Prize-Winning Dishes

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 jalapeño), 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.

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.

Best Desserts
Cheesecake Factory
15230 North Scottsdale Road, Scottsdale
480-607-0083

Best Gourmet Pizza
Pizzeria Bianco
623 East Adams
602-258-8300

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.