As with any business presentation, preparation is key. So study up on Gregory's menu before bringing that Fortune 500 bigwig client to the restaurant. You'll want to impress him or her with your world-class knowledge of fine cuisine and wines. And if any Valley restaurant tests your skills, it's Gregory's. Starters stun with ethereal combinations like salmon ceviche with white-bean hummus, parsley-scallion oil and salmon roe; and pan-seared Hudson Valley foie gras with sweet-potato tart, strawberry-rhubarb compote and 20-year-old balsamic vinegar. Entrees entice, starring delicacies like lion's paw scallop in sweet vermouth lobster broth with micro arugula and foie butter; or grilled Wagyu Kobe beef with nori-wrapped wasabi risotto and Kobe beef won ton. Service is impeccable, the setting warm and ultra-luxe. In short, Gregory's will make you look so special your clients won't even blink when, over dessert, you tell them you're doubling your fees.
Best Margarita Spot
Macayo's
several Valley locations
Best Mexican Restaurant
Macayo's
several Valley locations
Best Salsa
Blue Agave Oyster & Chile Bar
Shops at Gainey Village
8787 North Scottsdale Road, Suite A-102, Scottsdale
480-607-9222
Best Breakfast Spot
International House of Pancakes
several Valley locations
Best Downtown Executive Lunch
Durant's
2611 North Central
602-264-5967
Best Romantic Restaurant
The Melting Pot
8320 North Hayden, Scottsdale
480-607-1799
3626 East Ray, Ahwatukee
480-704-9206
Best Healthful Eating
Pita Jungle
1250 East Apache, Tempe
480-804-0234
1949 West Ray, Chandler
480-855-3232
Best Late-night Meal
Denny's
several Valley locations
Best Outdoor Patio
Dos Gringos
4209 North Craftsman Court, Scottsdale
480-423-3800
Best Happy Hour
Applebee's Neighborhood Grill & Bar
several Valley locations
Best Bakery
Paradise Bakery
several Valley locations
Best Classic Pizza
Papa Johns
several Valley locations
Best Desserts
Cheesecake Factory
15230 North Scottsdale Road, Scottsdale
480-607-0083
Best Gourmet Pizza
Pizzeria Bianco
623 East Adams
602-258-8300
Best Barbecue
Honey Bear's Bar-B-Q
5012 East Van Buren
602-273-9148
2824 North Central
602-279-7911
Best Chinese Restaurant
P.F. Chang's China Bistro
several Valley locations
Best Coffee House
Starbucks
several Valley locations
Best French Restaurant
La Madeleine French Bakery and Cafe
several Valley locations
Best Greek Restaurant
Greekfest
1940 East Camelback
602-265-2990
Best Indian Restaurant
Delhi Palace
5050 East McDowell
602-244-8181
16842 North Seventh Street
602-942-4224
933 East University, Tempe
480-921-2200
Best Italian Restaurant
Olive Garden
several Valley locations
Best Japanese Restaurant
RA Sushi Bar
411 South Mill, Tempe
480-303-9800
3815 North Scottsdale Road, Scottsdale
480-990-9256
Best New Restaurant
Garduo's Margarita Factory
Shops at Gainey Village
8787 North Scottsdale Road, Suite A-102, Scottsdale
480-607-9222
Best Sandwich Shop
Subway
several Valley locations
Best Seafood Restaurant
Red Lobster
several Valley locations
Best Smoothie/juice Shop
Jamba Juice
several Valley locations
Best Southwestern Restaurant
Z'Tejas Grill
several Valley locations
Best Steak Restaurant
Outback Steakhouse
several Valley locations
Grocery store tortillas tend to be thick and doughy, and bear as much resemblance to the real thing as does Roman Meal to a crusty loaf of French bread. While dreadful tortillas will do if you spread distractions like cheese and salsa all over them, you'd never just pop one in your mouth, plain. But La Sonorense's thin, tasty, fresh tortillas, which somehow manage to be chewy and flaky at the same time, are the exception. This little bakery can be hard to spot, because the bottom half of the sign's letters are missing. But word is out; you're likely to stand in line behind several people, and though this appears to be a full-service Mexican bakery, most of them are there to purchase still-warm bags of perfect tortillas. One disclaimer: Don't come crying to us if you snuff the life out of these babies by putting them in the fridge. Eat them all, and quickly.
Usually, we've got enough just in pocket change to cover the tab at this pink adobe taco hut that's always hoppin' to the beat of lively salsa music. Sometimes, the cooks get in the groove, singing along as they bang pots and pans.
It's a short menu, with just a few quesadillas, tacos, burros, tortas, flan and Mazatlán mud pie. Everything is made fresh to order, though, with top-quality stuff. Beef is sirloin Angus, and soft flour tortillas are homemade, as are the killer salsas in an array of tomatillo, chunky, mild and red hot. And what a deal! Nothing costs more than $4.75, not even the huge torta, a fresh grilled roll stuffed with onions, cilantro, salsa, avocado and your choice of charbroiled pork, beef or marinated chicken. We can make a meal of the Guedo burro, a large tortilla brimming with the same torta ingredients plus from-scratch frijoles and cheese. You go, Guedo's.
Finally, a place for anyone who's been dying to find that elusive skeleton basketball player shooting a lay-up in midair. The Chicano museum, located downtown, has a great gift shop filled with Day of the Dead crafts, as well as a wide variety of Mexican artwork, books and furniture. Dia de los Muertos collectibles range from the classic skeleton bride and groom and papier-mché skulls to colorful shadowboxes depicting scenes of the dearly departed drinking, cooking and shooting pool. Our personal favorite is a glass candle adorned with a skeletal femme fatale cooing, "If I had lips, I'd kiss you."
Recipe for a good margarita: 11/2 cups gold tequila, 3/4 cup Triple Sec, 3/4 cup fresh lime juice, 2 tablespoons sugar, 2 tablespoons kosher salt, 6 lime wedges.
Recipe for a great margarita: Run, don't walk, to El Encanto.
There's just something about the margs at Valley landmark El Encanto. Perhaps it's the quality ingredients. Perhaps it's the fact that they're so killer strong we're on our butts after just one. It doesn't hurt that the setting is so spectacular. Sit on the courtyard patio overlooking the huge pond at the old, mission-style building and watch the ducks and geese (be nice, and spring for a cup of birdseed from the bubblegum machine nearby). Service is another bonus: These folks have been around, they don't take any guff, but they know Arizona history and they melt like butter when you treat them right. Cheers, El Encanto.
Our casa es su casa. Just keep your cotton-pickin' hands off our comida -- when it's Mexican takeout night, that is. At this to-go-only place, we can buy the basics if we want to cook at home: corn husks, Mexican cheeses, chile sauces, three kinds of chorizo, masa, hominy, blue corn and white corn tortillas, or fresh chips and salsa. But we'd rather take the night off, shell out $3 to $6, and stuff ourselves on dishes fresh from Albuquerque's kitchen: blue corn enchiladas fragrant with fiery green chile sauce; medium-hot red chile or mild green chile; and sour cream enchiladas with two cheeses and Mexican cream. Or posole, a luxurious pork and hominy stew with red chile broth, lemon and oregano; tender carne adovada; chile rellenos; plus a pint of green chile stew with pillowy sopaipillas to dip into it. We always save room for empanadas, a filled pastry pocket dessert (we recommend the pumpkin).
There's a definite gluttonous appeal to most American-style Mexican places, with their dishes heavy with sauce, sour cream, guacamole and ungodly calories. That's okay when we're craving a good, old-fashioned bomb in our bellies. But we hate to sacrifice real Mexican flavor and spice under all those toppings. That's why we love Mangos, where everything is made fresh, from its pizza-pie-size tortillas to its just-squeezed tropical fruit juices. Homemade tamales don't hold back the heat, dimpled with fiery shredded pork, green chile strips and jack cheese. Shredded beef enchiladas kick up a flurry of burning spice in their wake. Carne asada, overflowing a burrito with large chunks of perfectly grilled beef, packs a back-of-the-throat punch, thanks to lots of gutsy chiles.
Foodies are so easily bored. But they won't be singing their "been there, done that" song at Medizona, an intriguingly novel restaurant from star chef Lenard Rubin.
Rabbit, fig and pine nut baklava with quail egg and chive sauce? Oh, sure, we had that for lunch. Eggplant tacos with lamb, arugula, Kasseri cheese, cucumber-radish relish and roasted tomato-garlic sauce? Yawn. Yeah, right.
Chances are even the most cultivated culinary diva hasn't experienced such extraordinary pairings as baby greens with roasted goat cheese, sun-dried pears, almond-honey brittle and balsamic-cactus fruit vinaigrette; or charbroiled beef tenderloin with potato-leek gratin, butternut squash, spinach, smoked bacon and provolone-filled green chile on a pool of sun-dried cherry barbecue sauce.
Medizona can get even the most jaded foodie to eat up and take notice.
When it comes to Mexican cuisine, we Phoenicians are so caliente we sizzle. We're home to the only Mexican-style restaurant in North America that's garnered both Mobil Four-Star and AAA Four-Diamond ratings. Lounging like a Spanish Colonial estate against the McDowell Mountains, this place has class: low ceilings with dark wood beams, wood-framed windows, glowing fireplaces, Mexican folk art and luxurious brocade chairs. Strolling mariachis add romance, but we're here for the food. Luscious antojitos (appetizers) like cordoniz asada, grilled quail with bacon, tomato and squash in adobillo sauce. Indulgent entrees such as chuleta de venado, grilled venison chops with roasted vegetable quesadilla in a white fig and Jamaica (hibiscus flower) sauce. And tempting desserts like capirotada, a fried, three-milk bread pudding with port-macerated berries and star anise ice cream. Ah, we've got Mobil stars in our eyes.
Why is it Americans are so frightened when an ethnic restaurant promises to offer specialties of its homeland, then does? It's right there on the sign and menu at El Tlacoyo: "cuisine of Hidalgo," a state in east-central Mexico. This means scary-to-most-of-us goodies such as cheese crisp with brain, cactus soup, pork stomach tacos, beef head burros, head cheese tortas, marrow guts tacos and barbecued goat. A lot of this stuff is actually quite good, once we get past knowing what we're eating. Cactus soup is a marvelous orange broth with nicely bitter grilled nopal. Tlacoyo is a delicious casserole, layered with slabs of masa, queso fresco, white meat chicken, sour cream, cilantro and onion. And we're almost embarrassed to admit how much we enjoy goat -- mild, moist, barely gamy, and more smoothly flavored than beef. But if quesadillas con cesos (brain) causes a cringe, choose a more familiar authentic dish: whole-fried fish smattered with garlic and served with fries, rice, beans and tortillas. Whatever we choose, at El Tlacoyo, it's authentically delightful.
Jeez, dating is expensive. Dinner and a movie can run $75 plus. (Think about the cost for two: $15 for tickets, $7.50 for watered-down soft drinks, $8 for sacks of stale popcorn, or $7 for boxes of Goobers, and another $40, easy, for steaks afterward.)
At Farrelli's, we can scope out a potential paramour and enjoy a fine meal and a movie for only $43 (Here's the math: tickets, $12; sodas with free refills, $3; juicy Angus cheeseburgers on sourdough rolls with piles of fries, $18; and for dessert, homemade cheesecake, $10). For a first date, there's no debate: It's Farrelli's.
We get chills just thinking about the chiles at Los Dos. How hot are they? Well, the restaurants close for the month of July. Sure, the owners get some well-deserved vacation, but we think the real reason is to comply with Arizona's summer anti-burn laws. Los Dos' adovada ribs have been known to set off fire sprinklers, the fall-off-the-bone meat incendiary with Hatch red chiles. And there's no relief in side dishes, either, with flame-throwing beans, rice and salsa. Earlier this year, Los Dos opened a location in Manhattan, bringing tough-talking New Yorkers to their knees. We're so proud to say we can take the heat, and call Los Dos Molinos our own.
When thinking of tinkering with tamales, we head to La Purísima for the fixings. With such marvelous masa, even the worst cooks would have trouble messing up a green corn or red chile beauty.
But mostly, we come for the sweet, ready-to-eat creations. There's no better pan dulce -- warm, fluffy and with just a hint of sugary tone. The empanadas are endearing, too, tart with pineapple or smooth with pumpkin. And these cooks know how to crank out the cookies, brightly colored frostings and all.
Back in 1989, Gilbert was a sleepy bedroom community. That was also the year the town welcomed Lulu's Taco Shop. Since then, Gilbert has exploded into one of the fastest-growing cities in the nation. Coincidence? We think not. Being in the same neighborhood as Lulu's authentic, Guadalajara-style soft tacos is enough reason to call Gilbert home. Owners Israel and Lourdes Aviles make sure everything here is made from scratch. With the tacos, there's little to get in the way of pristine, whisper-thin flour tortilla and quality meats, except for a bit of fresh lettuce. Fillings can be daring, like cabeza (head meat) or lengua (tongue), but our favorites are more mainstream -- marinated and charbroiled beef, pork and chicken. We top off our tacos with a trip to Lulu's fresh salsa bar, with chunky and spicy selections, and a side of chile-laced marinated vegetables.
Lulu's are the best. And that's not just trash tacoing.
If you ever catch owner Arturo Lom up to his elbows at the sausage machine, you'll know why we love this place. The aromas of garlic and spices seize your olfactories long before the chorizo links ever hit the grill. Lom likes to mix lean cuts of beef and puerco and he stuffs them into genuine sausage casings; the recipe is his own, but the taste is for everyone, with a zippy kick. These tasty south-of-the-border flavors linger about as long as it takes to get back to the store to buy a few more pounds.
For the wickedest, wildest, put-hair-on-your-chest hot sauce you can get, look no farther than right here in the Valley, where Gunslinger is made using all-natural ingredients. Gunslinger habanero pepper sauce does the job and then some, boiling over with the potent chile, a hundred times hotter than the jalapeo. A few drops of this on your morning eggs and you'll start the day with a bang. Splashed on chicken wings, rubbed with Gunslinger's Intensi-Fire spice mix, the concoction has been known to bring grown men to their knees. Put that in your holster and smoke it.
Now this is a jewel of a secret, deserving of only our closest friends. Virtually nobody except Oaxacan transplants knows about this charming mini market, restaurant and takeout station, but it stocks everything we need, including the elusive chapulines -- real grasshoppers roasted with garlic, lemon and lots of salt. We can buy the basics for our kitchen, including oversize tortillas called tlayudas, paste to make mole (black or red) and quesillo, Oaxacan cheese in long strips wound into a ball.
We prefer to let the Lopez family cook for us, however, in their little cafe. They're masters of the Oaxacan tamal -- a delicious version of chicken steamed in a banana leaf and dressed with mole oaxaqueno (a sweeter mole containing almonds as well as red chiles, spices, chocolate, sesame seeds and pumpkin seeds). Chase it with champurrado, a luxurious chocolate atole (a thick drink made with masa, milk and vanilla).
We're a little sorry to be sharing Mini Mercado Oaxaca with the masses. But then, we never could keep a secret this delicious.
Rosa's prides itself on its authentic, Baja-style Mexican food, and one of its best-selling dishes is a gift from the heavens called Flying Saucers. An eight-inch crisped flour tortilla is buried under mounds of beans, lettuce, sour cream, guacamole, salsa fresca, cheeses and our choice of beef, pork or chicken. These saucers soar because of their top-quality ingredients. Salsas are made fresh from scratch every day. Beef and pork are marinated in fruit juices, herbs and spices, slowly oven-roasted, then finished on a charbroiler while being basted in their own juices. Chicken, too, is moistened with mild red chile sauce, then baked for hours. Go ahead. Take us to your leader. As long as Rosa's in charge.
The recent boom in these small Mexican meat markets has filled the Valley with scores of places to get your adobada and ranchera. Yet we prefer the sizzling variety of this bright place. The smiles behind the counter take you back to butcher stores you probably knew, when Joe -- now Jose -- could prepare your cut before you could utter a word. The meat is always fresh. The marinated beef and pollo are dripping with marinade, ready for the grill. And if you've got a hankering for something surf and turf, El Tarachi's marine section covers the basics, from ceviche to oysters and a few fish with scales.
Gone are the days of binge-drinking whatever rotgut tequila could be thrown back with a lick of salt and a suck of lime. Now, we like to
taste our tequila -- sipping it like cognac, even. And the best place to savor tequila is Coyote Grill, with an impressive list of 110 varieties, including blanco and plata (not aged), reposado (aged in oak for up to a year), anejo (monitored by the Mexican government to ensure its superior quality), and mescal, a harsh-tempered beast that's not for beginners.
While other restaurants may boast long tequila lists, the Coyote's also got that $145-a-shot super-premium star, José Cuervo 1800 Colección, of which Cuervo releases only a few hundred bottles a year. We can make do with the equally good Herradura's Seleccion Suprema, at an easier-to-swallow $35. And for dessert, the Grill has flavored tequilas -- coquila (coffee, chocolate and cream), rose (strawberry and cream), and almendrado (almond). Now that's tequila worth toasting.
Arriba Mexican Grill has been serving up New Mexico cuisine at its Phoenix cantina for years. This year, its owner took a bold move and expanded to two other Valley locations. They're as packed as the original.
One reason, we suspect, is word of mouth about Arriba's breathtaking carnitas. The grilled piggy pieces come two ways, traditional style with fajita fixings and flour tortillas for wrapping, and spiced with gutsy adobada, tucked in a massive burrito and paired with black beans and rice.
Either presentation, crispy-edged and juicy, makes us smile. Arriba, your carnitas carry us away.
Okay, so we didn't conduct a personal count, but we're taking Wright's word that its wine cellar/private dining room boasts 10,000 bottles. Certainly it looks to be true, with a sea of shimmering bottles just begging to be opened and sampled.
While the wine -- and the resort, built in 1929 and inspired by the desert-design concepts of Frank Lloyd Wright -- may be old, the cuisine is entirely fresh. Chef Rick Boyer's contemporary, lavish style tempts with treasures like grilled veal and sweetbreads with pickled cabbage, pan-roasted sea scallops with celery root risotto and Sevruga caviar, and a chef's five-course tasting menu paired with -- what else? -- wines.
Now that's the Wright way to celebrate wines.
Best Mexican restaurant in Phoenix? Them's fightin' words to most folks. And people here cling to their favorite joints as if they were family members. We've got no problem proclaiming a winner, though. While many Mexican restaurants have a few remarkable specialties, at Pepe's everything on the menu is worthy of award. The place isn't fancy -- just two small rooms behind a nondescript storefront -- but the meals are brilliant.
Silky green chile Colorado is packed with tender beef. Chicken enchiladas are draped in mole, a sensuous sauce deep-toned with chiles and chocolate. Pork tamales are moist and bursting with good piggy flavor. And the tacos rancheros, three tiny corn tortillas stuffed with spicy shredded pork, onion and cilantro, soar when doused with splashes of Pepe's incendiary hot sauce.
Breakfast is served all day, and we love to stop in for the daily specials, too. Pepe's is the best. And anyone who disagrees can just take it outside.
Fine dining has landed at the Scottsdale Municipal Airport, thanks to the Valley's own Channel 3 celebrity Jan D'Atri. This joint's home-style Italian food is so delicious that you'll find us there, even if the only baggage we've got is our childhood. The location's a surprise, until you remember that Scottsdale Airport is frequented by folks who don't want corn dogs, but a maitre d', votive candles, white tablecloths and niceties such as rack of lamb, shrimp and scallop skewers and filet mignon. There's great stuff for us working-class folk, too: terrific panini sandwiches, pasta and sausage. We love the fresh-off-the-bird turkey breast sandwich, grilled with provolone, mozzarella, feta, mushrooms and caramelized onion. D'Atri's pastas fly high, anchored by homemade noodles and stunning sauces. Thanks, D'Atri's, for a fuel bill that's a delight to pay.
How the Sea of Cortez came to splash onto the shores of McDowell Road and the Squaw Peak Parkway, we'll never know. We're just glad that it did, bringing with it the magical cookery at San Carlos Bay. The oceanscape-painted building is deceptively small, yet the kitchen cranks out an impressive variety of seafood specialties, ranging from simple (shrimp cocktail) to sophisticated (crab-stuffed chile rellenos). Whatever the choice, it's all sumptuous and served in authentic Mexican style. For south-of-the-border satisfaction, we always steer toward gorgeous, buttery garlic octopus, shrimp endiablados (very hot and spicy), and whole fried snapper. Wrap the fish in warm tortillas spread with creamy beans and rice, dunk the bundles in zingy salsa, and pretend you're on a seaside vacation.
From the first seductive aroma of smoking meat and simmering sauces, this artery-busting, fat-packing food demands we EAT UP.
Honey Bear's slogan: "You don't need no teeth to eat our meat." That's true. Tender pieces of pork, beef and poultry fall off the bone before we open our mouths. Sure, we could eat light, maybe subsisting on a piece of chicken and a garden salad. But no, we want to pack it in with a massive combo sandwich (a two-fister marrying our favorite meat choices), moist hot links, and gargantuan slabs of pork ribs.
Sides aren't low-cal, either, but they're luscious -- tubs of sweet-tinged "cowbro" beans and mayo-bound potato salad. We finish our feast with enormous servings of hot-from-the-oven peach cobbler and sweet potato pie.
Honey, that's our idea of a healthy diet.
Mention anything involving even the
ghost of chocolate, and most people come running. Mention mole, though, and most folks stumble, not quite sure what we're talking about. There are millions of recipes for mole, each as diverse as the genetic code for babies. But generally, mole is a rich, velvety sauce containing a dozen types of dried chiles, nuts, seeds, vegetables, spices, plantains and chocolate. For us, the universal standard for excellence is celebrated at El Tepeyac. Poor souls who've never experienced the kiss of mole poblano should start with El Tepeyac's model. A chicken thigh and drumstick lounge under a pool of silky auburn sauce, dusky with rich chocolate tones and chiles. It's more distinctly chocolate than other versions we've tasted, and that's worth sprinting for.
Drive around downtown Phoenix on a summer day, and you'll spot several pushcart vendors selling paletas, those distinctly Mexican frozen-fruit bars. But Flor de Michoacán is one of the Valley's few true paleterias, the kind of shop found within a five-block radius of practically any Mexican town. Flor de Michoacán was opened by Nathan and Adam Hatch, two brothers who picked fruit as children in the orchards of Chihuahua, Mexico. During their work breaks, they hung out at their favorite paleteria, and studied the mixing magic of the masters. They've brought this authenticity to a variety of paleta fruit flavors, agua fresca drinks and frescas con crema (sliced strawberries mixed in cream). This shop is as close to Michoacán as you'll ever get in Mesa.
Behold the unassuming fish taco: little more than seafood and tortilla. But in the right hands, a fish taco can be a feast. We worship the masterful mitts of the chefs at Acapulco Bay Company, where the tacos de pescado bring mountains of grilled white fish that's been spiced with slow-burning heat. No goopy sauce to get in the way of the fish, just warm dicings of juicy tomato, bell pepper and onion. Add a splash of potent hot sauce, roll it all up in double corn tortillas, and bite in.
Somebody's having fun with the chips at Los Sombreros. While we enjoy the kitchen's traditional crispy chips, fresh and gently salted, we're also presented with clever little nibbles that look like wagon wheels. They're noodles, we're told, the dough thin and fried to a feathery lightness.
Either munchie makes a delightful tool for shoveling medium-hot homemade pico de gallo, or a tomatillo salsa that hints of lemon, apple and herbs. If we're feeling fiery, we request the arbol salsa, plenty infernal and sharp-edged. And after a few margaritas, we're brave enough to call out the habanero purée. Our server doesn't want us to hurt ourselves, so she starts us with little more than a thimbleful, but even a few drops of this stuff bring a jolt that's pure liquid fire. At Los Sombreros, let the chips fall where they may -- as long as at least a few land on our table.
An event just isn't a success unless the food is fabulous, and Continental Catering is the life of our party. In business since 1966, Continental is our choice for both VIP dinners and family milestone celebrations. For those fancy evenings, go with an elaborate spread of herbed mesquite grilled rack of lamb with smoky tomato jalapeo sauce, tournedos of beef with pté and Madeira sauce, and hazelnut crusted fillet of Atlantic salmon with red pepper coulis. You can even count on Continental for a mouth-watering picnic. This caterer's core talents are with Southwestern, classic and regional American menus, but they've been known to cut loose with themes like Old New English Christmas fetes or Native American celebrations. If you don't even feel like cleaning the house, Continental can set you up in unique locations such as the Heard Museum, the Arizona Science Center or even Corona Ranch and Rodeo. Continental, you're our toast of the town.
Chefs Eddie Matney and Dave Andrea own two important Valley restaurants, but they've branched out into convenience food, setting up a casual, quick-dining and take-away concept.
World Noodles serves -- what else? -- noodles, cooked to order in a wok and heaped in a big bowl for just $3.95 to $6.50 (most are about $5). For this, we get a healthy soba stir fry, tumbled with broccoli, snow peas, carrots and chicken, beef or tofu in teriyaki sauce. We also favor the drunken veggies, thick udon noodles tossed with enoki mushrooms, broccoli, red peppers, corn, green onions and tofu in a sprightly sake and sesame oil sauce. Among the slightly more sinful selections: beef stroganoff with mushrooms, cabernet cream sauce and horseradish sour cream, or good old mac 'n' cheese, blended with three cheeses, cream and garlic crouton crumbles. So, for good and quick, use your noodle and stop by.
Folks who've never been to Phoenix are convinced that we dine solely on hunks of steak, barbecue beans, baked potatoes and paint-peeling coffee made with eggshells. Leave it to Cowboy Ciao, with its ultra-stylish, spaghetti Western ambiance, to show them creative American cuisine, spiked with influences from Italy, Mexico, and, of course, the Southwest.
The Stetson chopped salad is legendary, and we crave the calamari, tossed with chasoba noodles, sesame vinaigrette, chile oil and daikon radish sprouts. Entrees aren't for the timid, plated with starch and vegetables, and centered by such delights as espresso charred filet mignon (with pan-grilled vegetables, mashed tortilla potatoes, chipotle hollandaise). We endorse the signature dish, too, a fine fry of cremini, button and oyster mushrooms in ancho cream over double-cooked polenta with grilled portabellini, avocado, tomato and cotija cheese. Pure heaven.
Add a dessert of chocolate lottery torte, or Mexican chocolate pot de crème with chipotle cream, plus an inspired, globally encompassing wine list, and we're proud to call this new Phoenix chow our own.
It's easy to miss House of Tricks as you drive by on the two-lane street next to ASU -- and that's part of the reason we love it so. Set, amazingly enough, just steps from a row of Tempe's rowdiest bars and restaurants, this Victorian-inspired 1920s chateau lolls in quiet splendor behind a thick flush of trees, trellises and a picket fence. Sure, other places tout spectacular desert views, but at night -- or when you want to forget you're in tumbleweed country -- this is the place to go to let your cares melt away under the gentle gurgle of a fountain, sheltered by a vine-covered, light-bedecked canopy. Any time of day is right for Tricks' thrilling American contemporary cuisine. For lunch, try smoked ham and Brie on a pumpernickel bagel or grilled trout with chayote slaw. For dinner, kick up the class, with ahi tuna crusted in lavender and herbs and red curry sauce, or molasses-brushed rack of lamb with lemon rosemary mashed potatoes. Best patio dining? That's no Trick question.
Kazimierz shows how terrific the upscale sip-and-nibble concept can be, with a fashionably funky interior, eclectic music, creative wines and superb "small plates" of creative, refreshing snacks. After finding the door (it's hidden in the back, with no sign), snag a cozy, cushy, overstuffed armchair or sofa. Sprawl back amid candles and shrouded lamps, enjoying a magical display of lights behind an elaborate paper-and-gel "stained glass" window along the bar's northern wall.
The best way to eat here is to share sumptuous appetizers: nutty-toned truffle and duck pté, salmon tartare, and Egyptian flatbreads (pizzas) with toppings like earthy morels and roasted shallots on Brie with truffle oil; or roast lamb, chèvre, figs and balsamic. The best way to drink here is with one of two dozen themed flight selections, each flight a trio of three-ounce pours of different wines. The best way to be merry here? Hey, if we have to tell you that, you're in the wrong place.
The idea of morning sure sounds good: happy chirping birds, gentle dew, rose-kissed clouds. But it's never that way as we stagger all sticky-eyed, wild-haired and crabby-spirited out of bed.
That's the time to treat ourselves to an indulgent breakfast at Squash Blossom, a gorgeous place overlooking a two-and-a-half-acre water playground. Breakfast is an expensive treat -- $10.75 to $14.50 for entrees -- but worth every penny. Petite filet mignon is high style, paired with poached eggs, herbed hollandaise sauce, breakfast potatoes and toast, while corned beef hash kicks it up with chile cilantro hollandaise. For a special experience, go for the Arizona toast, a raisin bread sandwich filled with cactus pear marmalade, dipped in egg batter and served with fig compote. Or swoon over the potato pancake trio, each dainty round with a different topping: smoked salmon, diced onion, tomatoes, cream cheese and capers; beluga caviar, cilantro and sour cream; and pan-smoked trout with creamed horseradish. Oh, what a beautiful morning.
We've been known to stay out a bit past curfew on weekends, and most places roll up the carpet by 10 or 11 p.m. That's why we're so thrilled that LEO takes its "late, early and often" acronym seriously. Until 3 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, get a jump-start on breakfast with a fine steak-and-eggs or three-egg ham-and-cheese omelet, both served with home fries and a bagel. Or plow into a first-rate pancake stack, balanced with two eggs, two bacon strips and a sausage link. If it still feels like nighttime, end your long evening with a sandwich -- a full half-pound of primo deli meat (the brisket and the Reuben are both awesome), teamed with steak fries, creamy coleslaw or a potato pancake. Burgers are among the best, including a hefty garlic mushroom model, and even one crafted of salmon. Top it off with a sugar wake-up call -- carrot cake, chocolate blackout cake, coconut cream pie, New York cheesecake, apple strudel or cheese blintzes.
The only problem with Coronado Cafe is that it's so hard to find parking. And, if we show up at high noon, it's so hard to find a table. We don't mince words when telling our lunch dates that they'd better be on time -- this cafe doesn't seat partial parties.
Once we've settled in, though, utopia usurps in this charming home turned gorgeous garden of full-flavored soups, salads and sandwiches. We can justify a life toiling downtown because it places us close to the Gorgonzola walnut salad, tumbled with sliced apples and red onion; or the roasted turkey sandwich, laden with smoked Gouda, cranberry/serrano chutney, red onion and greens on honey whole wheat bread.
Hey, hey, this is our cafe.
Lon's is generally known to be a great place for a nice dinner, and it's often difficult to get a reservation. But it's easy to get a table at lunch, which is strange, given the fact that the outdoor patio is the loveliest place in the whole Valley to sit outside on a nice day. Visitors will be suitably charmed by the old-Arizona authenticity of the Hermosa Inn and its desert landscaping; there's an impressive view of Camelback Mountain, and the food is actually quite good (although this place could easily coast on its scenery and lush setting alone). The best bets on the menu -- besides the side of sweet potato fries, which you should order regardless of how hungry you think you are -- are the salads. These enormous, hearty offerings are definitely not for food-phobic, salad-ordering ladies. Bring your corn-fed Midwestern guests who want to eat well while basking in authentic Sonoran sunshine. You won't be sorry.
This classy supper club gives us hope that, yes, Phoenix will someday have an honest-to-goodness downtown dining scene. Business associates will be impressed with A League of Our Own's 1940s-style elegance, featuring Tiffany-look lamps, plush booths and vintage photos of famous women.
They will also be impressed with your taste in cuisine, as you guide them through an ambitious -- and highly successful -- luncheon menu starring such dishes as confit of artichokes, hoisin duck scaloppine with blackberry and mango wasabi paint, Blue Point oysters with sapphire gin and caviar, and the Jive Turkey, a smoked turkey sandwich on zucchini bread with baby spinach and Turkish fig butter.
In the eyes of our associates, lunch here puts us in, you might say, a league of our own.
Its roots are in Europe, but it has taken firm hold in the Valley. It's the chef's table, an exclusive seating directly off the kitchen, with personal attention from the celebrity chef. With six to eight of our closest friends, we're in for a remarkable seven-course meal, custom-crafted, and with each detail explained by award-winning chef-owner Michael DeMaria -- an incredible bargain at $100 a person. Michael's contemporary American cuisine might include an appetizer of cucumber-wrapped Dungeness crab salad with seared scallop and braised spinach, smoked tomato water and horseradish vinaigrette. Then, arugula salad with Rosti Asian pear, walnut and Maytag blue cheese tart, and lemon-walnut vinaigrette. Next is potato-wrapped sea bass on summer asparagus and roasted shallots with cockle-clam vinaigrette. To clear the palate, an intermezzo of spring sorbet. Our entree this evening is barbecued braised short ribs with sweet corn, baby carrots, onions and fingerling potatoes. Finally, it's some imported cheese, please, and dessert of tiramisu crème brûlée. On an evening such as this, we're just so pleased to be us.
This little place in an Ahwatukee strip mall is aptly named. It's a snob-free zone where everyone feels at home at wine-tasting classes, theme nights and private parties. Best of all, you can stop by anytime, belly up to the bar and sample any of the 40 or so open bottles. Buy some cheese and crackers and hang out for a while. The selection of wines is impressive, but the secret to the place's huge popularity is the hospitality of owners Kathleen and Tom Fordyce, who will warmly welcome you and maybe even join you for a glass or two.
Here it comes, spiraling toward the Earth, a spinning, hot orb that lands with a thundering thud. We're not getting out of the way, though, because it's a pizza, a beautiful feast that's crashed into our table at Cosmic Pizza. It's called the Meteor, and it's out of this world, monstrous with six meats -- pepperoni, sausage, sirloin, Canadian bacon, meatballs and chicken -- cheese and a zingy red sauce. To carry the weight of the toppings, we get the thick-crust version, hand-tossed, seasoned with garlic salt and baked on a stone slab. Houston, our pizza has landed.
We hate going to sports bars where screens are tuned to some obscure sporting event we have no interest in. Or worse, the game is something we care about, but the volume is turned down or the bar chatter is so loud we can't hear the play-by-play. At Damon's, you, the sports fan and diner, are in control. A hybrid family restaurant/sports bar, this place offers not only tasty ribs and other fare, but also power. All the dining booths are arranged facing four enormous screens. Audio devices at each table (kind of like drive-in movie speakers) let you tune in to your favorite match-up or background music and a trivia game. And for the littlest control freaks, Wednesdays are Kids' Nights, featuring cartoons and kiddy trivia on the big screens.
We know where to hunt down the most magical midnight snack: at Christopher's, where from 10 p.m. to midnight Thursday, Friday and Saturday, there's a sumptuous gourmet spread set out for a mouth-watering $9.95.
We choose cheese: selecting from Taleggio, Reblochon, Fourme d'Ambert, Camembert, Stilton and Tete de Moines. We pick pizzas, chomp on cheeseburger and fries, and crave a croque monsieur (a French ham-and-cheese sandwich grilled on a toasted baguette). But what makes our witching hour so wonderful is "little tastes" -- pté, smoked salmon, tuna tartare, white bean hummus and roasted tomato served on toast. And if we're lucky, the kitchen lavishes us with "leftovers." These are Christopher's specialties that some poor soul was unfortunate enough not to order during regular dinner hours -- sole meunière on Thursday, veal cheeks on Friday and rabbit in mustard sauce on Saturday.
Paired with selections from Christopher's list of 100 wines by the glass, these are snacks with real sustenance and style.
Ah, we miss the days of the dungeons. Time was we could punish an inept private chef by chaining him to the rack, and tossing the leftovers to the crocodiles. Now, our staff is unionized and gets all bent out of shape over a little constructive criticism.
Unless we reserve the ultra-luxe private dining room at the Phoenician resort, in which case we're treated like the royalty we think we are. Every wish is granted, in regal, tantalizing style. The place looks just like a castle, too, replete with Renaissance-era decor, barrel-vaulted ceilings, brick archways, European antiques and a full wall of wines. It's the perfect place to host a gala for our favorite 16 other well-to-do pals, all for a mere $2,000 minimum.
The room does double duty as a wine cellar, servicing the Phoenician's elite restaurants. And this means our custom menu is as good as -- no, better than -- what our fellow guests are enjoying at Mary Elaine's. Better because it's ours, all ours.
Ah, it's good to be king.
How cool is it to take a sudden turn, open a door that looks as if it leads to nowhere, and announce to your companion that you've arrived at your highly select dining secret?
This private party room is a little hole in the wall. It's a hidden hole in the wall, in fact, behind a door set invisibly into the paneled wood wall of the tiny bar called Dick's Hideaway. Making it to Dick's Hideaway is difficult enough on its own -- there's no sign outside. And there's not even a doorknob for the private dining area.
But seek and you shall find a completely charming, comfortable room seating up to 25 people around a grand, copper-topped table and at comfy booth tables lining the wine-bottle-lined walls. Dishes are the non-stuffy sort, featuring creative New Mexican fare like chimayo chicken (stuffed with spinach, sun-dried tomato, poblano chile and asiago cheese); pork tenderloin (marinated and pecan-grilled with red and green chile jelly); and even posole (hominy and pork in red chile broth). Prices are down-to-earth, too, with a room minimum of just $500.
The speakeasies of yesteryear had nothing on this place.
This is a belly-buster, an all-you-can-eat fiesta with five meats (pork, brisket, sausage, chicken and pork spare ribs), served with beans, coleslaw, French fries and garlic bread. At just $14.99, we don't know how this restaurant makes money. Because, while other places might try to trick us with subpar products, the 'cue served here is topnotch, slow smoked over hickory for 14 hours, and paired with a killer, tangy-tart sauce. It's plate after plate of fall-off-the-bone tender meats, until we fall off our chairs, stuffed to a stupor. Oink, oink.
There's something so purely sensual about the setting at Latilla. Tucked into the Sonoran Desert foothills, the restaurant treats us to a symphony of wood, white adobe and Native American weavings. Giant wood posts stand sentry; the room's ceiling is crafted from ocotillo branches (latilla, or "little sticks" in Spanish). We nestle in booths in the intimate, staggered seating areas, staring lovingly into each other's eyes . . . and at the menu.
Love is in the air with appetizers such as the foie gras over creamy polenta with beet slices, fresh berries, and a port reduction. Entrees quicken our heart with delights like seared Chilean sea bass with shrimp pot stickers and crisp chicken in a spicy crayfish broth, and Italian Cowboy veal chop garnished with Sicilian green olives, peppercorns and artichoke hearts.
After dinner, we cuddle on the desert-landscaped patio, spooning in the glow of a fireplace and splashing waterfall. Our whispered sweet nothings are seconded by the faraway howl of a coyote. What's not to love?
"Conference Resort" rarely conjures images of fine dining. And the name describes this property perfectly. It caters primarily to large groups; we can't even get a table without being asked which company we're with.
But, hey, we'll lie about our affiliations if it gets us seated for the surprising sustenance served here. This is old-style class all the way, rich with tableside presentation and a grande dame atmosphere of ornate chandeliers and brocade fabrics. Food is over-the-top classic. Remember appetizers like beef consommé (stocked with root vegetables, tomato concasse and fresh basil), or prawns Provençal, sautéed with garlic and pimientos? Entrees even sound elegant: Lobster Lord Randolph, truffled and flambéed in Courvoisier; and duckling aux framboise with raspberry bigarade sauce. Sunday brunch is something special, too, served with unlimited champagne and made-to-order omelets, eggs Benedict, carved prime rib, smoked salmon and retro-but-loved deviled eggs and thick-sliced pté.
For creative, quiet, unexpectedly elegant dining, Palm Court is our best frond.
To look at this simple little storefront, you'd never think that its chef-owner, Jeff Flancer, is a graduate of the renowned Culinary Institute of America. All doubts will be put to rest after one bite of any of his creative, full-flavored creations. Just as surprising is the fact that his party platters, which each feed 25, cost an incredibly low $39.99 to $43.75.
That's only $1.59 to $1.75 per person for such delights as green chile mushroom phyllo pockets, baked pesto Brie en croûte, smoked salmon with artichoke hearts and cream cheese, and cold noodle sesame ginger chicken with oriental vegetables. Healthful platters abound, such as salads -- chef, Caesar chicken, albacore tuna, Greek, antipasto or crispy Parmesan chicken. Then there are balsamic portabella mushrooms and sherry-glazed roasted onions with rosemary flatbread, or crispy scallion shrimp won tons with tamari dipping sauce.
Why take a chance on the perfect party? Just order the perfect platter from Flancer's.
Our time is valuable. We don't always have the luxury of a relaxed, hourlong lunch. (Okay, actually we do -- but our bosses are reading this.) But no way, no how, are we going to waste our greenbacks (or our guts) at most drive-through grease pits. Why would we, when we have Miracle Mile delicatessens, where the time between ordering and eating never surpasses five minutes? You can get to-go service, but sit down. Pick the pastrami. Lean and luscious, it's partnered with melted Swiss and hot sauerkraut for the Straw sandwich; with red bell pepper and carrot-spiked coleslaw and Thousand Island dressing for the New Yorker; and with Swiss, lettuce and dressing for the triple-decker. These two-fisters come complete with French fries, potato salad, macaroni salad or coleslaw and a hefty pickle spear, all for about six bucks. Daily specials such as meat loaf and chunky mashed potatoes are priced the same and equally delicious. Fast food, this cheap and this wonderful? That's a miracle.
As Scottsdale has grown up around it, the Pink Pony, owned by the same couple for 50 years, has stayed firmly in its past -- from the large, rose-colored ceramic pony behind the bar, to the comforting retro menu that has long charmed spring training baseball camps -- the Cubs, the Angels, the A's, the Mariners and the Giants.
There's real Arizona history here, with black booths that once seated stars like Billy Martin, Harry Caray, John McNamara and Stan Musial. The jerseys on the walls are from the greatest players, autographed by the best, and hung alongside World Series-issue bats signed by modern-day teams.
There's also welcome value at lunch and dinner: The Pink Pony Special, a hefty sirloin steak complete with soup or salad, baked or French fried potatoes or rice pilaf, hot biscuits and honey, is just $15. Main courses remind us of Sunday dinner at Grandma's: golden pan-fried chicken, genuine calf's liver with bacon and onion, and -- for a fancy treat -- prime rib or barbecued pork ribs.
When you want to remember old-time Arizona, ride on over to the Pink Pony.
The views from this place are pretty enough to eat. We're standing on the patio, mesmerized by the panorama of the Valley from 1,800 feet above the desert. When we move inside for dinner, we take the beauty with us, seated next to floor-to-ceiling windows framing a stunning Arizona sunset. After dinner, we collect for drinks on a gorgeous patio, decorated with a fire fountain and scads of flowers, the flames sending shadows dancing across the virgin mountainscape that cradles the resort property.
The menu offers some notable Mediterranean-influenced favorites: jumbo shrimp slicked in a delightfully wicked lemon-habanero glaze, teamed with glazed mushrooms and roasted pancetta sauce; or ravioli stuffed with ample butter-braised lobster and caramelized shallots in a ghostly rich beurre blanc. Fish, too, is fantastic, such as buttery Coast Chilean sea bass sided with cranberry beans, pequillo peppers and a smoked bacon-lobster jus. Still, in this setting, food is almost an afterthought. Surrounded by such natural, pure Arizona beauty, even cardboard would taste good.
What is it with casual Valley restaurants putting us on a patio where we're face-to-face with the car bumpers that crowd strip malls? Carlsbad Tavern is having none of that. This funky, New Mexican eatery had adapted its building along busy Hayden Road to take advantage of its virtues.
Originally a seafood restaurant, the property wraps around a Disney-style "pier" overlooking an "ocean" that's more blue-painted concrete moat than splashing shore. Thick, tall stucco walls seclude the patio in a cozy, quiet courtyard decorated with wagon wheels, hanging chiles and a fountain.
It's a fine, fair-weather spot to kick back and sip on a major margarita and enjoy specialty dishes like Santa Fe duck ravioli (crispy chipotle pasta with smoked duck and Brie cream sauce), carne adovada or a searingly spicy habanero cheeseburger (with a free glass of milk to extinguish the flames). For a comfortable price -- about $8 at lunch, $15 at dinner -- and a laid-back outdoor experience, park it at Carlsbad Tavern.
We'll gladly pucker up for the pancakes served at Kiss the Cook. We'll surrender a smooch for the seafood omelet, brimming with bay shrimp, crab and broccoli in a smothering of Cheddar cheese. And we'll bust a buss for biscuits, homemade, drowning in country gravy and teamed with our choice of bacon, sausage or country ham. We won't even tell you what we're willing to do for French toast, swimming in real butter and hot syrup, with free seconds.
Once we're stuffed, we summon strength for a quick shopping spree through this wood-floored, cottage-decorated eatery, filling our bags with cozy antique knickknacks. Then, it's home for a nice, long nap.
For breakfast, Kiss the Cook smacks of the best.
When the sun breaks over the horizon, we're inclined to groan and stuff another pillow over our head. We know we need to snack on something to regain our strength, but eggs, bacon, home fries and toast will simply send us back to bed. Day breaks more gently at Café Soleil, a tiny, colorful cafe that's blissfully quiet and stocked with a luxurious selection of homemade goodies, plus a wide assortment of coffees, juice smoothies, creamy chais, espressos, cappuccinos, mochas and iced drinks. The aroma of fresh-baked breads lures us in, where we linger in front of a glass case, admiring beautiful croissants, rolls, pastries, cookies and muffins. There are breakfast bagels, heaped with our choice of lox, tomato, cream cheese, Swiss, American or mozzarella cheeses. On Sundays, we wake up a little later, and select from five special breakfast entrees -- omelets and such -- that change weekly. At Café Soleil, we don't mind that the sun shines in.
It's too difficult to decide what to order from Marquesa's amazing menu. This Mobil Four-Star restaurant is also one of two AAA Five-Diamond restaurants in Arizona, and serves cuisine from one of Spain's best-kept secrets: Catalan, blended with Italian and French influences. The feast never ends at this market-style brunch, with highlights like sautéed shrimp with saffron potatoes and truffles cradled in licorice mustard-seed sauce; fire-roasted couscous; paella Valenciana with lobster, chicken, pork, shellfish, chistora and saffron rice cooked in clay casuelas; braised quail; veal empanada; turkey with hazelnut polenta; and duck with cauliflower purée, lentil and sausage. And, of course, caviar. Our single lament? The open-air extravaganza is served only from mid-September through June.
Marquesa is definitely the best of the brunch bunch.
It's another one of those days. The boss is being completely unreasonable, expecting us at work before noon, when we only get up at 11 a.m. so we won't be late for our lunch break. So we soothe our ruffled dignity by hiding in the cozy heart-of-downtown darkness that is Monroe's. Descend weathered wooden stairs to reach the dim, candlelit and red-light-bulbed interior of this live jazz club/cafe. Once we can see, we find dark wood walls with brick, with some Christmas lights twinkling in the black, low-slung ceiling.
This place has excellent bar food, most items priced at less than $6. Onion soup is a smooth starter, the beefy, not-too-sweet broth buried under mounds of soft, hot provolone. A cheese steak is terrific, too, packed with quality, lacy-thin beef and buckets of melted provolone on a soft hoagie roll that's been grilled to a wonderful crust.
Ah, now that's what we need to cure those big boss blues.
The new El Portal hasn't been in business long, but this little house turned eatery has become a fast favorite among the downtown crowd, with some of the best Mexican food anywhere in metro Phoenix. Maricopa County Supervisor Mary Rose Wilcox and her politico husband Earl refurbished the old, long-shuttered facility last year with simple booths and tables, accented with terra cotta tile. Parking is plentiful, but the place does fill up, and beware -- it closes at 2 p.m.
An early arrival is well worth it. (The cafe opens at 7:30 a.m., and breakfast, by the way, is served all day.) Service is quick and the menu complete -- from complimentary chips and salsa, through à la carte regulars such as tacos, burros and tostadas and combination plates with treats such as beef machaca. Drink refills arrive before you even ask, and if you're lucky, Mary Rose herself will bring your meal to the table.
Now that's what we call a good public servant!
Pity the poor dieter who believes that eating well has to taste bad. These pitiful creatures have never embraced the power of fresh ingredients, fats served only in restrained portions, and everything snapped up with exotic spices. At Green Leaf Cafe, healthful dining goes global, influenced by the cuisines of Persia, the Mediterranean, Italy, America and Mexico, even Cajun and the Orient. Vegetables take center stage, partnered with tofu, and accented, if we choose, by modest servings of chicken, turkey, fish and eggs -- but never any red meat. Even the simplest vegan plate soars with the magic of fresh herbs and spices -- oregano, basil, mint, dill, fennel, cumin, garlic, capers, parsley, ginger, fenugreek, cilantro and more. For a sweet but not sinful finish, we pick pumpkin pie, all natural and vegan, of course. Green Leaf is a healthful new leaf we're happy to turn over.
In some restaurants, getting an up-close view of the kitchen and the folks who are slaving away over the proverbial hot stove might just spoil your appetite. But at Guedo's, watching the cooks work adds to the sheer joy of eating their signature tacos. We love waiting in line to order here, because while Spanish music blares from the speakers, these guys sing, dance, laugh and bang their pots around. They belt out romantic ballads at the top of their lungs, hooting and hollering to the salsa songs. Arriba!
Talk about cooking lessons. We've always loved Chef Razz Kamnitzer's creative Mediterranean-inspired dishes. Now, with his newly relocated restaurant, we can sit at the bar directly overlooking the master in action in the tiny, galley-style kitchen. We study Kamnitzer performing his ballet, his neatly tied signature ponytail spinning as he makes it look easy to work on a half-dozen orders at a time. The only problem? Seeing these dishes prepared makes us want to order them all. Duck and vegetable spring rolls, escargots, crespelles, cashew-crusted salmon with hibiscus broth, bouillabaisse -- we've got a severe case of entree envy.
Why would we let something as superficial as a fork get in the way of genius? Nothing comes between us and the incredible pizzas crafted by chef Halim Nefic. His pies aspire to art, spun in whisper-thin circles, topped with the freshest, most vibrant ingredients, and baked in a wood-burning oven to crisp, perfect contentment.
Dough is made fresh daily and hand-spun. Tomatoes are hand-crushed and blended with special spices, and cheese is mozzarella, also lovingly made by hand. So that's how we eat these lovelies: by hand. The 12-inch pies are said to feed two, but that's only if we're sharing our adored Four Seasons blend: tomato sauce, mozzarella, imported Italian prosciutto, wood-roasted mushrooms, fresh sliced tomato, Parmesan, black olives and artichoke hearts.
Two thumbs up!
French food has always been considered special treat fare, and with opulent names like
poisson ou fruit de mer à la discretion du chef,
croque monsieur and
les frittes à la Parisienne, it's no wonder. Sophie's, though, brings flights of fancy down to earth, with fantastic food that, once we know what it is, feels like an old friend. That
poisson thing? It's the catch of the day, and if we're lucky, it's seared tuna in a marvelous peppery crust.
Croque is no crock -- it's a broiled shaved ham and Gruyère sandwich that puts a new spin on upscale deli dining. And
frittes? How about French fries, and not your everyday spuds but glorious crispy shoestrings served in a bowl so huge that McDonald's supersizing looks like fluff.
Sophie's serves the classics, of course: les escargots traditionnels (Burgundy-style snails in herbed garlic butter), soupe à l'oignon des halles (onion soup), salade niçoise, quiche and crepes. But there's none of the stiffness associated with French dining here, just a cozy little cottage with hardwood floors and lace curtains and, on weekends, live baby grand piano music.
Thriving for several decades in a former IHOP A-frame, "The Don," as regulars affectionately refer to it, can never be accused of lacking atmosphere. Go in -- hungry, of course -- and munch thin, hot chips and admire the year-round, Mylar Christmas decorations that spin and twinkle lazily in the manufactured breeze. Vintage bullfighter portraits compete with velvet paintings and more contemporary (but equally bizarre) prints, while oldies ooze out of a radio whose dial hasn't budged in years. Check out your dining companions: lone curmudgeons, young moderns, and big families with the occasional screaming child. Order the heavenly cheese crisp, heaped with guacamole; chat with chipper waitress Tami; and ask for the green ketchup for a real visual treat. More good news: All this atmosphere comes cheap at the only sit-down restaurant where two can enjoy dinner for under $10 -- and where it's always Christmas, to boot.
Divorce? Death in the family? Nothing that a little meat loaf and mashed potatoes can't fix. Because we turn to comfort food during difficult times, it had better be nice food. No hard edges, nothing challenging, no effort involved. Nonni's Sunday Chicken, which is always on the menu at Rancho Pinot Grill, is a hearty, soul-satisfying bowl of love. To describe it as wine-braised chicken and vegetables served over crunchy polenta cakes doesn't capture the most comforting aspect of this dish: its texture. This chicken asks nothing of you -- it just helpfully falls off the bone, as though it knows you've had a hard day. Or perhaps it senses that you shouldn't be trusted with a knife.
Pastry chef Richard Ruskell could impress us with just his star-quality résumé: award after pastry award in eight years at our Valley's world-class Mary Elaine's. He could win us over with the clever hiring of Scott Fausz from Scottsdale's stellar Pierre's Pastries. Ruskell certainly gets our warm thoughts for naming his shop after his beloved Dalmatian, whose photos are proudly displayed on the wall.
But it's Ruskell's breakfast pastries, desserts and chocolates that bring us to our knees in genuflection. Flaky croissants -- plain, cinnamon, chocolate -- burst with butter. Soft brioche are gorgeously fat with custard, almond cream and orange, cinnamon and almonds, cream cheese and fresh blackberries, or lemon cheese.
And what can we say about his hand-sculpted pastries, except, "Wow!" Our favorite is the light-as-air Tuzigoot, with vanilla Bavarian, fresh fruit and mango gelée.
Ruskell also designs custom chocolates in the winter months, adding such sensations as tangerine/caramel mousse to chocolates from Michel Cluizel, a family-owned chocolatier in Normandy. Oh, Maxine, we're not worthy. But we'll come anyway.
Charles Taylor -- "Sir" to his friends -- has changed his location since he started barbecuing in the Valley in 1969, but not his food -- out-of-this-world pecan-smoked meats, tangy sauce and a dazzling display of belly-filling side dishes. Sir Charles' edge-charred pork ribs fall off the bone at our softest tooth-tug. Beef ribs and brisket are beauties, juicy pulled pork is perfection, and smoked turkey remains moist under its deep, woody flavoring. Texas-style sauce, mild or hot, is good enough to be sipped straight, with a hint of tomatoes and no thick, sugary glop we too often find elsewhere. Sir Charles' sides are meal makers: greens, soupy Texas beans, black-eyed peas, garlic mashers, sweet potatoes and, best of all, green beans and cabbage, with lots of salt, butter and pork. Need more to stick to your ribs? Sweet-potato pie or peach and apple cobblers will leave you feeling like royalty.
Neither of these carne asada emporiums is in any upper-crust neighborhood. There's not much to impress from the outside. But we're not going in anyway; we're barely slowing down, even, pausing just long enough to place our order at the speaker and, within minutes, make off with our booty of remarkably inexpensive, tasty Mexican food.
Vaquero's is open 24 hours a day -- a big bonus. There's an awesome selection, so we never get bored -- an even bigger bonus. Its meats are grilled to order, and paired with fresh extras -- the biggest bonus yet. Count 'em up: 23 combination plates, 12 taco choices, five tostadas, 10 tortas, four enchiladas, five shrimp dishes, and 20 burritos. Breakfast is served around the clock, with 11 options, and on weekends, there's homemade menudo.
Muy impressive, no? Sí.
Whoever coined the phrase "an apple a day keeps the doctor away" never considered the sinful creations that Candy's turns out. Candy's starts with immense, hand-selected Granny Smith apples of unparalleled crunch and flavor. Then it mounds this gift of nature with various combinations of ingredients, ranging from traditional caramel to peanut butter, macadamia nuts and Heath Bar pieces, completely obliterating any nutritional value that might have originally existed. It's a challenge to figure out how best to eat one of these delectable monsters (we used a knife and fork), but it's a challenge well worth meeting.
If Yusef's doesn't have it, you don't need it. That's our thought, anyway, after browsing through hundreds of Middle Eastern and North African items stocked on the shelves of this delightful shop.
All the basics are covered: powdered sumac, Turkish coffee, teas, zaatar (thyme and sesame seeds to be blended with olive oil and dipped with pita), and kadaifi (phyllo dough). The store's got the fancy stuff, too, like Israeli olives, Lebanese green beans, Bulgarian eggplant dip and a tasty variety of feta cheeses. And Yusef's has got novelties, like a must-have tobacco water pipe called a hubba-bubba.
Yusef's? You said it.
Good food, just like llama used to make. That's the inspiration behind Peruanitos, owned by the de Arriola family, a group of talented chefs relocated from Peru. The charm is visible in the decor, bright and cheerful, and yes, decorated with giant stuffed toy llamas. It's even more apparent in the food, a celebration of one of the world's oldest, most sophisticated cuisines.
Peru is about potatoes, and Peruanitos showcases the spuds. We adore papas a la huancaina, layering thick slabs of boiled potato and onion strips with a neon-yellow, creamy cheese sauce, topped with sliced hard-boiled egg, black olives and a whole lot of heat from fiery rocoto or aji amarillo chile sauce dashed in. It's the perfect appetizer to lead us into carapulera, a classic Incan dish of papseca (freeze-dried potatoes) with large chunks of pork in velvety, mildly spiced, orange-colored sauce with nuts. And we lust after adobo de chancho, a succulent concoction of marinated, slow-cooked pork with an electric, spicy undercut of serious chile heat. It's moist and meaty, and cools down a touch with fluffy rice and chilled sweet potatoes.
Pop rocks!
And nowhere in town will you find a wider selection of the bottled bubbly (non-alcoholic variety) than at this fizz fanatic's paradise, a soda supermarket that stocks hundreds of hard-to-find carbonated potables.
Specializing in regional and imported sweetened swills you either haven't tasted in years or never knew existed, the inventory (some 300 brands) includes such arcane quaffs as Mexican Coca-Cola (despite Coke's official company line, it's far zingier than its domestic cousin), Dr Pepper from a maverick Texas bottler that still uses pure cane sugar, and Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray, which tastes a lot better than it sounds. In short, enough effervescent nectars to finance your dentist's Malibu beach house.
Burp!
Maybe your house was filled with the smell of fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies every week when you were a kid. Or maybe your mom's idea of making cookies was opening a package of Chips Ahoy!. Whether you're reliving your childhood or compensating for it, you'll want to drop in on Fat Cat Cookies. Every morning finds owner Linda Schneider up to her elbows in delicious cookie dough. She and hubby Kem make 18 varieties, from basic chocolate chip, peanut butter and sugar cookies to whisker-lickin'-good specialties such as "cat's meow" (white chocolate and macadamia nut), "purr-fect pineapple" (crushed, unsweetened pineapple in a soft, cakelike cookie), "cat's whiskers" (white chocolate chips, pecans and a touch of rum flavoring) and the "original fat cat" (chocolate, walnuts and peanut butter chips). If you're lucky, you might even get to meet Boston, the "boss cat" of the operation.
How can something so simple go so wrong so often? Phoenix is a veritable citrus mecca, yet drinks bearing no trace of lemon get passed off as lemonade here every day. And don't get us started on how people have served us Crystal Light with a straight face, as if we wouldn't know the difference. Lemonade is simple; there's no need for creativity, tricks or gimmicks. Or artificial sweeteners. If you like your lemonade tart and straightforward, Jamba Juice does it just right. Buried amidst a lengthy menu of smoothie combinations, it's easy to overlook the almost quaint listing of lemonade. But it's there -- so satisfyingly sour, with just a little sweetness, and chilled with plenty of slushy ice. Pucker up.
It's not often that we break into tears at the sight of food. But as soon as we walk into Guido's, our hearts swell, and our eyes well up at what must be the closest thing to heaven on Earth for real (or wanna-be) Italians.
How could we not grow misty over San Marzano tomatoes? Overwhelmed by olive oil, bread and imported pasta? Smitten with sauces, marinated olives, cookies, pastries and even imported antacids? And that's just the stuff on the shelves. Mascarpone cheese, handmade mozzarella, carved capocollo, hard salami and more than a dozen from-scratch salads fill the cooler cases (the tomato and garlic salad is outstanding). If we don't feel like cooking our own, Guido's caters with its take-home lasagna, cheese tortellini, potato dumplings and ravioli. Whatever you do, take time to smell the sausage. It, too, is made by hand, gloriously juicy and bursting with fennel.
It's easy to become bored by same-old, same-old classic American food. Yet we've become overwhelmed by chefs conjuring up crazy concoctions like wasabi-glazed truffles in caramelized cognac with anchovy chutney. That's why we're so taken with the Asian-influenced American cuisine served at Elements. Rather than shtick, Chef Chuck Wiley wisely keeps Asia to an accent, focusing on the beauty of fresh ingredients and carefully honed flavors. Wiley changes the menu monthly, and offers unusual delicacies such as devil-fried oysters, breaded panko-style and served on the half shell atop a massive bowl of rock salt with tangy baby spinach and cucumber slaw. He wakes up sleepy salmon, crisp-edged from the grill, salt-and-peppery skinned, lounging on a nest of tangy braised greens, snow peas, sesame, ginger and somen noodles. Even traditional favorites have energy, such as the hefty filet mignon, paired with garlic mashed potatoes topped with melted bleu cheese and sweet soft onion strips. With its plush Camelback Mountain address and fabulous views of Paradise Valley below, Elements has everything it needs to be a special experience.
The name is deceptive: This is a shop with regular hours, not a weekend event. For cooks who despair of finding exotica like in-season cherries for less than $7 a pound, or for those who have heard tell of mythical eggplants that come in colors other than purple but have never actually witnessed such sights, the Guadalupe market is a mecca. It's not a tiresome gourmet shop with the precious-gem prices we've come to expect for things that should be everyday items, like ripe tomatoes or local grapefruit. This is a straightforward produce market, run by people who understand that they're selling vegetables, for goodness sake, not Russian caviar. Guadalupe Farmer's Market's plentiful produce is fairly priced, always fresh, and local whenever possible. Better yet, its fruits and vegetables taste like foodstuffs you've only heard about from elderly relatives who swear no one sells produce like they did "way back when." Guadalupe does.
Short of manning your own farm, you won't find a better, more reliable way to get organics than with the home delivery service of Boxed Greens. This company cuts out the middleman, so the just-picked treasures come right to our door, guaranteed by 7 a.m.
This certified organic produce is grown mostly right here in Arizona, without pesticides. It's all the best the season has to offer, with pick-of-the-week freshness and boutique varieties that can't be found anywhere else. Working exclusively with small farms (500 acres or less), Boxed Greens snags such delectables as heirloom tomatoes, unusual herbs or fruits, all picked to order. Sure, these precious pleasures cost more -- purple beans for $7.95 a pound, plus $9.95 for delivery -- but aren't your taste buds worth it? We know ours are.
Gourmet grub doesn't have to be expensive. This we learned at Trader Joe's, an amazing emporium of more than 800 upscale items for remarkably palatable prices. We love the freshness, and the variety of product, too. TJ's shelves -- and now ours, too -- are stocked with delicious things like sweet garlic sauce, artichoke lemon pesto, Satsuma mandarin oranges in syrup, Super Colossal Sevillano olives, Manchego cheese and Bluefort Aged Sheep's Milk Blue Cheese. TJ's has wines from around the world, organic cereals, mozzarella and tomato salad, poultry sausages, low-fat curried turkey burgers, ready-to-eat meats, Spaten Beers from Germany, Fiji Water, designer jerky, and even gourmet goodies for our pets.
We wouldn't trade Joe's for anything.
Saturdays, fall through spring, take on special meaning for gourmets who are looking to score some extra-special treasures for just a few shekels. Perhaps it's a bottle of little-known boutique wine, an obscure blue-veined cheese, artisan breads or organic produce. We find them here, all crafted or grown by independent vendors, and at factory-to-us pricing. Fair-weather Saturdays are when Guerithault operates his farmer's market, set up in the parking lot of his restaurant from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. The market opens for the new season on October 13.
If all this shopping makes us hungry, we can pause to snack on some of chef Guerithault's mouth-watering creations. Made-to-order crepes always make their way to our mouths, the whisper-thin pancakes filled with any number of delectables, savory or sweet. Duck tamales delight our taste buds, and soufflés satisfy even our most formidable stomach rumblings.
Hey, we may be cheap, but with Vincent's market, we can still be classy, too.
Sportsman's has won our Best of Phoenix so many years now that some might think we own stock in this popular wine shop. Nothing could be further from the truth. What is true is that Sportsman's continues to surprise and delight with the breadth of its selection, expertise of knowledge, and flat-out friendliness to connoisseurs as well as people who couldn't find their way out of a vat of Boone's Farm. Looking for that perfect pairing for buffalo? Sportsman's recommends a 1997 Rombauer Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa. What's good with spicy Asian food? Select a 2000 Alexander Valley Vineyards Gewürztraminer. And for those stumped about what to serve with shellfish, a 1998 Merryvale Chardonnay "Reserve" is just the ticket (not for lobster, though). Sportsman's is easily the best game in town.
When we say, "Pass the cheese, please," it's no easy proposition. It takes several trips to cart over the more than 60 varieties the Duck brings in from around the world. This is a virtual tour of the classiest cheeses from France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Switzerland, England, Belgium, and, of course, the good old U.S.A. Exploring for l'Explorateur, a triple-cream cheese with almost as much butterfat as butter? The Duck's got it. Salty, spicy Mimolette Cheddar is on the menu, too, along with Port Salut (made by Trappist monks), Bruder Basil, Chevagne (goat's milk) and gorgeous, hard Parmigiano Reggiano.
Not sure which is your favorite? The Duck offers free samples. If you like it, buy a pound, and they'll simply put it on your Duck bill.
Many of the specialty breads here are wonderful -- the olive bread is a standout -- but if a bakery's all-important baguette doesn't deliver, then all the chocolate-cherry loaves in the world don't make up for the failure. The simple baguettes at Arizona Bread Company -- and the slightly larger and terribly useful sandwich-size baguettes -- display all the hallmarks of a good loaf of bread: thick, crisp crusts; chewy, airy centers; and a vaguely nutty, but never yeasty, flavor. Serve them with soup or salad, and call it a meal.
The word "chain" conjures up images of cookie-cutter chow and surroundings, unimaginative stuff created to appeal to the masses. That's why Chart House breaks the chain for us. The place is too pretty to be prefab, with lots of dark woods, a clubby, upscale style and unparalleled lakeside views, particularly at sunset.
The cuisine isn't chain-style, either. The fish is always market-fresh, and you can always get Pacific swordfish, Hawaiian mahi-mahi and yellowfin ahi, or California bluenose bass, served grilled, baked or blackened. Other preparations are more creative, like pan-seared sea scallops in ginger-soy broth, ginger-crusted miso halibut, or sesame-crusted salmon with coconut peanut sauce. Meats are a marvel, too, particularly the succulent prime rib, rack of lamb and filet mignon. Nothing beats the salad bar, either, groaning with a huge, gorgeous collection of things like fresh-tossed caesar with real anchovies, hearts of palm, marinated vegetables, and two kinds of rich, salty caviar.
Chain or not, we're charting our course to Chart House.
Think you've had a mixed green salad? Not until you've experienced this one, stocked with sprouts, carrots, pumpkin and sunflower seeds, tomato wedges and cucumber slices. Stir-fry shines, too, like the saguaro sesame tofu, tossing baked bean curd with steamed broccoli, carrots, zucchini, napa cabbage and ponzu vinaigrette over brown rice. We also love the Southwestern green corn tamale, studded with dairy-free black beans and topped with red pepper slices, black olives and parsley, all served over rice. Partaking of pizza? Go for the Arizona native, an herb crust piled high with soy mozzarella, green chile sauce, tomatoes, black olives, roasted red bell peppers, avocado, red onion and cilantro. For health food that makes us happy, nobody pleases us more than Desert Greens Cafe.
This place desperately needs to edit down its name to something you can say without taking a breath in the middle, but that's okay. Its noble intentions make up for it. As the menu says: "With respect for all life, we proudly serve all dishes free of meat, poultry, fish, eggs, and MSG." (We always knew MSG was a living parasite; now it's confirmed.)
What makes this vegetarian house so interesting is that it seeks to replicate the taste of animals instead of killing them for it. Substitutions are carefully crafted of soy and other mysterious ingredients to mimic meats, including veggie beef, veggie eel, veggie pork, veggie goose, veggie chicken, veggie squid, veggie shrimp, veggie fish, veggie duck and veggie meatballs. Some presentations are actually molded into shapes that look like the real thing. And, surprisingly enough, Supreme Master carries off this unusual concept with winning cuisine.
The cuisine at Mueller's can be difficult to pronounce -- gebackner camenbert mit preiselbeeren, for example -- but it's easy to swallow. Gebackner is a small baked round of Camembert served with sweet-sour lingonberries. Along with cream of carrot soup or herring in cream sauce gussied with apples and onions, it makes for an appealing appetizer.
Entrees are just as energetic, including altburger töpfle (pork tenderloin in a rich mushroom gravy over homemade spätzle noodles), Wiener schnitzel (breaded veal sautéed in butter), rinderfilet mit pfifferlinge (beef medallions with chanterelle mushrooms), and tunnes potz (pork tenderloin on a bed of spinach topped with a zesty tomato sauce).
Desserts? But of course. Try Black Forest cake or apple strudel.
Great German food, served in a great German setting, by owners with great German accents -- it doesn't get any better than this.
Chef Vincent Guerithault's eponymous eatery, tucked into an (who would believe it?) office park between a gas station and a massage parlor, celebrated its 15th anniversary this year. When he first introduced his menu, people scoffed: a combination of classic French cooking with flavors of Mexico and the American Southwest -- in a town that didn't even stock cilantro in its grocery stores? Now that exotic herbs are available even at Safeway, the James Beard-celebrated Vincent's is still at the top of its class. We pray he never deprives us of his duck tamale with Anaheim chile, lobster chimichanga with basil pesto, and salmon quesadilla -- house-smoked fish laid over a thin, phyllo-like crust dabbed with dill and horseradish cream. Trends come and go. With Vincent's, however, superb Southwestern is here to stay.
When chef Jeffrey Beeson took over tiny Convivo this year, a great thing just got better. The setting in this modest place off a strip mall parking lot is casual, but the eats are all glamour -- American classics goosed up with unexpected flavors. Local produce is a star here, and we get our daily vitamins with the Convivo Collection, an ever-changing assortment of grilled vegetables that might include leeks, red pepper, Japanese eggplant, carrots and zucchini, delightfully paired with garlicky hummus, salami, barley salad and pecan-crusted goat cheese. Appetizers are adventurous -- an edgy house-cured salmon nesting with crispy fried ravioli in a pineapple butter sauce with peppery nasturtium leaves, for example. Entrees are outright excitement, such as coconut-crusted ahi tuna topped with fried calamari and slicked in plum-marigold-mint vinaigrette alongside soba noodles. And for dessert, our favorites are the guajillo chile-squash flan in fragrant cinnamon syrup, or a fudgy ancho-chile brownie. With food this stunning, we're more proud than ever to say that we're American.
There's something decidedly unromantic about having your éclair handed to you by a person wearing a cowboy hat or a teenager who repeatedly uses the word "like" as a modifier. Rest assured that this will never happen to you at Au Petit Four French Pastry and Bakery, located between a pair of escalators on the ground level of the Camelback Esplanade. Recently opened by a newly arrived Frenchman, Au Petit Four offers delicious, authentic pastries, salads, sandwiches and quiches with a flourish and a friendly (and correctly pronounced) "
Bonjour!" Whether you crave a croissant, a brioche, a "Parisian salade," or just an earful of wonderful French accent, Au Petit Four is pure Gaul.
If Helen had a face that could launch a thousand ships, then Greekfest serves entrees that can launch a thousand tips. Greekfest has been our favorite for too many years to count, and somehow, it keeps getting better. Owners Susan and Tony Makridis have built an empire of the senses, with stunning flavors, a Grecian palace setting, and personality so charming we can't help but shout "Opa!" when our saganaki arrives. How could we restrain, as the mild kefalograviera cheese is soaked with brandy, then dramatically flambéed at our table? If we want exotica, we slurp oktapodi skaras (grilled octopus in cabernet sauce). When we're feeling a little more traditional, we go for the moussakas (slices of baked eggplant and ground lamb with béchamel and cheese), or roasted rack of baby lamb dressed with pine nuts. Greekfest is a festival of flavors we're happy to attend all year long.
There are those days when nothing will satisfy your culinary cravings like oyster omakase. You know the feeling. Hey, when that mood hits, head for Hapa Sushi Lounge. Omakase, of course, means a multicourse chef's choice dinner (in Japanese). And at Hapa, depending on the bounty of the day, it can be an upscale orgy of mollusks exquisitely paired, if you like, with wine, sake, sparkling wine and champagne. Perhaps the selection will include a trio of Washington State oysters, served in-shell on a long sushi-style tray. Different varieties are presented hot, in a sauce of sake, soy, grape seed oil and chives; or cold as palate refreshers, in varying baths of ponzu, spicy daikon and green onion or lime and chile. Playing the perfect partner is wonderfully smooth Kurosawa Daiginjo sake. In this Valley's shell game, Hapa Sushi Lounge is a guaranteed winner.
Haiku, the poetry, tries to capture life's emotion in a few simple lines. Haiku, the restaurant, is -- as its menu gushes -- a blend of "poetic food and art." And it succeeds in capturing the best of local Japanese dining experiences in a tiny, 10-table spot with a brief, uncomplicated menu and always-fresh ingredients. Like its namesake, Haiku embraces simplicity with only the finest elements represented. Tonkatsu comes as only authentic tonkatsu should: with shredded cabbage. New Zealand mussels are stuffed with real crab and a creamy mushroom sauce, then slid under a broiler. Salad is spectacular, with cucumber, seaweed strips, daikon sprouts and smelt roe tossed in ponzu. The signature Haiku steak is topped with grilled asparagus and shiitake mushrooms under a drizzle of enoki mushroom sauce. Memorizing poetry in high school was no fun. Today, we can't get enough of it, served as it is at Haiku.
El Chorro Lodge is a Valley landmark, lauded for its historic roots, graceful foothills setting and famous sticky buns -- massive cinnamon rolls that come with every meal. But just as worthy of fame are the most delectable eggs Benedict anywhere in Maricopa County. El Chorro doesn't underestimate the power of these beauties, featuring them at Sunday brunch, but also daily at lunch and dinner.
The classic needs no improvement: two eggs, lovingly poached to a hot liquid center, stacked with grilled Canadian bacon atop crisp English muffins, then smothered in heavenly rich hollandaise. El Chorro even offers an alternative: How about a turkey Benedict, the breast arriving juicy and bacon-wrapped? Or filet mignon instead of Canadian bacon? Even vegetarians are considered, with a sunny-flavored mix of grilled tomato, asparagus, eggs and hollandaise. Eggscellent!
Sushi is sushi, right? Really, it's just rice, mixed with vinegar, and topped with stuff. Raw tuna. Yellowtail. Maybe some nori (seaweed), or, for a splurge, a quail egg. It's not even cooked. So what makes a sushi chef a chef? A few minutes watching the professionals at Sushi on Shea is all the answer you need. It's art in motion, watching these guys craft a simple California roll. Ask them to surprise you, then watch them let loose on their own artistic creations, as they flash knives, slice fish and vegetables into impossible shapes, and arrange a colorful plate worthy of hanging in a museum. But what makes the true difference, of course, is taste. And nobody is more consistently superb than Sushi on Shea. Only the freshest seafood -- ruby-red tuna, sparkling smooth hamachi, and silky salmon -- is used. Any of the daily specials, posted on the chalkboard above the sushi counter, are spectacular. Oh Shea, can you sea? You bet.
You don't have to travel to France to enjoy crepes. Instead, stop in at our favorite bistro right here in town for a spectacular selection of entree and dessert crepes.
Crepes salees are very thin, lightly salted buckwheat packets, folded around some of the most seductive stuffings imaginable. We ascend the French Alps, packing in fresh spinach, Swiss, béchamel sauce and nutmeg. We know the way to St. Tropez, stocked with tomato, zucchini, bell pepper, onion, garlic and herbs du Provence. And the Forest crepe marries fresh mushrooms in a white wine sauce with plenty of cream, garlic and herbs. The Normandie crepe is a sweet invasion of warm apple slices, caramelized with cinnamon, while the French Riviera crepe is an orgy of homemade light custard crème and fruits.
There are plenty of places to get cheap sushi; fast-food Japanese shacks abound in our town. But you get what you pay for: flabby, skimpy fish rolls that have been sitting in their plastic trays for hours before you order. And there's usually little choice in these bargain joints; maybe a California roll, sometimes a tuna roll or cucumber roll, perhaps some salmon. Then there's Origami's. While this place serves its food fast, you'd never know it to sample the sushi. All selections are hand-rolled to order, right before our eyes. The variety is magnificent, competing with our better full-service sushi shops. And the portions are unparalleled: An order of spicy tuna rolls, at just $3.99, brings a platter of eight jumbo pieces -- more the size of California rolls than the traditional teeny tekka maki rolls -- and stuffed with fish the thickness of our thumbs. At Origami's, we say sushi, good buy.
Brisket can be a thing of beauty. Basically, it's beef, but beef that's been seared, seasoned and roasted with vegetables and red wine for hours on end until it's tender and oh-so-sumptuously infused with flavor.
Frankly, though, all that cooking jive is way too much work. So we're thrilled that the folks at Scott's Generations do it for us -- and better than anyone else. No dried-out meat here -- this carved bounty is juicy even without gravy. No fat, either (we hate blubber on our brisket), just lean, carefully trimmed slabs -- and no extra charge for extra lean here, by the way, as if a better cut could be found. We like to build our brisket into a sandwich, stacked a full eight ounces, served on a fresh-baked onion roll alongside coleslaw and pickle spears. It's a brisket worthy of bravo.
Jean Paul Sartre opined that "Hell is other people." For those who agree, heaven must be a sushi happy hour so tasty and affordable that you don't mind being surrounded by that most annoying variety of Other People: shoppers at Scottsdale Fashion Square. On weekdays from 3 to 7 p.m., and from 9 to 11 p.m., Kona Grill offers select half-price sushi rolls, $4 sake bombers, and half-price appetizers -- including Sweet Maui Onion Rings, among the best onion rings in the Valley. For folks who hate a crowd, this is a Faustian bargain, since Kona Grill's bar is ever-jammed with sunless-tanner-loving androids discussing condo interest rates. After some tuna wasabi and a few rounds of sake, however, the crowd will seem positively existential.
Over there, it's pronounced "cuisine de Cooba." Over here, it's pronounced Havana Cafe. However you say it, Havana Cafe is tiny but classy, and the breadth of the menu is breathtaking. We find it hard to choose, so we love the combinacion de favoritas -- a mouth-watering platter of moros (white rice cooked with black beans), tamal Cubano (tamale of fresh ground corn, pork and sofrito seasoning), yucca frita (a fried, potatolike vegetable), platanos maduros fritos (fried ripe plantain), and ensalada de col (cabbage in a lime, garlic and cilantro vinaigrette). Paella is always a showstopper, too: a huge pan brimming with fresh Maine lobster, Manila clams, green-lip mussels, bay scallops, Gulf shrimp, chicken breast, Spanish chorizo, pork, Valencia rice and imported saffron. Stamp our passport! We're going to Havana Cafe.
Some folks think the only thing a bakery can crank out is sweets. We know better. Pastries are wonderful, but don't overlook more-filling foods, like the delectable wechez, deep-fried potato brimming with ham and cheese. Papa relleno takes the edge off your hunger, bringing a crisp croquette stuffed with mashed potatoes and ground beef, while Argentine-style empanadas are ethereal turnovers plump with ground beef.
This doesn't mean you should pass on dessert, of course; finish up with flaky quesitos, buttery puff pastry ribboned with sweetened cream cheese; or tembleque, a cinnamon-coconut pudding. Other showstoppers include pastelito guayaba (guava turnover), dreamy-creamy cheese flan, and fluffy tres leches cake.
For stunning Puerto Rican taste treats, K-Rico is A-OK.
We love the concept of tapas: little bites of exciting foods that give us a full spectrum of flavors without filling us up too much. Havana Patio Cafe takes tapas to the top, with a stunning selection of more than two dozen petite plates. Often, the merry place hosts tapas with Spanish wine tastings, too. And there's a daily happy hour from 4 to 6 p.m., with half-price tapas and drink specials.
These bites are bargain-priced already, most around $4. Which is good, because we order a lot: tortilla Espaol (potato pie with tomato sherry sauce), zesty black bean fritters with Calypso avocado dip, a gorgeous tamal Cubano stuffed with corn, pork and sofrito seasoning, and chicken empanaditas with mushrooms, peppers and onions. We're also smitten with shrimp pancakes, escabeche (tuna pickled in savory Spanish olive oil, cider vinegar with sweet peppers and pimento-stuffed olives), and papa rellena, a potato croquette stuffed with picadillo and topped with tangy cilantro sauce.
As its name suggests, Copper Kettle is a melting pot of the best of its region, with cuisine spanning Afghanistan, Pakistan and northern India in this cozy, casual place. These chefs are talented, firing up a sizzling tandoori grill for clay-oven-cooked marinated meats, poultry and seafood that are moist and rich. Curries bring a subtle blend of meat and herbs simmering in a broth of onions, tomatoes, ginger and garlic. And there's nuttin' better than mutton, mounded on basmati rice gilded with saffron and spices. Now that's a fine Copper Kettle of fresh.
Tucked into a strip mall a ways east of Tempe's beaten path is a charming little alternative to the noisy Mill Avenue chain coffee-house scene. It has all the prerequisites for a good coffee-house experience: lots of parking, plenty of comfortable seating inside and out, and (of course) a wide selection of hot and iced coffee drinks.
But it's the little extras that keep us coming back. The Muse offers freshly baked pastries and muffins (try the Morning Glory) as well as salads, bagels, sandwiches -- even milk shakes. The decor (photography by local artists, sponge-painted walls) is crunchy without being too hippie-dippy, as is the clientele. A favorite feature: a calendar of events for almost every evening, including what must be a unique Valley offering: Lesbian Scrabble on Tuesday nights.
With laptop plug-ins, we certainly know where to go to find our muse -- and a good latte, besides.
If you're talking turkey, there's no better name than Young's Farm, a poultry ranch in Dewey, Arizona. Of course, such quality meat is expensive, but Arcadia Farms doesn't worry about these things. This country-cottage cafe buys its turkey from Young's, then piles it mile high on its sandwiches, layering thick slabs of real, Thanksgiving-style roasted breast on homemade bread with mayo, roma tomato, sliced cucumber, pea shoots and baby lettuce. It's served with a side of potato salad, a plateload of red, skin-on chunks dotted with dill, bits of fresh bacon, parsley and scallion on a bed of greens.
We admit it: We're gluttons for Arcadia Farms' gobblers.
It's called "the French paradox": Even with diets high in saturated fat, the French tend to live longer. Experts think part of it has to do with tossing back two or three glasses of wine a day, which apparently combats heart disease and cancer.
Au Petit is the perfect place to test this theory, kicking back with a mouth-watering selection of fancy French pastries, sandwiches, salads and quiche. And while there's no wine served, stop in at Vintage Grape just a few doors down in the Biltmore Fashion Park, and pick up a bottle of your own. (Bring your own glasses and corkscrew, too.) Sip your favorites, and save money, too, by not paying restaurant markup as you match beverage choices with golden flaky croissants, apple turnovers, palmier and scones with Arizona Harvest organic jam and butter. Dessert wines go beautifully with eclairs, fudge cakes, fruit tarts, Napoleons, slabs of Bavarian flan or custard cream. And a nice, dry white lends even more class to an elegant quiche.
We love Au Petit Four. So it doesn't have a liquor license? You won't hear us wine-ing about it.
"On top of spaghetti/All covered with cheese/I lost my poor meatball/When somebody sneezed." The tragedy of this childhood parody of "On Top of Old Smoky" never quite resonated with us until we discovered the meatballs at Nick's. Now, if somebody sneezes on our supper, they're going to lose a schnozz. Nick's is gangbusters on primo meatballs, rolling them by hand with fresh herbs and fennel seeds. We could eat them plain, but in a sandwich, they're hog heaven. Picture four hefty orbs, swimming in tangy marinara, draped in mozzarella, then slid into a hot oven until they go crisp on the edges and the cheese melts to a rich, chewy blanket. It takes balls to be named the best, and in our book, Nick's has got 'em.
"Hapa" is Hawaiian slang for "half." This describes the Japanese-American background of chef-owner James McDevitt, who -- along with wife Stacey -- brings us American classics infused with Asian electricity. Asian fusion is everywhere these days, with one local place we know of even mixing French foie gras with Chinese five-spice -- how weird is that? But Hapa knows when to exercise restraint, from its simple, refined decor to dynamite delicacies such as seared California squab with kabocha squash purée, Chinese broccoli and Thai basil oil, to New York steak dressed simply with caramelized Chinese mustard and served with Japanese sticky rice and Chinese long beans. For dessert? Sweet dim sum such as chocolate parchment pot stickers, and banana crème brûlée with toasted coconut. Both have us hapa to be alive.
It has taken owner Daniel Malventano eight years to bring his restaurant into the honest-to-goodness big leagues, but today he's making gnocchi with the best of them. Acqua e Sale has evolved from a casual bistro (with black-and-white checkerboard floors, no less), and now sports sleek cherry wood and stylish, ornately framed black-and-gold prints.
But the real revelation here is the food -- including prosciutto d'anatra (whisper-thin duck breast edged with truffle oil), black truffle-spread crostini, and buffalo mozzarella. The traditional Italian fare holds up, too, with such choices as capellini con pomodorino freschi (angel hair pasta in a tomato, basil, garlic and olive-oil sauce), or osso buco mounded over fettuccine in a deep brown vegetable sauce. Even the simplest della campagna salad is magic, a minimalist marvel of field greens and organic tomatoes tossed in olive oil and squeezed with fresh lemon.
A pretty place, plus beautiful food? To that, we say, chow bella!
We love Italian food in New York -- its unpretentious recipes, its massive portions, its bargain prices. But we'd rather pass on the other part of the experience: gruff service and tables jammed too close together. No, we're happy as bugs in a desert rug to stay in the Valley, especially when we can find the same East Coast food experience at New York's Best without any of the hassle. The setting is friendly, with its choice of polite table service or quick-order counter help. This is like-mama-used-to-make stuff, including spaghetti and meatballs, baked ziti, chicken parmigiana and homemade sausage, as well as excellent calzones, pizzas, cold subs, hot subs and cheese steaks. At dinner, we can get a little more dressy -- orecchietti alla vodka, shrimp scampi linguini, gnocchi pomodoro. Let the Gotham city folks grump their way to good eats. Here in the Valley of the Sun, we can get the same stuff with a smile.
This bright and shiny little convenience store feels like it was transplanted straight out of Tokyo. The greasy hot dogs, sickly-sweet snack cakes and gargantuan Big Gulps are markedly absent. In their place, you can grab a salmon o-bento
(a pretty arrangement of grilled salmon, rice and vegetable side dishes), some pastel-colored daifuku rice cakes filled with sweet red bean paste, or a six-pack of miniature Sapporo beers. And unlike its American counterparts, Fujiya carries a huge range of ingredients for making a tasty home-cooked meal, Japanese-style, including frozen octopus, dried seaweed, udon noodles and a different sauce for every possible dish. It even has hard-to-find items like enoki
mushrooms and fresh quail eggs. After we pick out shampoo from the toiletries, snag some cute lacquered chopsticks and rent a videotape of a Japanese television drama, the only stop left on our little consumerist tour of Japan is the corner shelf of good sake. Kampai!
What makes a burger better? Just good, old-fashioned, tender lovin' care. At Chuck Box, your burger doesn't meet the grill of its dreams until you've lined up in front of the steaming charcoal broiler and asked for it by name.
Try the Big Juan, a one-third-pound beauty named after Chuck Box's "beef engineer." On hungrier days, gravitate to the Great Big Juan, at a full one-half pound. You can add cheese (Swiss, American or Jalapeo Jack) and toppings of guacamole or bacon. Start salivating as the meat sizzles merrily away, next to fresh buns lightly toasting over the mesquite wood flames.
When it's done, your burger is placed gently on a tray, to be taken to Chuck Box's fully stocked condiment bar to be gussied up just a little more.
Toss in a few rickshaws streaking through the aisles, and visiting Lee Lee would be as authentic an experience as any of Asia's bustling open-air markets. Weekends are a zoo here, as happy cookers claw over piles of fresh produce, exotic meats, seafood, herbs and spices. What an incredible selection: bitter melon, long beans and Asian pear, plus an endless array of bok choy, eggplants, tofus and noodles.
Some things are acquired tastes, like the three-color dessert fashioned from cassava, sweet potato, mung bean, seaweed, peanuts, coconut and sugar. And it takes a confident cook to bring some of the meats and fish into the kitchen: salmon belly and head, gaspergou, barracuda, goat, duck feet and pork uterus.
But we never hesitate over such hard-to-find items as live crab, mussels, clams, tilapia, catfish and carp, or on-ice critters including squid, cuttlefish, massive shrimp, rabbit loin, filet and deer flank. Whatever we need, it's here -- fresh banana leaves, rice steamers, incense, oyster sauce, Thai iced tea, avocado ice cream and pickled lemon.
We love ya, Lee Lee.
The most we've ever won gambling is a free drink or two. But our luck definitely turned when we discovered this hidden treasure tucked in the far back of a local gaming hall. Cholla is an upscale restaurant with all the elements of a sure bet: complimentary valet parking, a comfortable setting, polished, unobtrusive service and noteworthy cuisine. After dinner, there's another bonus: live entertainment in the cushy lounge adjacent to Cholla.
Appetizers are awesome, such as crispy fresh-grilled asparagus with prosciutto and shredded phyllo napped in a zippy citrus vinaigrette; sweet lobster and shrimp puff pastry on a lush fire-roasted red-pepper cream; or fat chile rellenos with forest mushroom duxelles and smoky Gouda corn sauce.
Entrees challenge our established "name" restaurants, with specialties like pan-roasted pheasant married with cabernet cassis (black currant), roasted shallots, cranberry-apple conserve and vegetable couscous. The veal chop is out of this world.
Kicking back with coffee and sinful desserts, it's almost impossible to believe we're just a few feet from frenzied gamblers in this clubby dining room (just 10 tables or so), with a soaring, leaded-glass wall that separates us from the slots.
Oh, and the final score? The casino doesn't charge any tax. On a meal that averages $85 for two -- an easy tab at Cholla -- we figure we've won an extra glass of Teifen Pinot Grigio. Now that's real luck.
A lot of the dishes at Cafe Istanbul are really healthful, fat-free and low-calorie. But don't hold that against them. Lay into the lamb appetizer, layered with creamy hummus and pine nuts, or the tender, tangy, stuffed grape leaves. And on a warm day, nothing soothes as much as labni, a velvety yogurt cheese dip garnished with cucumber, tomatoes, olives and pure olive oil to be scooped with pita.
Cafe Istanbul offers endless variety in entrees, and excellent value, too. Meals are served with soup or salad, rice or vegetables and pita bread. The shrimp scampi is stellar, sautéed in special Lebanese seasonings, as is the vegetarian dinner of zucchini, eggplant, spinach, carrots, banana squash and sweet potatoes in a luscious white sauce. Or just taste it all in a huge platter: The Al Amir combo brings a bounty of hummus, tabbouleh, stuffed grape leaves, feta cheese, baba ghanouj, mjadara, loubyeh, falafel, lamb, chicken and kafta kebab.
Big Mac? Ha, that wouldn't even begin to put a dent in our appetites. No, when we want the beef, we want the
beef.
Segal's stops us in our tracks, with sandwiches that stretch even the biggest stomachs. The quarter-pound and half-pound burgers are simply warm-ups. The battle burger, a half-pound of meat topped with hot pastrami, starts the competition. But the full one-pound burger has us waving our white flag. It's all juicy, cooked to order, topped with whatever we choose and served with French fries and coleslaw.
We've found the beef, and it's at Segal's.
We love meals on wheels. As long as the meals are prepared by C-Fu, and the wheels belong to the dim sum carts careening around the warehouse-size dining room seven days a week. Just sit tight and wait for a cart to bring you more than 60 choices to tempt your taste buds. Chow fun noodles, Chinese broccoli, pork siu mai and baked barbecue pork buns are must-eats. Delectable dumplings stuffed with meat or seafood, fried shrimp balls, sticky rice in lotus leaf, stuffed eggplant and turnip cakes are winners, too. Weekends are particularly delightful, offering sum-thing special with contemporary plates starring seafood.
Beguiling beans. That's the only way to describe the luscious legumes at El Conquistador. It's easy to miss this place, which is hidden from the street, but to find it is to be rewarded. Here, the basic bean is elevated to a fine dish, multi-textured with the perfect balance of a creamy base and tiny bits of chunk. There's no lard in the recipe, and we don't need it, content with the most assertively beany flavor we've found in the Valley. A light gilding of Cheddar, some crispy chips and hot sauce on the side, and we're as happy as can bean.
Asian dining is hot these days. The cuisine is now available even at Valley eateries that feature pizza and hamburgers. So how's a China girl to get a second look anymore? George and Son's knows the answer: superior quality, and ample choice. Primarily Chinese, the menu also borrows from Korea, Thailand, Vietnam, Burma and Singapore, and spruces things up with an ambitious wine list. Consider the Asian mussels appetizer, steamed and served open-shell in a broth braced with ginger root and lemongrass. Or George's seafood pocket, an ultra-crisp, folded-over pancake studded with scallions and stuffed with finely chopped shrimp, crab, scallops, onion and green pepper. And where else can you get Mandalay Nungyi alongside your egg roll? Udon-style noodles are tumbled with white onion curls, cilantro leaves, and shredded chicken in a mild, charmingly gritty Burmese curry seasoning zipped with lemon, a light sauce and little chunks of roasted garlic. And for value with taste, steamed salmon is voluptuous, easily two pounds of fish in a supercharged black bean sauce. For our money, George and Son's is a chop shop worth hopping to right away.
Tucked away in the back of an antique mall, Serendipity Tea Room offers the perfect respite from the hustle and bustle of the real world. The British tradition of midday tea is honored here Monday through Saturday from 1:30 to 4:30 p.m., with a prix fixe menu for $16.95 and more varieties of caffeinated beverages than you thought existed. Start out with a pot of your favorite loose tea (the decaffeinated currant tea is delicious with milk and sugar) and a freshly baked scone spread with sweet Devonshire cream and homemade lemon curd. Plentiful varieties of finger sandwiches can satisfy less dainty appetites, but save room for the other courses -- like cheesy quiche and one of several homemade desserts. A visit to Serendipity Tea Room is like a culinary spa treatment -- one that's become so popular, you'll have to make reservations at least a day in advance.
What's more way-out West than barbecue beans? No self-respecting cowboy, after all, could make a meal without his trusty sidekick of beans. But they've got to be real beans -- not that canned, bright-orange stuff ladled out at tourist traps. They've got to be treated with respect, as they are at Joe's. Here, the side dish salutes kidney, lima and navy beans, thickened with shards of cooked-on-site sausage, chicken and beef. Insist on sopping up every last bit with Joe's terrific caraway Cheddar bread. Forget those tired old has-beans; Joe's are
must have beans.
Silver Dragon looks like a typical Chinese chop suey house from the outside, from the inside, and from a glance at its primary menu. But ask for the real thing, the menu written in Chinese with just the briefest of English descriptions, and you'll be led to a private dining room, set with family-style tables. For anyone who's ever had authentic Chinese cuisine, there's nothing more soul-satisfying, and you'll find it here. Chuck the chow mein and skip the sweet-and-sour. Go for sumptuous winter melon soup, fat with crab meat. Follow it up with Three Delight, swimming with succulent scallops, shrimp and squid anchored by crisp vegetables and fried milk puffs, or the salt and pepper shrimp, served shell-on for crunchy satisfaction. Whole duck, crispy Hong Kong chicken dipped in salt, calamari steak and any of almost a dozen hot pot dishes are fabulous, too.
What's there to an onion ring? A little vegetable, a little batter, a whole lot of oil, and there you have it. Unless you're at Dillon's. Then you've got an onion ring that's outrageous, over the top, and oh-so-wonderful.
These are absolutely some of the most delightful crispy critters we've ever chewed on. It amazes us how decadent a stark pairing of vegetable and batter can be; the sweet onion rounds practically float off our polka-dot tablecloth under their joyously greaseless coating. We can dip them in the ancho chile sauce (think spicy Thousand Island dressing) that's served alongside, but these rings don't need gilding of any kind.
We simply can't get our fill of pho. This little joint may be short on ambiance, but maxing out at just $4.50 for an enormous bowl of the savory broth, it's a place where we can afford to eat every meal. Our favorite pho is the tai gau, swimming with brisket, rare eye of round (the meat cooks in its steaming, highly herbed broth) and skinny noodles. When other dishes seduce, bun cha gio thit nuong often wins, tumbling rice vermicelli over greens and cucumber, topped with crisp sliced spring rolls and seasoned grilled pork. Canh chua ca is tempting, too, with lots of moist catfish, pineapple and vegetables in a spicy lemon broth.
With 80 appetizers and entrees to select from, we'll never get bored. Which is good, because suddenly, we have an irresistible urge to visit Pho Bang again.
"Home of the Windy City Slider," the Chicago Hamburger Company's sign reads, and yes, the shop makes a mighty good burger. But it's worth a trip all the way to Chi-town just for this company's French fries. If you think fries are all the same, you've been sleepwalking through fast-food joints. Wake up and sample these spuds. Magnificent models of potato, these are piping hot, skinless, generously salted and crisp-edged. Like any proud potato, though, they've got to be eaten fresh from the kitchen -- to transport the delicate sticks too far would be tater torture. A generous sackful sets you back a mere $1.29, and for just 50 cents more, you can gild the fries with cheese or chili. Save your two bits, though. Fries this good don't even need ketchup.
Most restaurants get cranky if you play with open flame at your table. At Arisoo, they actually encourage it. Okay, so it's a grill set into the table, powered by a gas burner, so you can cook thin strips of meat to your liking, but still, it's leaping flame.
Pyro or no, anyone who loves Korean food will be enraptured here. Deaji bulgogi is a treasured thing -- sliced pork, marinated in a nuclear red pepper sauce, to be grilled, then wrapped with lettuce, garlic, jalapeos, and a bit of salty mung bean paste. We also romance gal bi (short ribs), bul go gi (thin-sliced beef) and sometimes heu mit gui (beef tongue), the meat soaking up the rich aroma of soy-based sauce. Entrees are all the better with appetizers of bin dae duk (pancake) and man du (pot stickers). Or supplement with chap che, stir-fried noodles, or dol sot bibimbap, a sizzling stone pot of rice, beef and veggies.
Arisoo's a grill we'd be proud to introduce to our parents.
What's a cowboy steak, unless it's made by real cowboys? At Rawhide Steakhouse, the place is swarming with 'em -- manning the mesquite broiler, plucking guitars onstage in the dining room, and shooting each other to pieces in faux showdowns outside on Main Street.
We think Rawhide Wild West Town is a kick, with its dirt street, boardwalks, haunted hotel, general store, "widowmaker" mechanical bull, covered wagons, clown days and more. The star of the show, though, is Rawhide's steaks. Surprise -- the kitchen's under the direction of celebrity chef Michael DeMaria (Michael's at the Citadel), and his finesse shines in beefy flavor. Choose your cut: 16-ounce cowboy T-bone, 12-ounce New York strip, 10-ounce top sirloin, 24-ounce porterhouse, 14-ounce rib eye, or the slightly more dainty tender filet. Steaks come with all the fixin's -- tossed garden salad, all-you-can-eat cowboy beans, a daily side dish, and ranch toast. For Rawhide's cowboy steaks, we say "Yeehaw!"
The bar at Eddie's is pretty enough to eat, all fashion and fun in a "Moroccan living room" kind of style, with plush chaises and overstuffed chairs. But much better to chow down on are the best nibbles in town -- sumac-grilled lamb chops with mint hummus, spicy "mo' rockin'" shrimp with chewy honey dough balls, and Sonoran crab cakes with spunky red-pepper aioli, to name a few. But our hearts really beat faster for the horseradish mashed potato-stuffed shrimp with cactus pear and five-peppercorn ranch dip. Our eyes brighten as we alight on crispy chicken-stuffed spaghettini egg rolls with spicy peanut sauce. And we practically melt for golden-toasted seafood ravioli, slicked with apricot-voodoo glaze. With such superb starters, at Eddie's we never want to finish.
This, friends, is serious steak. Only the finest aged, corn-fed, USDA Prime beef bred in the Midwest makes it to the tables in this elegantly appointed place. Ruth's Chris' beef is never frozen, so you always get exceptionally tender and flavorful meat. Steaks are hand-cut at the restaurant and served in huge portions -- 12 to 22 ounces -- because a larger cut retains more of its natural juices during cooking. The beef is richly marbled -- those ribbons of fat mean a beautiful, buttery taste explosion. The steak literally calls to us -- broiled in an 1,800-degree oven and served on a plate heated to 500 degrees, the meat sputters and sizzles merrily, making a sound that's more Pavlovian than any bell. Whether it's the filet, rib eye, New York strip, porterhouse or massive cowboy cut, Ruth's Chris has a permanent stake in our future.
Some chefs treat the fusion concept as license to pair unnatural foods. Sushi schnitzel? Not for us, thanks. Then there are chefs like Natascha Ovando-Karadsheh, who takes classic dishes and marries them with select surprises, for tastes that are inspired but not weird. The handwritten menu changes nightly, depending on available ingredients and the chef's mood.
At Coup Des Tartes, we're impressed with such dishes as pork tenderloin, taken a little Jamaican with jerk rub, a little Southwestern with peach salsa, a little French with chèvre mashed potatoes, and all American with sautéed spinach. Lamb shank takes on a Moroccan flair with Indian spices, harissa-spiced vegetable ragout and dried fruits atop couscous. And we've never had such divine Alaskan halibut, drizzled with fresh basil oil, and stunningly served with Absolut Citron-spiked risotto, teardrop tomatoes and spinach. Freebie plates of French olives and a BYOB policy make dinner here even more special.
When we were kids, we couldn't stand liver. Then we discovered foie gras, and now we can't get enough. Of course, this isn't just your everyday liver, but a type that's been a prized delicacy since Roman times. The goose variety that's served here has been force-fed until the bird's liver weighs as much as two pounds. Bad news for the goose, good news for us.
Though Valencia Lane changes its menus with the seasons, its foie gras shows up regularly, and is always prepared simply. One of our favorite preparations here has it expertly seared, partnered with a few thimbles of flavorful pineapple chutney, dots of tart 100-year-old balsamic, and a little hill of radish sprouts. It's a remarkable explosion of complementary textures and flavors that has us licking the plate. Long live Valencia Lane's liver!
For such a big city, we sure don't have much in the way of ultra-luxe restaurants. Maybe we're too laid-back. (Jacket and tie? Surely you jest!) Or maybe no one's been brave enough to take on Mary Elaine's, our grandma of gourmet. This is the swankiest of swank, with rich European decor, white-glove service (even purses get their own little stools to sit on), and gorgeous views of the southern Valley. It's expensive -- appetizers for $29, entrees for $60, and desserts for $20 -- but no other restaurant can compete with its modern French cuisine. We're delighted, from a beginning of two ounces of Caspian beluga caviar through chteaubriand of buffalo with grilled Sonoma foie gras, or caramelized Maine sea scallops with arugula ravioli and white bean purée, right through desserts that leave us gasping. Yes, we do have to dress at Mary Elaine's. But we'd wear pink bunny suits if it got us a table.
It's 1 a.m. on the weekend, and the bars have closed. We're hungry -- and nothing helps soothe a martini-molested belly like pizza. No problem; we've got Slices, serving until 2 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. We could scarf a whole pie, but would probably regret it in the morning. Instead, we'll go by the slice, selected from a variety of 19-inch rounds. We order piece by piece; these suspects are unusually large and filling, and often just one or two slabs will do us. Thin-crusted and tasty, the slices are salvation to our overimbibing -- a potato, bacon and Cheddar concoction, baked eggplant with roasted red pepper, chicken parmigiana and the best: meatball pizza. Sometimes you've just got to grab a slice of life and savor it.
The Salt Cellar, despite its funky, underground setting (careful navigating those dark stairs, particularly if you've been washing down your pre-dinner oysters, clams, shrimp or mussels at the bar), is completely serious about bringing us only the freshest, best-quality aquatic fare from around the globe. In fact, its comfy ambiance is one of the reasons we're hooked. Who needs frou-frou fittings with a multitude of daily market selections such as Canadian king salmon, Hawaiian mahi-mahi with macadamia nuts, Cajun-spiced halibut from Anchorage, stuffed mountain trout from Idaho, or our personal favorite: the three-pound, live Maine lobster? Or stuff your mouth with the Cellar's whole Dungeness crab or Alaskan king crab legs. The Captain's Choice selections add more adventurous treats such as shrimp San Remo on fresh garlic basil pasta, and teriyaki ahi on fresh orange habanero pasta. No matter the mood, we always "sea" something we like at the Salt Cellar.
It's a fantasy we keep returning to: stuffing ourselves to the gills on quality seafood, without taking out a loan on our house. At Ichi Ban, it's certainly easy to fill up, selecting from hundreds of aquatic items at this buffet-style sushi and seafood fest. But we feel a wave of relief when the bill comes: just $13.95 at lunch, and $20.95 at dinner. The reality is that even with the low tariff, Ichi Ban doesn't cut corners on its catch. Pale pink albacore tuna, bright red maguro, silky salmon, buttery hamachi, cooked shrimp, flaky kani, red snapper, scallop and eel make for sensual sushi. More substantial choices include baked salmon, snow crab, marina clam soup, scallops, baby octopus and sautéed fish. Finally -- substantial seafood that doesn't cost us a c-note.
Pizza isn't fast food. At least not in the eyes of chef Chris Bianco. A co-founder of the Valley's only Slow Food chapter, Bianco supports the European-inspired ideal of using only ingredients available from local artisan producers.
This means select produce from boutiques like Victory Farms, an organic empire that produces amazing micro mizuna, a salad green that tastes of mild mustard; micro arugula, a joyously bitter salad green; and, of course, the tastiest, most tempting tomatoes of which a pizza could dream.
Whatever the topping, each pie is fired in a wood-burning oven. It's worth the wait, and wait you will -- this bistro is packed every night, with no reservations accepted.
Here's wishing all men pizza on Earth -- straight from Pizzeria Bianco.
When you're really hungry, don't mess around. Get a large pie from Western Pizza. The 18-inch monster will leave you pushing back from the table, gorged, happy, and with enough leftovers to feast on for a few more meals. At almost three inches thick and tipping the scales at close to 20 pounds, these pies tackle even an offensive lineman's appetite. We're not sure how this place makes money, piling on the toppings for its Western Round-Up -- mushrooms, pepperoni, salami, ham, peppers and onions under an entire cow's worth of mozzarella for $18.50. There's no going to bed hungry, either. Western Pizza stays open until 3 a.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, and 1 a.m. other days. It even delivers late, too, from 32nd to 64th streets and Thomas to McDonald roads.
New York-style pizza is a precise pie. It needs to be huge, as big as a bicycle wheel. Its crust must be thin and foldable. It needs to be baked fresh, and just the littlest bit greasy. It can only be basic -- red sauce, mozzarella, and traditional toppings (no barbecue chicken or pesto potato need apply). And, it must, absolutely must, be available by the slice all day long.
At 4 Brothers, we can count on having more than a half-dozen varieties displayed in their pans on the long order counter. Our favorite is the Napoli Special, loaded with spicy Italian sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, black olives, green peppers and extra cheese. Slices get a quick warming in the oven (not a microwave), and a couple of bucks later, we're on our way, humming a sausage-scented "New York, New York" under our breaths.
Goats in Scottsdale's posh Fifth Avenue arts district? It's true, except these curried critters reside in stew pots, waiting for the next guest to order them off the menu at Callaloo. Perhaps the most abundant comfort food to be found in the Caribbean, goat stew is a classic one-pot meal designed to disguise the tough chew of animals aged past their usefulness. The stewing allows flavors and textures to merge, enhancing all the ingredients. Here, the goat meat is a quality cut, braised in chunks, seasoned and simmered in a thick, pleasantly gritty curry with morro (pigeon peas and rice), bits of bacon and plantains. Topping it all off is a fistful of callaloo, steamed taro root leaves that resemble bitter spinach. There's no question: Callaloo has got our goat.
It's true that a boot on a bun probably would be fun at Dawg n' Bergs, a place full of funky, friendly atmosphere. Here's a neighborhood joint at its finest, hidden behind a Circle K but packed with regulars who actually apologize to the cook when they can't spend more time (and money) there. "Busy nothing!" is the warm reply. "You gotta eat!"
We do our part, lured in by Dawg n' Bergs ravishing Italian beef. It's a masterpiece built on lotsa juicy, tender meat bathed in peppery jus, a soft cornmeal-dusted sub roll, and a few slivers of our choice of hot or sweet peppers. It's a two-fister, and when we're finished, we're full.
We gotta eat. And when we're eating Italian beef, it's at Dawg n' Bergs.
We can never pass up pasta, delicious and delightful in any of its hundreds of whimsical shapes. Should we ever forget why we love it so, one trip to Leccabaffi reminds us.
Soft pasta in this quiet, upscale eatery is homemade, lovingly cranked out by real Italians. Sauces are fashioned from scratch and married with straight-from-the-homeland-style ingredients. Spaghetti and meatballs? For shame. Instead, we're feasting on authentic pappardelle con salsiccia casareccia e pisellini (a mouthful that means pappardelle with homemade sausage, tomato and peas). We're nibbling on gnocchetti, semolina based instead of flour, then baked, sautéed and coated with a vibrant blend of fontina and Gruyère cheeses. And we're feasting on fettuccine, egg noodles tossed with lobster, organic tomato, garlic and extra virgin olive oil.
In Italian, Leccabaffi means "lick your mustache." In English, it means "lick your plate."
This is the stuff all sausages should be made of -- homemade European-style tubes crafted from recipes unchanged by Schreiner's since 1958. And with more than 100 varieties, there are no missing links here. We're partial to Polish kielbasa, German brat and brockwurst and Hungarian kishke, although sometimes we take the high-health road and go for low-fat poultry models.
Schreiner's, we salute your sausages.
The only thing better than a good hot dog is a double dog -- twice the pleasure, you know. And Luke's has both on its menu, all pure juicy beef, and served in classic Chicago style. These tasty pups come tucked in a fresh poppy seed bun, and slathered with yellow mustard, chopped onion, and neon green relish. The capper? A sport pepper, sliced tomato and a whole pickle, sprinkled just so with celery salt. Unwrap the white paper bundle and find a delicious extra: mounds of crispy, salty, crinkle-cut fries. At just $2.85, it's an affordable meal any day of the week. And that double dog? It's just a buck more. We're in puppy love.
Whether it's served steaming hot to chase off a chill, or dished up cold to take the sweat from our brow, soup satisfies. And Kashman's has made soup into a year-round comfort food. When it's chilly outside, Kashman's charms with its winter seasonal menu. Selections change daily, and include favorites like a hearty white chicken chili with onion and shaved Parmesan, sumptuous autumn pumpkin, double-beef chili, beef barley, and a zingy New Orleans corn and crab bisque. During the summer, Kashman's sets out beautifully complex Portuguese lemon mint chicken, and cool gazpacho. No matter the time of year, we can count on the classics: rich Santa Fe tortilla, creamy broccoli Cheddar, matzo ball, chicken noodle and a lip-smacking lime vegetable.
We suppose it's better to call Diamondbacks pitcher Randy Johnson "The Big Unit" than "The Big Johnson." Still, it's more information than we want to know, thanks. Who came up with this nickname, anyway?
The only such thing we're interested in exploring is The Big Unit Hot Dog served at Alice Cooper'stown -- a two-foot-long frank, all beef. And it's a big meal, served with choice of two sides: fries, Coop's coleslaw, potato chips, or calico beans. For half a buck more, we can dress our dog with cheese, chili or beer-soaked sauerkraut. Now that's a unit we can understand.
"Over 473,899 chicken-fried steaks served," boasts TexAZ Grill's marquee -- and we believe it. We're personally responsible for about 208,414 of those orders. That's how much we crave these jaw-droppingly good slabs of hand-cubed beefsteak, double-dipped in a sinfully milky batter and fried. This is down-home Texan tuck-in, too, served with roll-your-eyes wonderful mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, a buttermilk biscuit and a do-ya-right salad topped with green olives. We tip our 10-gallon hat to TexAZ Grill.
The drop-dead gorgeous historic Royal Palms property makes a delightful place to eat our veggies. Garden-fresh beauties are selected, whenever possible, from local, organic farmers. Boasting select seasonal dishes from Barcelona, Spain, and the Tuscan region of Italy, the menu tempts with such dishes as a salad of organic greens, tomato fresca and pine-nut dressing; chopped vegetable salad with feta and Kalamata olive vinaigrette; or watercress salad with baby beets and baked goat cheese. Sandwiches scintillate, such as a goat cheese and red pepper pita with hummus and sprouts. And soups soothe our very soul, like a dreamy carrot broth with chervil emulsion.
Though they're not always on the menu, vegetarian dishes are a highlight here. We ask for the chef's seasonal selection, roasted in the hunter's lodge-style fireplace in the dining room. A superb sampling includes grilled eggplant, roasted pepper, asparagus, and goat cheese cannelloni.
The menu at Don and Charlie's warns that its prime rib is served daily until it runs out. So we get there early. We've never been denied, no matter the time -- that's how well this kitchen knows its clientele -- but why risk missing the juiciest, most flavorful cut of rib in town?
The best cuts of meat are aged on premises, then slow-roasted to our order -- rare to medium-rare to showcase the quality of the beef. We've got our choice of sizes and savories, too. Usually the "small" 12-ounce is fine; other times we want the hungry man's large 16-ouncer. For beefier eats, get the prime rib bones, regular or barbecue style. Either way, tender meat melts in your mouth, dipped in rich jus and slathered with honest, zesty horseradish. And entrees come with complimentary chopped liver, an enormous breadbasket, a huge salad, and potato: au gratin, baked, double-baked or French fries.
So they're green beans. Soy what? That's just it. Edamame
are Japanese soy beans, and they're really good for you, packed with stuff that, among other things, is supposed to help prevent cancer. There's not much to edamame -- the pods are simply steamed and flecked with rock salt, then served hot. But this quiet presentation means no hiding faults, either. Pods must be pristinely fresh, and cooked just so, or else the skin slips slimy. Too much salt? Gak. Too little? Why bother? The wrong kind? That's just outrage: Real edamame are right only with rock salt. That's why we choose Zen 32, which gets its pods perfect every time. In a world of has-beans, these are our edamame dearest.
We never thought we'd pay $19 for a plate of old-fashioned spaghetti and meatballs and be happy about it. But that's before we discovered the soul-satisfying dish at Tarbell's. This is a full-flavored feast, starring a vibrant marinara made with organic tomatoes (yes, you can taste the difference) and hefty, beefy orbs. Plus, Tarbell's hip, beautiful-people atmosphere comes with the meal at no extra charge. When we've had a rough day, we like to snuggle up at the always happening bar and drown our sorrows in spaghetti. Works every time.
Albóndigas is fun to say. When prepared properly, it's even better to eat. The base is simple, really, just a long-simmered blend of beef stock, red pepper, tomatoes, chiles, and herbs like cilantro, basil and oregano. But at Via DeLosantos, this orange-colored soup is terrific -- light, clean and kicky with spice. It's crowded with all the right partners, too: chunks of sweet carrot, celery and onion, a smattering of rice, and, of course, meatballs. These meatballs aren't meager, either. Forget the stingy one, two, maybe three little balls served elsewhere. Here, they take center stage, the large herby orbs dotted with rice and soaking up broth like tasty sponges.
At Via DeLosantos, it's pronounced albóndigaaaahs.
Sometimes we imagine owning a pig, the kind that sniffs out fancy truffles, so we could train it to seek out fabulous fungi of the mushroom variety that we love so much. But after one day in Scottsdale, the pig would simply hand us our car keys, give us a map to Rustico, and spend the rest of its life in cool luxury watching TV on our couch.
At the charming brick and mural-adorned Rustico, we find joy as we bite into a mild-toned domestic mushroom, the fat cap exploding with juices and earthy nuance. What delight as we discover a secret chamber, bursting with fresh herbs and shrimp. And what pleasure as we scoop it all up with ladles of impossibly rich creamy garlic sauce. Bread! We need more bread right away -- to sop every last drip of this gilding.
Ah, Rustico. The only pig required for this marvelous mushroom dish is us.
Ave Maria. Or, more appropriately, what have you, Maria? Every day is a new bounty, ours for the finding as we step inside Maria's Italian eatery, with its huge antipasto misto table just inside the door. It's a cunning display; after we've seen the gorgeous presentation, we simply have to order it. Selections vary, but you can usually count on delicacies like fresh mozzarella, roasted peppers, artichoke hearts, grilled eggplant, marinated carrots and mushrooms, tomatoes, herbed green beans and grilled onions. Fancier treats include ocean-fresh mussels, prosciutto-wrapped melon, mortadella, caponata, and imported cheeses. It's an ample prelude to a sumptuous dinner, but somehow, we always manage to find stomach space. As Maria would say,
Mange! Mange!
It's high time to recognize that Chompie's offers way more than its beautiful bagels -- as in more than 60 types of sandwiches. Chompie's does all of its baking on the premises, with choices including kaiser roll, onion roll, challah knot roll, club roll, rye, whole wheat, sourdough, pumpernickel, marble rye, egg bread, bialys and, of course, 25 varieties of bagels. Then there are the cheeses -- nine types. Fair warning: These sandwiches aren't cheap ($7.50 to $12). But these double-fisters -- stacked a minimum of three inches high with top-quality meat, or five inches for a triple-decker -- can make a meal for two, especially since they're paired with fine steak fries, potato salad, coleslaw or pasta salad. And what wonderful combinations: the Penn Plaza, with pastrami, chopped liver, coleslaw and Thousand Island; the Mark's Monte Cristo, gorging deep fried challah with ham, turkey, bacon and Swiss; the meat lover's Brooklyner, uniting pastrami, corned beef and brisket. Chompie's: Come hungry, or don't come at all.
Capitol Coffee Co. may call our favorite sandwich the "MeanGirl," but we don't take it personally. Surely the chef is always in a good mood when she makes ours.
That's because this sandwich is always delicious, enjoyed in the cozy little refurbished home set with rummage-sale furniture, or taken to go, wrapped in foil to keep the meal hot. It helps that it's huge, layering thick slabs (really, not wimpy slices) of peppered turkey pastrami and provolone with romaine, tomato, German kraut and stone-ground mustard-horseradish sauce on springy focaccia. This meal subdues the meanest of appetites, presented with a choice of homemade soup, Poore Brothers' chips or fresh fruit.
For cranky comfort food, Capitol Coffee Co. is our choice. And we mean that.
We've met our meat maker. He's Jim Deligiannis, owner of Crazy Jim's, and he's the man behind the remarkable pressed, vertically broiled lamb and beef that is the backbone of our favorite gyro sandwich.
The gyro meat has a great supporting cast, too. Every fluffy, golden-toned round of Jim's pita bread is baked on-site, his tomatoes are fresh and ruby red, and his purple onion curls lend crunch under a cap of crumbly imported feta that literally melts on our tongues. We slather it all in homemade jajiki, a smooth, tangy cucumber yogurt sauce.
And when we're craving variety, Jim's got other gyro-style feasts, include the picado pita (gyro with grilled onion, green peppers and jalapeo), steak (extra lean NY with grilled onions, pepper and cheese), and chicken (charbroiled breast with Greek seasonings and served three ways).
Crazy Jim's has our vote. We'd be insane to go anywhere else.
Cave Creek Coffee Company has a simple mission statement: to roast the best damn beans available. We've got a mission of our own: to eat the best damn cheesecake available. Luckily for us, C.C.C.C. comes through on both counts.
We don't kid around with cheesecake. Our perfect piece has got to be huge, thick and creamy. It's got to be good enough to go naked, not hiding under heaps of syrupy cherries or chocolate. That's why we love the rich New York model served here. Sure, they've got some fancier cakes, like the mocha seduction, with fluffy mocha cheesecake plopped on a mouth-watering brownie bed, then topped with whipped cream and chocolate drizzles. Or the chocolate eruption, blending chocolate cake with cheesecake chunks and nuts. They've got cute, too, with little cheesecakes on a stick they call Teddy Bars. But in their hearts, they stay true to honest, cheesecake quality.
Cave Creek Coffee and cheesecake -- mission accomplished.
Like fine jewels, RoxSand's desserts are kept under glass, in a "dessert walk" display case. Unlike precious stones, the desserts are small touches of luxury that even we can afford.
The array, which changes daily, is dizzying. We can pretty much count on our most cherished creation, though: the B-52 torte, spanning three layers of rich truffle cream, one layer with Baileys Irish Cream, one with Grand Marnier, and one with Kahlúa, topped with crushed pistachios. The Adult Kit-Kat gives us sweet dreams with its crunchy hazelnut chocolate bottom and a lighter chocolate top dusted with dark French cocoa. And we swear by the Viennese walnut torte, splicing two layers of walnut frangipani with a layer of cheesecake in the middle, masked in a currant glaze and topped with fresh strawberries.
Partnered with glasses of fine dessert and port wines, RoxSand's desserts are the sweetest sensation we know.
There are triple scoops of ice cream. And then there's the three-foot-tall wonder served at Mary Coyle. "The Mountain" is a seven-pound Mount Everest of various flavors, sauces, nuts and toppings.
But Mary Coyle isn't all about excess, even though most of its ice creams carry a whopping 19 percent butterfat content. It's about quality. All flavors are made on the pink pastel premises, just as they have been for the last 50 years, from family heirloom recipes. We line up for sundaes, showboats and banana bowls.
What a scream.
