5 Must-Try Colorado Steakhouses For Visitors & 10 Real-Deal Local Picks

Colorado steakhouses are less about dining and more about declaring intent. Do you approach the menu with restraint, or do you stake your claim with a slab of beef the size of a cutting board?

I’ve left mountain lodges wrapped in woodsmoke, sat beneath glass towers in Denver negotiating with my cholesterol, and once found myself quietly emotional over a potato that tasted like velvet.

Subtlety doesn’t live here. These rooms pulse with appetite, heat, and bravado. You don’t just eat, you wrestle with flavor, grin through the excess, and leave wondering why surrender never felt so satisfying.

1. Guard And Grace

Downtown Denver sparkles at night, and Guard and Grace struts like it owns every single lightbulb. The dining room hums with money and martinis.

I ordered a filet and felt like I should’ve signed a contract first. It arrived glistening, cut soft as a dream, edges seared like velvet turned crispy.

Every bite whispered luxury, every side screamed precision. I left tipsy on beef alone, convinced Guard and Grace could sell me anything, including my own dignity back at a markup.

2. Shanahan’s Steakhouse

Walking into Shanahan’s feels like sneaking into a country club without the membership. Dark wood glows, suits shift, and you suddenly fix your posture.

The ribeye nearly toppled me. Juices bled across the plate like it was making an entrance. Lobster tail appeared beside it, like a cameo nobody asked for but loved.

By dessert I was delirious, grinning, plotting imaginary business deals I couldn’t afford. Shanahan’s doesn’t just feed you, it auditions you for a life you’ll never live.

3. Buckhorn Exchange

This one? Oh, it’s haunted. Or at least it feels that way. Taxidermy heads glare from every wall, daring you to eat their distant cousins.

The steak came charred, massive, almost prehistoric. Then came bison. Then elk. Then rattlesnake, because apparently nothing is sacred. Each bite was primal, smoky, slightly terrifying.

I left stuffed, spooked, and ready to wrestle a bear. Buckhorn isn’t a restaurant. It’s a fever dream with knives, and somehow, it’s glorious.

4. The Fort

Morrison hides a literal adobe fortress, and somehow it’s a steakhouse. Torches flicker, walls glow like fire, and you half-expect a knight to serve you.

Buffalo ribeye hit the table heavy, primal, dripping with history and smoke. Beans earthy, bread rustic, vegetables roasted until they surrendered. Every bite felt ancient.

I walked out dizzy, smelling like woodsmoke, certain I’d just eaten my way through a Colorado history lesson taught entirely in meat. Honestly, I’d sign up for that class again.

5. Elway’s Downtown

Yes, John Elway. Football legend, steak peddler, ego monument. The dining room hums like a pre-game locker room, and you brace for impact.

Filets soft enough to make you doubt reality. Strips charred bold, sides dramatic: mac and cheese that glows neon with cheese, potatoes buttery to the point of sin.

I sat chewing and half-expected Elway himself to pep talk me into ordering dessert. Elway’s doesn’t whisper Denver pride. It tackles you with it.

6. Columbine Steak House & Lounge

Forget white tablecloths. This West Colfax legend makes you order at the counter like you’re buying movie tickets. A ticket, a number, then bam! Steak!

Paper plates collapse under ribeyes charred loud, fries spill like golden rubble, grease seeps through napkins. Nobody complains. Everyone is too busy chewing.

It’s no-frills, it’s cheap, and it’s chaos. I left smelling like fryer oil and joy, convinced Columbine could fix heartbreak better than therapy.

7. The Mint Steakhouse

Silverthorne’s Mint is ancient, built in 1862, and it shows. Neon buzzes, history hums, and you feel like you’re eating inside a time capsule.

You pick your steak, hand it over, and watch the grill master sear it right in front of you. Flames spit, smoke hisses, steak sizzles.

It’s interactive, it’s chaotic, and it works. The Mint feels like a drunken campfire story retold in beef form. I walked out stuffed and slightly time-traveled.

8. 8th Street Steakhouse

Steamboat Springs brings the chaos. Here, you cook your own steak on a massive communal grill. It’s gladiator arena vibes with ribeyes instead of swords.

Cuts sprawl across trays, filets, strips, ribeyes, and you season, flip, sear, panic. Sides roll in family-style, massive, carb-heavy, designed to fill every last pocket.

The fun is in the smoke and the danger. I left smelling like charcoal, grinning, proud my steak wasn’t raw. 8th Street makes you part of the spectacle.

9. Loveland Chophouse

Loveland feels like a steakhouse wearing a silk robe. It’s fancy, but not smug. Warm lighting, clinking glasses, steady confidence in every corner.

The filet? Silky. The strip? Charred like it meant it. Creamed spinach and mashed potatoes strutted across the table like stars, stealing spotlight from the beef.

I leaned back in my booth and thought, “This is how steak is supposed to feel when class chills out.” Loveland nailed the vibe.

10. The Peppertree Restaurant

Colorado Springs craves drama, and Peppertree delivers. Steaks flambéed tableside with flames high enough to singe your eyebrows. Everyone stares, and you secretly love it.

The filet drowned in garlic butter, cooked live while I sat slack-jawed. Sides French and rich, potatoes like silk, salads crisp, vegetables pretending to be light.

By the end I smelled like butter, slightly dazed, and ready to propose to the server. Peppertree isn’t just dinner. It’s a performance with steak as the script.

11. The Famous Steak House

Downtown Colorado Springs beats fast, and The Famous feeds off it. Dark wood, loud chatter, waiters flying past with plates so hot they steam.

The ribeye landed like a comet, sizzling, charred black on the outside, red inside. Creamed spinach and garlicky mashed potatoes balanced the carnage.

This place doesn’t play subtle. It’s bold, brash, and unapologetic. I left stuffed, sweaty, and convinced The Famous might actually deserve its name.

12. Bastien’s Restaurant

Denver gets weird here. Pink neon hums, vinyl booths squeak, and the vibe screams retro fever dream. Then they hand you sugar steak.

Yes, sugar. The crust caramelizes under flame, sweet and smoky at once, creating a steak that tastes like dessert disguised as dinner. My brain short-circuited.

Bastien’s doesn’t care if you’re skeptical. It dares you, then wins. I cleaned my plate in disbelief, sticky-fingered and laughing at my own surrender.

13. Simms Steakhouse

Lakewood’s Simms has views so dramatic you forget why you came. Windows stretch across the city skyline, mountains loom, and dinner feels like theater.

Then the steak arrives. Bone-in ribeyes seared heavy, filets soft, strips bold. Potatoes buttery enough to make you close your eyes mid-bite.

I kept pausing to stare outside, steak forked halfway. Simms feeds stomachs and egos, daring you to pick what impresses you more—the view or the meat.

14. Steakhouse No. 316

Aspen thrives on drama, and 316 doubles down. Chandeliers drip light, velvet walls swallow you, and every plate feels like a staged photoshoot.

Filets glisten, ribeyes melt, sauces decadent, sides unapologetically extra: truffle mac, fried potatoes, roasted vegetables sweeter than candy. It’s steak as luxury performance art.

I laughed at the glamour, then devoured everything anyway. 316 feels like a parody of wealth that just so happens to taste phenomenal.

15. Quincy’s Steak & Spirits

Leadville does not waste your time. The menu is one choice: filet or prime rib, served with baked potato, salad, bread. End of story.

No decisions, no substitutions, no mercy. Just meat, potato, bread, repeat. It’s efficient, it’s old-school, and it hits exactly right every time.

I left with zero decision fatigue, full, happy, and slightly smug. Quincy’s reminds you steak doesn’t need a circus. It just needs fire and a fork.