By Heather Hoch
By Eric Schaefer
By New Times
By Rachel Miller
By Eric Schaefer
By Heather Hoch and Lauren Saria
By Robrt L. Pela
By Heather Hoch
And yet, one wonders if von Mises, Ayn Rand, Milton Friedman, et al., ever visited Phoenix in the summertime. What I'm learning, as I suffer with everyone else through 100-degree heat, is that the eagerness to earn a buck mysteriously vanishes in some places from about June on within the confines of Maricopa County. Certain restaurants, for example, take a whole month off, scale back their hours, or stop serving on both Sundays and Mondays (a practice not always limited to summer, I'm afraid).
Also, there appears to be, in general, an increase in counterintuitive behavior. I won't even go into all the people you see jaywalking diagonally and slowly across four or more lanes of busy traffic, oftentimes with kiddies in tow, and sometimes in the dark. But the restaurant thing is a great conundrum to me. The part of town I live in seems as busy as ever, and I'm sure some of these folks would like to eat at places other than chains. So what gives? Perhaps Mayor Phil Gordon should shut down Phoenix for the summer. Then we could all move to Orange County, where I can assure you most eateries don't take off for weeks or months at a time.
2650 W. Glenrosa Ave.
Phoenix, AZ 85017
Region: West Phoenix
602-995-1317. Hours: Monday, and Wednesday through Saturday, 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.; Sunday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.; closed Tuesday. Hours may fluctuate, so call ahead.
Forgive me, but I've been frustrated of late with my newest find, a terrific place for tacos called Birrieria El Gordo, in a little strip mall on 27th Avenue, a block north of Indian School. Birrierias are these Mexican joints known for serving goat meat, a fact emphasized by the goat head drawn on the door of Birrieria El Gordo, which, as close as I can surmise, means "the fat man's birrieria," though I think I would find it more amusing if it meant simply "the fat goat." A reader suggested the place to me as having some of the best tacos in the city, with delicious hand-made tortillas and mouth-watering asada, barbacoa, pastor and so on.
What I discovered from my initial two or three visits was that my source was 100-percent correct. The interior is sparse and nondescript, with the sort of tables and chairs you might see in a school cafeteria. There's a TV in one corner, and a few Mexican fabrics here and there, but that's about it. The food, however, is cheap and hearty. Small tacos are as inexpensive as $1.25 a piece, and half a dozen will fill you up, especially if you pile on the fixings from the condiment cart in front of the main counter. This wagon always has several barrels full of fresh limes, chiles, onions, radishes, finely cut cabbage, and two or three different types of salsa, which you're free to load up on.
The asada burritos and tacos I had were magnifico, chock-full of delectable chunks of steak. But I liked the tender, stringy barbacoa (barbecued mutton) better, marinated in a tangy brown sauce, a dollop of which is plopped onto your small flour tortilla. (I tend to prefer flour over corn, though both are fine at El Gordo.) The pastor, too, is delightfully filling, with a slight spiciness, as opposed to, say, asada. Pastor is, in fact, the Mexican spin on Middle Eastern spit-cooked lamb, the difference being that pastor is actually roast pork, and it looks reddish, unlike the brownish-black lamb carved from a Lebanese rotisserie.
I know some of you will squirm over the cabeza and birria tacos, but if you gringos can overcome your squeamishness, you'll find both meats unique and tasty. On the menu, birria is goat, and you can get it in a stew, the birria de chivo that's advertised on the bill of fare as the $6 "especialidad de la casa," or as a mound of gray goat meat on a tortilla. (NB: The word "birria" actually means deformed, gross, or a mess, the "mess" in this case referring to the "birria de chivo" stew, made with goat.) The flavor is somewhat gamy, sort of a cross between duck and lamb, both of which I adore. Now pull out your Spanish dictionary and look up "cabeza," and you'll find it means "head." For our purposes, that's the head of a bull, which has been steamed until all of the muscle, fat and juices have fallen from the skull. The resulting carne is fatty and, to be truthful, a little slimy. It's a texture sure to turn off certain people, much in the same way the tripe in menudo tends to do. Although I personally find great gustatory gratification in tripa as well as cabeza.