By Kathleen Vanesian
By Eric Schaefer
By Heather Hoch
By Lauren Saria
By JK Grence
By Eric Schaefer
By Robrt L. Pela
By Eric Schaefer
The Stockyards Restaurant, 5001 East Washington, Phoenix, 273-7378. Hours: Lunch, Monday through Friday, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.; Dinner, 5 p.m. to close, seven nights a week.
During the last generation, certain forms of once-tolerated behavior have come to seem much less benign. And for good reason. Light up a cigarette at the office or at home? Your employer will banish you to the streets, and your kids will call you a drug fiend. In a loud voice, share your deep-seated belief that all minorities are lazy welfare cheaters, or that a woman's place is in the home, raising children, feeding her husband and cleaning the house. Even the hood-wearing bigots and misogynists in hearing range likely will slide away from you, because views like these now fall outside the borders of acceptable public discussion. Stopping at the tavern with your buddies for a few drinks? These days, you'd better make sure you have a designated driver before the bartender starts pouring.
We used to eat more innocently, too. Thirty years ago, red-blooded Americans believed a slab of beef was good for whatever ailed you. Today, that same slab is considered a toxic mass of cholesterol, fat grams and calories, a Love Canal on a plate. And, as if that weren't enough, cattle are also blamed for everything from destroying the rain forests to polluting the groundwater.
5009 E. Washington St.
Phoenix, AZ 85034
Region: Central Phoenix
Americans are conflicted about how to reconcile their love of meat with their fear of it. But with Yankee ingenuity, we've found a way to have our beef and eat it, too. We've more or less banished beef from our homes, replacing it with chicken and fish. But we're eating more and more beef at restaurants, mostly as a weekend "reward" for our ascetic health worship the other five days. What we have is a most unusual paradox: Although per capita beef consumption is way down, steak houses are flourishing, the hottest segment of the restaurant market.
Nobody, however, can accuse the Stockyards Restaurant of jumping on a trend. This Arizona landmark has been around for almost half a century, at a site rich in history. It's hard to believe now, but this spot once housed the world's largest feedlot operation, where up to 40,000 head of cattle would be penned at one time. The restaurant displays a marvelous 1959 aerial photograph, showing the sweep of the operation.
The feedlots are long gone, but the Stockyards retains a considerable amount of old Arizona charm, embedded in a Gay Nineties theme. You sit in plush booths, surrounded by lots of dark wood and etched glass. Colorful murals adorn the walls. In the bar, the mural disconcertingly illustrates the popular 19th-century song "The Face on the Barroom Floor." In the nonsmoking dining room, you can gaze on 1890s vignettes: a woman being laced into a corset, shopping at the milliner's, a street scene. Overhead, ornate chandeliers drip with shiny crystal teardrops, while piped-in country music furnishes audio background.
This is a comfortable, unpretentious place, the kind of old-fashioned steak house that's under assault from copycat national steak-house chains like Outback, Austin's and Lone Star. To me, however, there's no comparison between the two types. It's not that the fare in general is so utterly superior or that the beef in particular outshines the competition's. It's just that there's a style and feel to the Stockyards that makes dining here such a gratifying carnivorous experience.
The menu is small, and it deliberately ignores every culinary trend that's come down the road since the restaurant opened in 1954. That's why you still get a relish tray--celery, olives, scallions and carrots--set in an icy metal dish, as soon as you're seated.
Like the relish tray, the appetizers aren't long on novelty. Look for the familiar deep-fried staples, like onions and mushrooms. There's also a first-rate shrimp cocktail, five meaty critters who are worth every cent of the $7.95 tag. Adventurers may enjoy "calf fries," especially if they can keep from dwelling on their origin. Calf fries are simply a smaller version of Rocky Mountain oysters, derived from a younger source. At the Stockyards, they're breaded and fried, then paired with a tangy cocktail sauce.
Dinners all come with salads. Make sure you top yours with the blue cheese dressing, thick with creamy chunks of sharp cheese. It's very 1950s, and very tasty. Warm biscuits also make for good nibbling, especially if you coat them with the honey butter.
When a restaurant is called the Stockyards, you expect the emphasis to be on beef. So, if you've been living on twigs and berries from Monday through Friday, be assured that a Saturday-night steak here can make life seem meaningful again.
The one-pound T-bone is beautiful, tender and beefy, grilled just right. By the time I finished, the bone was stripped bare. The New York strip is also topnotch, armed with big flavor and meaty texture. Prime rib is a winner, extremely tender with little gristle and very, very juicy. If you're a prime rib fan, the hefty Cattleman's Cut will provide a long-lasting animal-protein thrill. The filet mignon is soft enough to cut with a fork, but it's somewhat drier than the town's best models.