 A celebration of Chefs Seidel, Russel, and their magical team at Fruition. Last night I was seated in the far back corner of Fruition. A small, 44 seat restaurant that has been on the forefront of Denver cuisine since 2007. While not my first time dining at this landmark, it will be my last. Chef and owner Alex Seidel announced it's January 12 closing mere weeks ago, and I scrambled to get a table for their New Year's Eve tasting menu. I wore a blue velvet dress, my periwinkle faux fur coat, vintage blue suede boots, and my husband on my arm.
I had a full view of the room. The menu itself was anything but a throwaway.New American. Beautifully conceptual, and presented with indigenous vegetables to the land. It was a taste of the entire continent, and the thrill of it sent me reeling; Sunchoke, Kumquat, Kaluga Caviar, Grits, Lobster broth and Scallop, Chestnut and Black Truffle, Bison, Root Vegetables, The flavors bursting on my tongue as I gazed around the space. 44 seats. 44 faces. All Joy. All different. Queer, Trans, Black, Brown, White, Young(ish), Old(er). For a moment compressed into the blink of an eye, I saw the magic of the here and now. Our collective glee teetering on the edge of grief. Celebrating and mourning. As my stare crossed each face-each beautiful face, I couldn't help but feel grateful. The patrons were held so gently by the hospitality. The jovial steps of our servers in their colorful, patterned shirts, their glittering New Years party hats and Mardi gras beads, their passion for the mastery of art on each plate, allowed us a reprieve from the trepidations of the outside world. A shared experience to honor something that meant something to the community. Community itself. This is what America is, isn't it? What the documents say it was meant to be? A glittering array of difference. A star-struck piece of hope amidst the chaos. The moment didn't fly away from me. It sent tingles down my arms to write and remember: All good things must come to an end. Whether a cozy and inventive gastronomical wonder, or a fledgling experimental democracy. As both come to an abrupt halt from the perspective of this writer, I am reassured that our community will be what holds us together. The people we know and don't know all gathered in a familiar room for one small moment, enjoying a mighty wonder of food, hospitality, and love. A smattering of friendly faces who just want to taste magic one last time in an era of distress. A People who wish to pay homage to a pillar that held up a piece of our beloved home for nearly two decades. A new, daunting horizon. A closed book and a fresh page for an unknown landscape. Last night's wonder is our everyday experience, if we only sit and bear witness.
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