Odie B’s: Where diners come hungry and leave happy.

Some restaurants ask you to use your inside voice. Odie B’s is not one of them.

This is the kind of place where ordering too much feels completely reasonable, “fries for the table” is a lie we tell ourselves, and tequila mixed with Tang and fruit-punch Gatorade can technically be considered hydration. At least that’s my story.

Odie B’s is messy, indulgent, playful, and just naughty enough to keep things interesting. But underneath all the fried chicken, smashed burgers, and general delicious debauchery, owners Cliff and Cara Blauvelt have created something with a whole lot of heart.

Funny thing is, they were only trying to open a little sandwich shop.

The Little Sandwich Shop That Could

Cliff had spent years working for other people, learning the restaurant business and quietly collecting the knowledge he’d need to eventually do things his own way. Eventually became now.

“We wanted to do it our way with no outside voice telling us how,” Cara says. “We figured we’d just have this cool little sandwich shop, and it’s turned into so much more.”

No kidding! The original Sunnyside restaurant began as Bodega before becoming Odie B’s. But this wasn’t some identity crisis involving a consultant and seventeen PowerPoint presentations.

So, what changed?

“Literally just the name,” Cara says.

The new identity ultimately made the restaurant stronger, she says, while the community response showed Cliff and Cara that people cared about much more than what was written above the door.

Cliff has a somewhat more colorful explanation of what he originally wanted:

“I just wanted to do hood rat shit in the kitchen with my friends.” — Cliff Blauvelt

There are mission statements, and then there are mission statements. I know which one I’d rather eat at.

Two Odie B’s, Same Delicious DNA

Sunnyside is the OG: small, scrappy and gloriously itself. Cara calls it “quick and dirty in the best way” and says it’s bursting at the seams. She’s not exaggerating. The walk-in is literally outside.

The original location changes things up between its weekday and weekend menus, while RiNo gave the crew something Sunnyside simply couldn’t: elbow room. The larger second location houses the catering operation and serves the full menu seven days a week.

The restaurants have different personalities, but Cara sums up their shared DNA beautifully: “Soulful, indulgent, playful, inclusive.”

Then you start eating. Oh, that’s what she means.

Hello, Chilaquiles. Where Have You Been All My Life?

Now for my favorite subject: lunch. Or brunch. Or fried chicken. Whatever. Let’s eat.

Odie B’s fried chicken chilaquiles arrive as a glorious pile of green chile corn chips, black beans, salsa roja, elote slaw, chile crema, pickled red onions and Parmesan, crowned with fried chicken and a runny egg.

Break that yolk and things get sexy fast.

It runs down into the salsa roja and chile crema, coating the chips while still leaving pockets of crunch. The pickled onions bring that acidic snap you desperately need amid all the richness, the elote slaw freshens everything up, and Parmesan adds its salty little hello.

Then you hit the fried chicken.

Crunchy chicken. Saucy chips. Creamy yolk. Pickled onion.

Good Lord.

I absolutely loved this dish.

And because apparently I hadn’t ordered enough carbohydrates, there was also the Mixed Bag of Fries, dusted with Odie B’s Bodega seasoning and served with fancy sauce.

They’re supposedly for sharing.

That’s adorable.

The perfect chilaquiles bite requires a bit of fork architecture: chicken, chip, beans, slaw, salsa, crema, onion and yolk stacked together without losing anything on the journey from plate to mouth.

When it works, enjoy the moment.

Then build another.

Vegans, Come Sit by Me

And here’s where Odie B’s really makes me happy.

The chilaquiles can go vegan, complete with vegan fried chicken.

Not “we removed everything interesting and here’s what’s left” vegan.

Actual food.

There’s also the Vegan Double OD Burger: two smooshed Impossible patties layered with vegan cheddar, dill-pickled onions and fancy sauce on a vegan bun.

Two patties.

Because plants deserve excess too.

Add green chiles if you’re feeling particularly Colorado.

This is the kind of vegan cooking I want to see more often—not food designed around what somebody can’t eat, but food built around what everybody gets to enjoy.

Nobody wants to watch their friends demolish something fabulous while contemplating the lettuce they were handed as a consolation prize.

Odie B’s understands the assignment.

Everyone gets the good stuff.

Please Explain the Gatorade

Fine.

Let’s talk Wutangerade.

Tequila.

Tang.

Fruit-punch Gatorade.

Together.

I realize that sounds like something conceived in a dorm room at 2 a.m., but stay with me.

It’s ridiculous.

It’s brilliant.

It’s ridiculously brilliant.

There’s something wonderfully refreshing about a restaurant willing to have this much fun. While other cocktail menus are busy introducing me to an obscure alpine herb harvested during a full moon, Odie B’s is over here putting Gatorade in my tequila.

And you know what?

I’m having more fun.

There’s a Lot of Heart Underneath the Hot Mess

The playfulness makes Odie B’s easy to love, but the reason behind its inclusive atmosphere runs much deeper.

Cliff and Cara celebrated seven years of sobriety this past July, making the restaurant’s commitment as a Recovery Friendly Workplace intensely personal.

“That commitment means everything to us,” Cara says. “We know firsthand what it’s like to need that kind of space.”

They wanted to build somewhere people from different backgrounds could work, make a living and feel safe and comfortable while still being allowed to have a damn good time.

And they’re not interested in telling anyone what wellness or recovery is supposed to look like.

“We’re not forcing any specific wellness practice on anyone,” Cara says. “We’re just holding space for our employees to find what works for them, in a positive environment.”

That’s the part of Odie B’s I don’t want lost among all my carrying on about runny eggs and tequila.

The welcome is real.

You can see it in the workplace Cliff and Cara are building. You can feel it in the restaurant. And you can taste a version of it on a menu where the vegan and the fried-chicken fanatic can sit next to each other and both order something gloriously excessive.

That is my kind of inclusivity.

Preferably with extra sauce.

Come Hungry. Really Hungry.

Odie B’s has a big personality and an even bigger welcome.

So break the egg.

Get the mixed fries “for the table,” and then guard your portion like a feral raccoon.

Try the ridiculous drink.

Add the green chiles.

Bring the vegan. Bring the carnivore. Bring your sober friend and your brunch-obsessed friend. Bring the person who claims they aren’t hungry, and then keep them the hell away from my fries.

There is room at this table.

Cliff and Cara thought they were opening a cool little sandwich shop.

Instead, they created something soulful, indulgent, playful and inclusive—a restaurant that serves seriously good food without taking itself too seriously.

And somewhere back in that kitchen, I hope Cliff is still doing hood rat shit with his friends.

I’ll happily eat the results.

Fried chicken crashes brunch, vegans get the good stuff, tequila meets Gatorade, and somehow it all makes perfect sense.

By Ash Trego