1. Entrepreneur June 201218| June 2012 Entrepreneur |19
Saltstays true to its
earthy roots
By Carrie Bach
Anold, 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 . . .
Salt’s dining room
includes many
reclaimed materials
from its predecessor
Tom’s Tavern

2. 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.

3. carrie bach
red raspberry ink
carrie@redraspberryink.com