Travel Destinations: Colorado: The Sylvan Dale Guest Ranch

A SEASONED TRAVELER and acclaimed gourmand, known for his ability his 'knack' - to locate and celebrate people and places that might otherwise go unnoticed by way of accorded and appropriate praise, once confided over a bowl of home-made chili gorged with spices and herbs and fresh vegetables, in a kitchen barely more than a closet, made very confining and claustrophobic by a large wood-fired stove, that his preferred haunts were all but unknown.

His justification for this selfishness was made apparent one day after he invited me to dine with him at a restaurant he decided to share with the world by way of his much-lauded weekly people and places column in a local newspaper.

The restaurant in question was previously unknown to me, and would have remained so had it not been pointed out. The location was anything but stellar and apparent: In a dying L-shaped strip mall between a hair salon erroneously labeled on its marquee as a 'hair saloon' - and a tattoo parlor that boasted its willingness by way of a hand-made sign to 'put anything anywhere'.

Upon first glance the eatery appeared to be barely more than a door and a permanently darkened window. It was an appearance that was undeniably deceiving. As we stepped through the heavy door bedecked with a thousand pieces of wood of various shapes and sizes and colors, all positioned at unique angles, the symphony of scent, the parade of perfume that made this place legendary embraced me. I thought I might pass out from hyperventilating in my attempt to breathe in and breathe in and breathe in the wondrous smells that filled the space.

Oh, yes: The interior space did not at all reflect the exterior. Even though it was odd-shaped - there were six walls instead of the customary and traditional four - it was a well-utilized space. The kitchen divided the space - loosely defined as a rectangle on the verge of becoming a Mobius strip - in half, providing diners - of whom there were many; I do not recall seeing an empty table - the opportunity to hear and see the chef and cooking staff create edible art in a context that was at once sincere but charming, professional but human to a fault; and the portions offered were such I had to admit defeat - something I am not inclined to do - and ask humbly for several take-home containers. It was a request that was not met with indignation but expectation and high praise. How many restaurants, I was asked

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