It’s tough to review restaurants that represent everything you hate: the type of place that you, as a private citizen, would never frequent in a million years unless maybe some of the girls at work took you out as a surprise for your birthday, or you were shopping in a…

When I was sworn in last March as New Times restaurant critic, part of my oath of office was to share my restaurant findings with my readers. Sometimes, like this week, I do so reluctantly. At one time or another, all of you probably have “found” a little restaurant you…

Every now and then, the world around you shifts slightly and your personal universe expands. This is how I feel after discovering Bev’s Kitchen on South 16th Street. Finally! A down-home restaurant serving soul-tinged Southern cooking at inexpensive prices. It’s enough to make a Yankee start whistling “Dixie.” An anonymous…

You’ve just returned from a summer vacation spent visiting your in-laws in Nebraska. Your coffers are empty and so is your stomach. After two weeks in the heartland, you want–no, make that need–some Mexican food in a hurry. Have I got a place for you. Taco Cabana, Bazooka pink and…

Summer is never laid-back at New Times. Ever hard-core, during the hottest months of the year we leave the relative comfort of our offices to drive up, down and around the Valley. Our quest? To discover the Best of Phoenix–something you can judge as well (see Readers’ Poll, page ??)…

You’re busy. It’s hot. I won’t waste your time. Here’s a handy quiz to see if you should read Cafe this week. Please answer yes or no: 1) Do you, like the Thief in Peter Greenaway’s The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover, have piles of money lying…

I’ve always been a fan of Raffaele’s in Mesa, so I was excited when I learned of Lauretta Melchiori and Raffaele Contacessi’s plans to open a second restaurant in Phoenix. The location of Raffaele’s at Concord Place is indisputably gorgeous. Nestled deep in the heart of the plush Concord Place…

You would think he’d be impervious by now. Christopher Gross, owner and chef of Christopher’s and the Bistro, is a smash hit. Local restaurant critics rave. National restaurant critics rave. Food and Wine, in 1989, named Gross one of the nation’s ten best new chefs. The accolades flow like wine…

It is 9:30 on a Wednesday evening in North Scottsdale. The parking lot is dotted with Range Rovers. Inside, our fellow diners seem unaware of the time. Fashionably dressed in expensive casual clothes, they chat unconcernedly, as if the evening had just begun. They wield wooden chopsticks with decided ease…

Most people think my ever-faithful dining accomplice Goat earned his nickname because he will eat anything. This is not true. For instance, on a recent pre-Fourth of July expedition in search of cowboy steak, Goat scorns the endorsements of James Garner, Cybill Shepherd, and Michael Cooper, and orders chicken. How,…

I’ve always liked East Indian food. The spiciest I’ve ever eaten was on a hiking trip through the British Isles. My boyfriend and I were in London and decided to forgo fish and chips for Indian food one night. Both of us were pretty macho about spicy food, whatever its…

It could be any Saturday night. The maitre d’ at Trader Vic’s leads us to a small table near the restaurant’s fire doors. It is a miserable location, one I would like to change. “Is this the nonsmoking section?” I query. Wordlessly, our host swoops our menus off the rejected…

Admit it. Are you one of those people who equates dining on McDowell with free lunch at the Show Club? Is your McDowell eating experience confined to hot dogs at the coliseum during Suns games? Do you suffer from Fear of McDowell? If you said “yes~” to any of these…

It’s prom night. We are witnessing a spontaneous fashion show as seventeen-year-old girls in strapless gowns glide through Remington’s in the Sheraton Scottsdale Resort. We hear the rustle of taffeta and the slink of satin as they pass our table. It is a very pleasant sound. Seeing them dredges up…

I’m no stranger to Sun City. The two people responsible for bringing me into this world have lived there for most of the last decade. So when it came time to gather information for this story, I simply called Mom. As always, she had plenty of suggestions. In fact, to…

Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes. Dill, dill, dill. My faithful dining accomplice Goat and I are eating dinner at the White Nights Russian Restaurant and Deli on Phoenix’s north side. Located in Kino Plaza at 32nd Street and Thunderbird, this very building use to house Phoenix’s premier thrash-metal venue. Five years later,…

Future Super Bowls and past papal visits aside, we probably couldn’t have picked a busier night to visit Frascati Ristorante at Centerpoint in Tempe. That’s right, faithful dining accomplice Goat and I visit Frascati on the evening of the Paul McCartney concert at Sun Devil Stadium. It is a night…

The glossy travel poster on the wall boasts tropical forest, sandy beach and blue ocean. “El Salvador–en el corazon de America” it announces. Below the poster is a 1989 calendar illustrated with a map of Central America. We are not visiting some covert CIA recruitment office. It is a Saturday,…

Consider it a dress rehearsal. On the night a dining accomplice and I check out the Theater Terrace Cafe in the Hyatt Regency Hotel Phoenix, we are neither going to nor coming from a play at the Herberger Theater. No, it is early evening and we are cultural lowbrows. All…

Think a couple of waiters singing “Happy Birthday to You” is effusive? This is only the beginning at Greektown. On the night we stop in for observation, there is singing; there is the presentation of the traditional lit dessert; there is even a personal serenade by Greektown’s owner, Gregory Vassiliov…

I don’t own fur and I don’t use aerosol. Why, then, would I ever eat alligator fajitas? This is the question I ask myself when the waiter at Los Mayas announces today’s luncheon special. “Alligator?” I query tentatively. “Like, real alligator?” “Yes, ma’am,” our waiter replies solemnly. “It’s real.” Alligator…

Here’s a little anecdote about tapas: A few years ago I attended a writing conference in Santa Fe. One morning two women acquaintances announced–I thought–that they’d gone to a topless bar the previous night. I couldn’t believe my ears. A topless bar? These women were cultured Ivy Leaguers from Manhattan…