Inside the actor's kitchen with Vore 


Liking a man doesn't necessarily mean liking his food. When it comes to Dylan Mosley and Vore Grilled Cheese Gastro-truck, though, I'm generally fond of both.

Mosley has laughed me breathless in local stage performances, and deserves kudos for championing community theater with his wife, Alysabeth Clements Mosley. When I speak to him by phone, I learn he's done this while also spending four years commuting to Denver Art Institute for a culinary degree, even though he'd already spent 15 years in restaurants.

He also shares about his vegetarian parents teaching him creative food substitutions, his wife's veganism, and their care for her paralyzed father, who lives with them. Later, upon meeting my dog at Vore's regular spot outside Gold Camp Brewing, he drops to a submissive crouch before going in for the pet, while describing his own pups' personalities.

Basically, Mosley is sensitive, meticulous and driven — all qualities that translate well to the kitchen.

Vore mostly sticks to foundational, elementary territory with its sandwiches ($10 including a side), co-created by co-owner Shawn Webb. But it gets playful with concepts like the Elvis, currently in development — it's a heart-twisting, deep-fried peanut-butter-banana-bacon-cheddar-cream-cheese beast from which Webb dished us tiny samples.

Other sandwiches are fried on a flattop in a mayo-cheese mix, which grants local Wimberger's or Canyon Bakehouse GF breads from Loveland a nice, crunchy char. At times they're burned, as with our What Would Cheese Do? That four-cheese melt didn't make the cut on a new menu that just released Sunday, but we found it well-matched with Gold Camp's best beer of our taster flight, a Belgian Tripel.

We can't yet comment on Vore's new Billy Club (of bacon, turkey, ham, cheddar and havarti) and Deep Dish (mozzarella, provolone, ham, olives), but we do know The Mastery picks up the fattiness of bacon and avocado with a garlic bent bolstering havarti and Muenster. Get a pale ale or double IPA to stand up to it.

Gold Camp's brown-porter best balances smoked turkey influence and heat on Vore's most interesting sandwich, The Fearless, which also hosts mozzarella, jalapeños and ghost-pepper cream cheese. For sides, sweet potato fries win the day when dipped in a mayo-ketchup-spicy-pepper sauce. "Tofu dippers" and nachos have just been added.

In the morning, Vore serves breakfast burritos ($8 includes an Ümpire Estates coffee) that Mosley jokes contain around 1,500 calories. Because even though Vore's branding appeals to vegans, vegetarians, gluten-free folk and carnivores alike, it doesn't claim to be good for you, just good to you.

Timing outside Cottonwood Center for the Arts wasn't good to me, though, with a 30-minute wait for four burritos and a refund apologetically given for coffees we couldn't get on account of the generator dying. At least the burritos proved big and dense, with fries creatively serving as the potato component.

The American and Breakfast are fairly mute but for respective bacon and chorizo brightness. Both could have used salsa or green chile but none was offered. Two others we tried have already left the menu, including the one we thought was best of the bunch — a vegan offering in which Daiya's waxy smoked Gouda laced fake sausage, egg and potato with ample fire's breath.

Though I'm not ready to give Mosley a standing ovation yet, Vore's first act at least has me curious at intermission. It's humble culinary theater, good with beer.

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