Sitting in the dark-orange, Dr. No-like bar at Scottsdale’s Stingray Sushi, drinking a tall glass of Kirin draft and watching the promising Phoenix Suns get spanked by San Antonio recently, it occurred to me that I probably feel the same way toward Stingray Sushi as I do toward our basketball…
If Inferno were to begin accepting commercial endorsements, like NASCAR speed demons or them ho’s at the Olympics, Red Bull and vodka would be the official drink of this column. Though the switch-hittin’ Ciara of the PHX sometimes orders a vodka-tonic, the Kremester always asks for some Bull and hooch,…
On the whole, 2004 has been a good year for this portly penman, as enjoyable dining experiences have easily outweighed poor ones. Indeed, what stays with me, in the form of fat cells as well as recollections, are the great meals I’ve had on my various eating expeditions throughout the…
What a colossal difference a second visit to a restaurant can make. See, my modus operandi as a critic is generally as follows: I pick a place I want to review, then I dine there at least twice, usually with guests, so I can nibble off their plates unsuspected by…
This is the comedy-club rule: Sit up front, and you can expect to get fucked with, at least a little bit. Plus, when you roll on any club with the bisexual Ashanti of P-town lookin’ fine in a low-cut, form-fitting, red satin top, it’s like wearing a raw T-bone as…
Everyone knows about Pavlov’s dogs: those canines that helped Russian scientist Ivan Pavlov demonstrate that the natural flow of saliva in Sparky’s mouth could be induced by external stimuli, like a bell ringing. Pavlov referred to this as a “conditioned reflex,” and his findings netted him a Nobel prize way…
Let’s see if I can do justice to this mutha: Monday nights at ACME Roadhouse in Tempe are off the hook, the chain, the rope, the string, and just about anything else you can imagine. According to manager Alex Mundy, ACME, about a block south of University on Rural, serves…
Hey, I may come off in print as a bloated narcissist, but I do get my comeuppance often enough. Take, for example, a question I had for a colleague after visiting the six-month-old Coyoacán steak house on South Central Avenue. The restaurant sits nearly at the foot of South Mountain,…
Anyone who doesn’t believe the PHX has talent like Chi-town, the ATL and the Lou needs to pop over to O’Mallys at 3544 West Glendale Avenue in Phoenix on the day after Monday and check their Roc the Mic Tuesdays, where P-town’s husslas, playas, fly bitches and MCs congregate to…
It’s a fine Tuesday morning, and I’m seated at a table in Matt’s Big Breakfast, the new diner that opened a month ago on First Street and McKinley, next to the Coronado Hotel, in the same spot where the eatery Chez Bubba used to do business. The sun is shining,…
It’s ’round midnight on a Thursday eve, and yours truly, Kreme, is at Scottsdale’s Pussycat Lounge getting his fat fanny slapped by the finest dime in the hizz-ouse, a blonde cutie by the name of Victoria. Queen Vic is laughing her pretty little ass off, laid-back in this big circular…
I’ve always loathed Thanksgiving, so don’t expect some column from me telling you how to cook a turkey with a beer can stuck up its butt, or where to snarf the best stuffing in the Valley. Everything about the holiday nauseates me: the enforced familial bonding; the orgy of unoriginal…
First up, this week’s column is dedicated to ex-Wu Tang warrior Ol’ Dirty Bastard (a.k.a. Russell Jones), who on November 13, just two days short of his 36th birthday, graduated to that big pimp parlor in the sky, and is now no doubt sippin’ Cristal with fellow legends like Biggie,…
Folks call and write me with some amazing requests. Usually, I do my best to reply in a timely manner, but occasionally, the inquiries veer into the asinine zone, in which case, I may never respond. For example, if you’re a PR flack who wonders why I never called back…
Other than chedda, what separates the up-and-coming flowmaster from a baller whose SoundScan numbers rival the deficit? The answer depends on the gamespitta in question, but when it comes to PHX lyricist N.O.K. (None of a Kind), the difference between this talented MC and bigger playas in the game could…
Like Tara Reid getting a new rack or Cynthia Nixon deciding to bat for the home team, it’s a time of transition for Inferno, y’all. First off, Implants cartoonist Elaine Bell fled Phoenix for Manhattan a couple of weeks ago, where, from this point on, she’ll be seeking her fortune…
I’ve been jonesing of late for some really excellent house-made pasta. No doubt what brought this on was my slightly disappointing visit a couple of weeks back to the James Hotel’s Fiamma Trattoria, where it seemed like everything but its house-made pasta was first-class. Since the James tirelessly trumpets the…
To borrow a line from Demi Moore boy toy Ashton Kutcher, “You’ve been punked!” That’s right, New Times’ October 28 cover story ’bout a Valley firm named Preserve A Life — which taxidermies deceased humans for “mountings” in the homes of loved ones, etc. — was a spoof just in…
I am terribly pained that all the fuss concerning the Boston Red Sox, the World Series, and the Curse of the Bambino is finally over. Not that I cared a whit for a bunch of gum-chewing knuckle-draggers running around a diamond to the cheers of the hoi polloi. I prefer…
When I heard that Jett, the L-word Maria Menounos, wanted to go to Amsterdam with me, her extremely Kreme-y partner in nightlife, I thought maybe she’d seen the error of her lezzie ways, and wanted to get freaky with a fat man. So when I met up with her at…
In my line of work, a double-wide backside seems to come with the territory. I’m sure there are certain female food critics in Arizona whose tailbones are as sharp as needles, but really, ladies and gents, should you trust a thin restaurant reviewer, someone more concerned with donning a size…
Whenever I wax homesick for La-la Land, I need only stop by Scottsdale’s James Hotel for a fix of that über-modern, über-sophisticated vibe that the City of Angels has in great store. Pass through the James’ lobby towards its J-bar, and you could just as well be at The Standard…
