An axiom: one always takes for granted the city where one lives. Parisians tire of Paris. Romans sigh forlornly at the prospect of another day in Rome. And New Yorkers, well, they’ll bitch endlessly about how much they hate New York – then bitch endlessly when they’re away about how nothing quite compares. So it is with Denver. We take for granted the summers that may be hot, but are never stiflingly humid. We may long to dine at Per Se in New York, take in a show at Teatro dell’Opera, and have an café au lait along the Champs-Elysees, but ignore what’s here in our own backyard.

Before kids and before Denver, my wife and I were travel fanatics, dashing off to Malaga for a long weekend, or maybe Budapest, or maybe London, and never thinking much of it. But this was when air travel was cheaper and babysitters unnecessary. As we ventured out this past Saturday to celebrate my wife’s birthday with dinner and drinks, we found ourselves missing that old life. We needn’t have.

First stop was Restaurant Kevin Taylor, where the maitre d’ quite generously moved our reservation to 6:00 from the absurdly early 5:15. (Find a restaurant that will do that in New York.) We spent the extra time at Larimer Square with an al fresco espresso. Sitting there, the evening just beginning, the air and light soft and pleasant, it dawned on my wife: “You know,” she said. “If we were in Paris right now, we’d be doing this exact same thing.” She was right, of course. Except we’d be paying a lot more for the privilege. Later, back at Kevin Taylor, we had foie gras and antelope (!), perfectly prepared, and perfectly accompanied by what was, without a doubt, the best Zinfandel I have ever had. Afterward, we headed over to Red Square, a Russo-European bistro with an excellent patio from which to enjoy the night air. There, we ordered two glasses of Prosecco to cap off the meal and the evening.

All in all, an excellent evening. All in all, a world-class experience. I’ve used this space before to laud Denver for the quality and breadth of urban life it offers, especially when it comes to dining. It’s worth doing again. Sure larger cities offer comparable, perhaps even better dining, but nowhere else is it quite so accessible, the experiences so wonderfully proximate to one another, as here in Denver. So tip up your nose if you must because Alain Ducasse hasn’t (yet) opened up a joint here. For me, I’ll take the foie gras at Kevin Taylor. And while you’re at it, another Prosecco.