Food & Drink

Man does not live by bread alone. He needs a good bagel, too.

For more than two decades now, Chompie’s has been surpassing our bagel expectations with always — always — the best bagels we’ve ever found in this town.

Chompie’s was king of the bagels before the doughy works of art were cool (remember the bagel explosion in the ’80s?). While many of the wanna-be bagel bakers in the Valley have gone extinct, Chompie’s is still going strong.

Why? It’s got 35 varieties of New York-style bagels, in our favorite flavors like salt, poppy, sesame and sourdough. But it’s also got designer choices, like zucchini, Cheddar, banana nut, jalapeo and chocolate chip bagels. Most important, all bagels are handmade, baked fresh and smothered on both sides with their toppings.

You can’t build a better bagel than that.

Tired of cheese choices at your local grocery store being limited to Cheez Whiz, Velveeta and boursin-in-a-box? Cheeselike food substances are conspicuously absent at Duck & Decanter, whose long list of not-for-the-lactose-intolerant dairy specialties would turn the head of even a hardened Wisconsin Cheesehead.

This place is the only one we’ve found around town that seems to always stock manchego and mahon, two nutty, semi-hard Spanish cheeses craved by hard-core cheesephiles. They’ve also laid in a good store of Old Brugge, chevegne and Père Joseph, all made by Belgian Trappist monks — and don’t pass up the double-crème Brie layered with pesto and toasted pine nuts. Duck & Decanter’s helpful cheese-department head, Christopher LaFollette, is known to pass out samples, so there’s no question as to what you’re buying. The only thing Duck & Decanter doesn’t stock is Metamucil, which you will certainly need if you shop here on a regular basis.

K-Rico Cafe & Bakery is tiny, but those with a nose for things sweet should keep sniffing ’til they find this tropically appointed strip-mall storefront. Owner Elsie Lara, a native of Puerto Rico, packs a lot of fabulous Caribbean-style pastries into her shop. It’s worth a cross-town trek to bite into one of K-Rico’s flaky quesitos, made of buttery puff pastry and stuffed with sweetened cream cheese; or a tembleque, a cinnamony Puerto Rican coconut pudding that’s a Caribbean classic.

Most people go to Wild Oats for the organic fruits and vegetables. We go for the potato chip samples.

During a recent visit, five different flavors were presented for our gustatory inspection: sweet potato chips, cheese puff chips, garlic-flavored chips, blue chips and corn tortilla chips, all proffered with a generous helping of sample salsa. Which should we buy? Hmmm, better have another chip.

But if there’s really a judgment day, rest assured the honor system gang upstairs will know when you’ve made unnecessary third and fourth visits to the vinegar-flavored chip bowl in aisle two and they have the incriminating store video footage to prove it.

Betcha can’t eat just 27!

When the dinner hour is approaching and we have to stop off at a grocery store to pick up a few things anyway, we welcome the grab-and-go meal ideas designed to make our hectic lives easier. But since discovering that some AJ’s feature hand-tossed cooked-to-order pizzas, we have taken those other plastic-wrapped pizzas off our in-a-pinch menu list.

At AJ’s you’ll pay more, but those hot, gourmet-style pies are well worth it. For the traditionalists, the stores offer tasty pepperoni, sausage and the like. Those with more discriminating palates (why else would you be shopping at such a chichi store?) will love the delectable specialty pies, like spinach feta, garlic chicken and the Monte Carlo, featuring artichokes, goat cheese, red onions and fresh basil.

Another plus? Call your order in ahead of time, and your pizza will be ready when you’re finished shopping.

Fish don’t get much fresher than when they’re flopping around in a tank of water, like they do at 99 Ranch Market. This upscale Asian supermarket’s large aquarium tanks virtually teem with live catfish, tilapia, freshwater blue eel and Dungeness crab.

And if you just can’t bear the thought of ending one of our piscine pal’s lives prematurely, there’s always the option of choosing something already caught and packed in ice, like red snapper, robalo, carp and sheephead. But no matter what creature from the deep you end up selecting, 99 Ranch Market’s experienced fishmongers will clean and prepare (and even execute) your finny favorite with samurai-like skill — all at no additional cost.

Go, fish!

You’re planning on throwing an important dinner party for a bunch of fussy gourmets. They’re snobs — you know the type. “Oh, grilled swordfish and Gulf prawns over smoked mussel fried rice and mango papaya relish again?” they sniff.

An order from Gourmet Imports will shut their mouths — at least until it’s time to chew. But you have to pick up the phone to buy anything here; the enterprise doesn’t take walk-in trade.

Gourmet Imports brings virtually any exotic meat you can imagine, often within a day or two of placing an order. Camel meat? Giraffe? Hippopotamus? Alligator? Kangaroo?

Gourmet Imports has it all — zebra, beaver, llama, caribou, goat, Scottish hare, African lion, musk ox, raccoon, Rocky Mountain oysters, turtle and emu (all farm raised, of course.) This purveyor serves many of Arizona’s finest resorts and restaurants, and can cater to your kitchen, too.

It’s food that will drive even the most jaded gourmet completely wild.

The first time we heard about “the jerk in the restaurant” 10 years ago, we thought we were being told about some lout on a cell phone. But it was a dish new to the Valley, Jamaican jerked rabbit, served at RoxSand.

Today, jerk is available on many menus, usually involving chicken. Basically, it involves rubbing meat, fish or vegetables with a spicy marinade, then grilling or roasting it. But jerk is nothing without the jerk sauce. It’s got to be torridly hot, enough so our eyes water, and we’ll lick carpet if we have to, just for relief.

There’s no better jerk sauce we’ve found than the infernal number sold at Kim Bong. It’s called Walkerswood Traditional Jamaican Jerk Seasoning, and the colorful, reggae-themed bottle warns us it’s “hot and spicy.”

We say ya, mon, and how. This is the real thing, packed with scallions, black pepper, salt, allspice, nutmeg, citrus, sugar and thyme. The active ingredient? Scotch Bonnet peppers, a vegetable so evil that cooks are advised to wear gloves when cleaning them.

Don’t expect to find any piatas, colorful serapes or beer-touting sombreros here. This reproduction of a 19th-century Mexican ranch house is impeccably tasteful, down to the last carved, dark wood chair, white linen tablecloth and soaring silk flower arrangement.

But the lavish decor is just visual garnish for the most upscale Mexican food the Valley has to offer. Chips? No way, José! Instead, opt for high-end appetizers, like pasteles de jaiba (plantain-crusted crab cakes with chipotle oil) or tamal de pato (braised duckling tamale with orange honey masa and tomato nixtamal sauce). And don’t even think of combo plates with entrees such as cochinillo asado (spit-roasted suckling pig stuffed with chorizo) and mero al sartén (pan-seared grouper with grilled cucumber pico and veracruzana sauce).

Whatever your choice, save room for dessert — like La Hacienda’s signature capirotada (fried three-milk bread pudding with port macerated berries and star anise ice cream).

When the weather’s nice, request a table near the French doors, which collapse together for calming views of a courtyard dotted with palm trees, a bubbling fountain and strolling mariachis.

A glance at El Bravo’s menu is deceptively ho-hum — beef burros, chicken tacos, chimichangas, combo plates.

Don’t be fooled. This food may sound like Taco Bell, but it tastes authentic. Everything is made fresh in the restaurant’s open kitchen, and owner Carmen Tafoya isn’t shy about sneaking in the spices where appropriate — her red chile beef packs a mean left hook. The tanker-size tamales are fluffy; the chicken green corn positively floats off the plate, studded with lots of fresh kernels, peppery white-meat chicken and cheese under green chile sauce.

Both sides of the border can rejoice!

We’re not morning people. We admit it. If God had meant for people to be awake in the morning, he wouldn’t have had to create alarm clocks.

There’s little that can convince us to leave our warm bed at the crack of dawn (has anyone else noticed that a mattress never fits so perfectly as it does just before we’re forced to leave it?).

Good chorizo is one of those things, though, that rouses our head from the pillow, summons us to our slippers, and gets us to greet the day with a smile.

That’s a pretty big accomplishment for just $4.50, but La Cabana pulls it off with its huevos con chorizo meal (to be accurate, the dish should read chorizo con huevos, such is the generous ratio of highly spiced chile-vinegar-garlic sausage to egg). The sausage is a wonderful jump-start to the day — dry, salty, smoky — and only gets better when we fold it into a corn tortilla spread with gorgeously runny refried beans.

Sometimes we mix it up, adding thin guacamole from the on-ice salsa bar, alternating munches with bites of cool lettuce, radish, and cucumber drizzled with lime. A cold horchata drink is just the thing, too, tasting comfortingly like wet tapioca and soothing some of the chorizo burn.

The only problem? After finishing the plate, we’re so stuffed, we want to go right back to bed.

Who’d have thought that something so simple could be so good?

While other places may fry their fish in batter and pile on the sauces and cheese, chef-owner Rita Aramburo leaves the Mrs. Paul’s approach to seafood tacos to others.

The catfish here is remarkably flavorful, sautéed in chunks with tomato, onion and a touch of seasoning. The vegetables are soft, warm, and cooked down so their juices blend with the firm fish — so savory, and much better than the cold veggie chop we find in other tacos around town.

The uncomplicated mix is wrapped in a grilled corn tortilla, with nothing more to add than a squeeze of lemon and a splash of Rita’s killer spicy salsa.

Rita’s fish tacos? We’re hooked.

Sure, we could tell you that the seafood cocktails here are so fresh that you’ll swear you can hear sea gulls overhead.

Or that the Sea of Cortez cookery (try the garlic shrimp with rice and beans) is so authentic that you’ll actually think you can smell the salty ocean air.

Or that a visit to San Carlos Seafood is so enjoyable that you’ll believe you’ve been magically transported to a cantina on a south-of-the-border shore.

Instead, we’d just like to steer you to the most delicious Mexican-style seafood the Valley has to offer, served up in a no-frills joint on a seedy stretch of East McDowell. But if you want to pretend that freeway overpass right down the road is an Aztec temple, be our guest. As for us, we’ll have another ceviche tostada.

Had Fannie Flagg, author of Fried Green Tomatoes, grown up in south Phoenix and not Alabama, she might have written Green Corn Tamales instead.

And if she had, her inspiration couldn’t have come from a more mouth-watering specimen of the titular delicacy than the steamed fluffy packets offered up at Carolina’s.

Long famed for her tortillas, Carolina really shows her culinary flair with these heavenly blankets of golden masa wrapped around a few green chile slices, a sprinkle of fresh corn kernels and a molten glob of cheese. The bundles of joy are then wrapped in a corn husk, steamed and served piping hot at $1.20 a pop.

And maybe it’s a good thing Fannie never got around to writing the book on green corn tamales. Looks like Carolina already beat her to it.

Chile experts warn us never to touch any sensitive part of our body after handling spicy peppers. The Blue Adobe Grille’s carne adovada will remind you why.

Red chiles grown in New Mexico are notorious for their wicked heat — a fact that the chefs here adroitly exploit in their torrid sauce of this incendiary pork chili.

Dig pain? Drip some of the thick sauce straight onto your tongue. It’s so fiery in the back of your throat you’ll actually cough.

But even the most masochistic Mexican food buff will probably admit that the potent pork-and-pepper concoction is best enjoyed when wrapped in a flour tortilla, then tamed a bit with whole beans and rice.

But whatever you do, don’t rub your eyes. You don’t want to go blind, do you? Just eat enough until you need glasses.

When made correctly, a chimichanga is a wicked indulgence of crisp shell and juicy innards. Mangos knows this. It also knows that for a killer chimi, the staples, including the hubcap-size flour tortillas, must be freshly made. Equally important is meticulous deep-frying. The shell must be good enough to eat on its own, and never hidden under buckets of sauces, melted cheese or olives stuck with tiny paper Mexican flags. Scoops of fresh guacamole and cool sour cream are appropriate accouterments, and Mangos serves them alongside its chimichanga.

There can be no compromising on meat, either. Mangos does it well with succulent pork, the hearty chunks swimming in tingly green chile verde sauce; or as chile rojo, with red sauce kicked up to an even higher octave.

The crowning touch to a cherished chimi? Ice-cold chopped greens, tomato and fresh jalapeo. Long live the Mexican-American invasion.

The shrimp here are served in a molcajete, a large bowl carved out of lava rock and sent to the table bubbling hot and furious.

The dish is called Camarón Azteca, and the volcanic container keeps the fresh-from-the-oven meal wickedly warm. It’s a good thing, too, because it takes us a long time to work our way through the Vesuvius-size mound of Guaymas shrimp; in any other dish, the shrimp would get cold.

Much of the magic in the bowl comes from its voluptuous sauce, essentially chunky, chile-rich salsa blended with Mexican white cheese. We’re told there’s no butter involved, but it sure tastes of it — a reaction of the milky cheese melted at such high temperature, we suppose.

Should soup be served in a wine goblet? Only if it’s as special as the cocido crafted by Israel and Lourdes Aviles, owners of Lulu’s. For more than a decade now, the Avileses have been tempting us with their authentic, Guadalajara-style cooking, including dreamy cocido, a traditional beef stew.

Thinking Dinty Moore? Don’t. Cocido is more like soup — but soup with an attitude. The clean broth boasts flavor much too intense for its light character. It looks like pale bouillon laced ever so slightly with orange oil, but explodes in beefy force, underpinned with cilantro and just enough salt to tingle our taste buds.

Its body makes it more like stew. Certainly it’s as full-figured as the voluptuous seorita mural on Lulu’s wall, the broth gorged with soft zucchini, celery, green pepper, fall-apart-tender beef, onion, and corn-on-the-cob halves.

This soup makes a meal. Served with soft, corn-studded rice, smoky refried beans and a tortilla, Lulu’s cocido is one awesome comida.

Only a supernatural being would have thought to combine more ingredients than those which make authentic mole.

There are as many recipes for mole as there are regions in Mexico. But our local favorite — a rich, velvety sauce containing a dozen types of dried chiles, nuts, seeds, vegetables, spices, plantains and chocolate — can be found at Hacienda.

You’ll have to look carefully for the dish — it’s hidden under the à la carte offerings as enmolada de queso con carne o pollo. And don’t be misled by the unbelievably low $3.95 price tag — you can easily make a meal of these two corn tortillas, stuffed with gooey jack cheese and chicken or beef, then covered with a creamy blanket of the dark addictive mole.

Mole? Olé!

It’s almost impossible to walk five blocks in any Mexican city on a summer day without passing at least one stand or parlor that specializes in paletas. Paletas are a traditional, distinctly Mexican take on the Popsicle concept: frozen natural-fruit bars that border on a survival necessity in the withering Mexican heat.

So it’s a bit ironic that the definitive Valley peddlers of this distinctly Mexican treat are two twentysomething gringo siblings based in Mesa. But Nathan Hatch and his brother Adam spent much of their childhoods picking fruit at their parents’ orchards in Chihuahua, Mexico. When they had time off, they hung out at their favorite paleteria and learned the fruit-crunching ropes from the masters.

Their shop, Flor De Michoacán, opened in May, and it’s already pulling in the crucial Hispanic crossover clientele, with its authentic paletas, agua fresca drinks and frescas con crema (sliced strawberries mixed in cream). There are a few worthy paleta stands parked on Valley street corners, but if you’re looking for a real shop, this is the place to go.

Chef-owner Norman Fierros has been wowing us for two decades with his offbeat, innovative approach to Mexican food. From a small stand in a dicey south Phoenix neighborhood to his current, tony locale, he hasn’t lost the innovative edge that put him on the map.

And when it comes to the culinary map, Fierros isn’t afraid to go all over it, ingeniously mixing techniques and ingredients with something bordering on genius.

The addition of epazote, for example, a strong, citrusy herb, to his tacos de pescado, makes the simple fish and tortilla combo sing. Even an uncomplicated endive salad sparkles with queso cotija, the “Parmesan of Mexico,” plus roasted Arizona pecans and mesquite honey vinaigrette. When we’re looking for something really different, conejo asado gets our hearts thumping with chorizo-rubbed rabbit and grilled sweet corn. And don’t even get us started on his sublime tamale hash.

Old Town Tortilla Factory has a “connoisseurs guide” to its more than 100 premium tequilas. That’s nifty. But even better is that we can upgrade our margaritas with any of their fancy tequilas for just an additional dollar.

The custom option is just one of the things that makes Old Town’s margaritas so good. Fresh-squeezed lime juice and the house standard tequila are others. Even the most basic margarita here is spiked with Sauza silver, a bold and assertive favorite of tequila lovers.

Service makes us smile, too. Our marg is brought in a shaker, blended at our table, and left for us to refill our glasses. The setting, finally, makes our cocktails all that more delicious. We think the 75-year-old Scottsdale adobe home is intriguing, too, with its huge flagstone patio surrounded by 100-year-old pecan trees and its central fountain that often is set on fire.

We’ll toast to that.

Readers’ Choice: Macayo