Torchy's Tacos — Restaurant in Denver

Don't get me wrong. It pains me to even think about writing a bad review for Torchy's but we felt the need to warn you before you go. We've been going to Torchy's in Austin for years and were so excited to learn Denver was getting one. So far we've learned that service and food is way better in Texas than the ones here. Line to order food takes significantly longer than necessary and don't go to the bar thinking you're getting around that line. When we went a few weeks ago, the bartender was clearly new and overwhelmed. Took about 5 min to greet us. Asked for tasters of beer (we were sitting literally behind the taps) where after dropping the tasters, she walked away and noticeably forgot about us. 5-7 min later she came back, greeted us and started clearing our waters as if we were new customers and forgetting that she had already said hi and we were waiting for her to return and take our order. After ordering, it took about 20 minutes to get our tacos.

All that aside, the kicker is our visit this Saturday for lunch. That bad experience wouldn't sway us from delicious fried avocado tacos and queso but this weekend might. It took 30 minutes to get our tacos. 30 minutes. It should never take that long at any restaurant to get food out of the kitchen. Once we got our food, calling it lukewarm seems like an overstatement. Our half-assed constructed tacos had clearly been sitting on the food line for a long time before getting to our table. Seriously, the bottom tortilla was folded in half and not even under the taco. They put the wrong salsas on the side. The toppings looked like they had been thrown from across the room with hope they would land on the tortilla.

We love Torchys but the Denver location needs to really reconsider 1. bartender staff 2. food running processes 3. get more topo chico flavors but that's just the Texan in...

I’m a fairly regular customer whenever I want tacos. Came here a few days ago and placed our order. When the order came out, all of the tortillas were on flour tortillas and we were missing queso and chips. I cannot eat flour and had specified that when I ordered. The woman who brought us our food said that they were out of corn tortillas in the back, that’s why everything was on flour. I reiterated that I cannot eat flour, so we needed to do something to resolve our dinner plans (refund?) and she said she would go have them check the back for corn. Also said we didn’t order queso and chips (we did and verified with the person at the front) but it was never entered to our order. They also did not bring us correct sauces for the tacos as per the menu and left specific sauces we ordered in the back.

The woman took all of the tacos that weren’t supposed to be on flour, just leaving my partners while we waited for another ten minutes to get an answer about whether we were being refunded. She came back out and told us that they did, after all, have corn tortillas and that my order was being remade.

To be honest, we would have rather had a refund at this point and to have gone somewhere else. We went to the restaurant to save time on making dinner that night and instead were there for over 40 minutes before my order came out correctly. My partner had finished all of his food before mine even came out. I still had to ask them to bring sauces out correctly as per the menu and the ones that I specifically ordered and were itemized on the receipt. Minutes later, we heard the table next to us also receiving a very incorrect order.

Suffice to say, I am unimpressed with this...

There are tacos, and then there is Torchy’s—gritty, glorious, unapologetic. A psychedelic roadside attraction masquerading as a taco joint, parked square in the chaos of Denver’s 11th Ave like a neon-lit food altar built by renegade saints and line cooks with too much soul to quit.

I went in hungry and mildly unhinged. The salad with chicken arrived first—an architectural wonder of greens, charred meat, and whatever secret dressing they’re brewing in the back with lightning and good intentions. The chicken was tender, seared just enough to keep you honest. Each bite whispered, “Slow down, you animal. This is the good stuff.”

Then came the beans and rice—nothing fancy, but holy hell, they had gravity. Earthy, warm, humming with spice. You don’t just eat Torchy’s beans and rice. You feel them. Like a low drumbeat in your chest. Like a food truck rolling through your subconscious.

And the mango juice? Liquid gold. Bright as a flare gun, sweet as a bribe, and thicker than most politicians’ promises. It clung to the sides of the glass like it knew it was too good to last. Every sip was a tropical gut-punch in the best possible way.

Service? Sharp and fast—like they knew you might unravel if left too long with your own thoughts. No fluff. No forced cheer. Just tacos, juice, and the quiet understanding that life out there is insane, but in here, the food makes sense.

Torchy’s isn’t a restaurant. It’s a controlled detonation of flavor and form, served with a wink and a wedge of lime. Don’t ask questions. Just go....