Editorial Review

If the myth of Park City is unreasonably good food in unbelievably beautiful surroundings, then the myth of Park City eats at Riverhorse. Been around since the late '80s without faltering—impressive in a town that keeps its dinner forks in its gun rack, ready to kill a restaurant at any time. Reason’s simple: Riverhorse is pure class, neither overdressed nor underdone. And the place practically craps awards. Interior strikes a balance between ballroom and atrium—wood floors stretch to mile-high windows, steel mid-room supports intersect space to keep it personal. American-French cuisine so good entree titles like “Duck Duck Goose” are forgivable. Go for the signature macademia crusted halibut, go for the wine cellar, for God’s sake go for yourself. It’s an experience you’ll be richer, albeit poorer, for having.