Now that you can't smoke in bars anymore, you can actually taste the food at Richardson's. Honestly, we're pretty sure it was always kick-ass, but up until this smoking ban thing kicked in, the closer you got to the bar, the more your enchiladas had to compete with the smell of ashtray. Richardson's drew a hard-smokin', hard-partyin' crowd whose heyday was the mid-'80s and usually looked like they stepped out of an episode of The Rockford Files. Nothing wrong with that, of course, unless you're not as inured to cancer-wand discharge as the Saturday Night Fever set. Because smokers now have to take it outside, the air is clean, save for the vague aroma of Hai Karate from the 50-something next to you. And your palate is finally free from the ravages of secondhand Pall Malls. So, thanks to government fiat, Richardson Browne's New Mexico-styled nook is the coolest place to eat at the bar in the PHX, not to mention drink. And if there happens to be an urban cougar on the prowl nearby, you'll actually be able to see her MILF-y, saline-enhanced, fortysomething curves, without having to strain through the fog of countless lit coffin nails.