before us, we decided to share a couple of desserts. After all, what’s a little gluttony between friends?

    The Mixed Berries Romanoff ($6) is a substantial parfait of fresh berries, whipped cream, ice cream and who-knows-what-else. Good. The Mint Pie with Chocolate Meringue ($5.50) is beyond rich. Way beyond rich.

    Craftwood Inn, in short, is a local treasure. The game dishes, the quiet ambience, the carefully restored 1912 building, the thoughtfully selected wine list with recommendations paired with specific menu selections, are Old World in flavor and feel. Yet the game dishes, although traditional in spirit, provide a distinctly Colorado — distinctly American — fillip: the sauces are neither as heavy nor as sweet as many European game sauces, for instance. Eat here and begin to understand why in some cultures the actual act of eating is a sacrament.