La Vida

The Phoenix branch of Radio Campesina (there are also stations in Parker, Fresno, and Salinas) boasts the hottest Mex-mixes in the Valley, airing tunes by renowned Latin pop artists such as Juan Gabriel and Los Tigres del Norte, as well as pioneers like norteño innovator Marco Antonio Solis and ranchero legend Vicente Fernandez. The latter artist is also a DJ for the station, spinning artists like Sin Bandera, José José, and Cristian Castro during his show from 9 a.m. to noon on Sundays. In addition to the caliente on-air personalities, Campesina also features talk-radio programs geared toward the issues facing immigrant families, the most popular of which is "Punte De Vista" with Carlos Ortiz, airing from 10 to 11 a.m. Monday through Friday. Whether listeners are looking for hot Tejano tunes or want to sound off on politics, Radio Campesina's got 'em covered.

In the interest of our gaming-themed "Best of," we wanted, dear reader, to find you the best cockfight in town. But The Man cried fowl. You can't find a legal cockfight in AZ anymore, although we hear there's still some action on the west side of Phoenix. Anyhow, we don't want to recommend anything that would hurt a chicken, short of a trip to KFC. But as far as "good" games go, we found Dulceria Pico Rico, a Mexican game store on 16th Street. DPR carries several versions of Loteria (Mexican bingo), as well as the Mexican version of Chutes 'n' Ladders, called Serpientes y Escaleras, and Pin the Tail on the Donkey, er, Burro. Even if you're bummed about not catching a cockfight, there's something very satisfying about winning the pot in Loteria. Victory tastes like chicken.

Silvana Salcido Esparza, owner and executive chef of Barrio Cafe, is proud of the series of tattoos that decorate her right leg. For her, tattooing isn't just the trendy thing to do, but a way of expressing and paying homage to her culture. "I didn't start getting tattoos until I was 35," says Esparza, who's now 45. "So it's not like I'm some kid who runs into the tattoo shop and runs out half an hour later with a new tattoo." In fact, Esparza reports that her tattoos took countless hours of conceptualization, and they are all original designs, featuring images of Toltec warriors, Nahuatl women, a Mexican eagle, the Day of the Dead calavera dressed as a chef, and a Mayan corn god. Each tattoo has a special meaning for Esparza. "In my culture, we believe that corn is life, and it denotes a new beginning and sustenance," she says. "And it's also associated with food, which is such a big part of my culture." Esparza's tattoo of Nahuatl women grinding corn comes from artist Diego Rivera's Mercado mural, and she chose the design for its suggestions of feminine power. "The woman signifies everything for the Mexican culture," she says. "Everything is centered around the mother." Most of the work was done by various tattoo artists in Mexico City, except for the Mayan corn god, a local job. Eventually, Esparza says, the series of tattoos will become a full leg sleeve, brought together by images of corn. We don't think that's corny at all.

We've had a lot of margaritas in our day, but we must admit to doubling our intake after discovering what the addition of a little prickly pear juice can do to such an already perfect drink. And nobody in the Valley does prickly pear margaritas better than the surprisingly low-key bar at this posh resort in far north Scottsdale. Unlike lesser prickly pear margaritas, there is nothing syrupy or heavy about these purplish-pink babies; they're possessed of a perfect light tartness. The only drawback: The resort is so far from civilization, and the drinks go down so smoothly, you're probably going to have to book a room.

The blender has done for margaritas what the automatic transmission did for sports cars. Why do people pay top dollar for high-end tequila, then ask the barkeep to blanderize it with pulverized ice? As Frank Sinatra was prone to say when given more than two cubes in his whiskey tumbler, "What do I look like, a figure skater?" If you want a Slurpee, go to 7-Eleven. If you want an honest margarita -- one with real bite -- head to Richardson's, where there's no blender, or sweet-and-sour mix, to get in the way of a good thing. Richardson's knows the recipe for pure refreshment on a hot summer day: good tequila and fresh-squeezed lime juice with a dash of Triple Sec poured into a glass filled with ice (cubes!) and rimmed with salt. That's it, nothing more. Alter this recipe even a smidgen and you may be drinking a cocktail, but it ain't a margarita.

Some folks like their margaritas on the rocks, just as some folks enjoy a 10-inch spike to the upper thorax. Those rocks-in-their-heads margarita masochists will argue that frozen margaritas are an abomination thought up by girly men. Back in the day, they'll point out, we didn't have blenders, so margaritas would have been served chilled or on the rocks at best. Perhaps, but then there's this little thing known as "progress," of which we're so fond. Since the invention of the margarita back in the 1930s, progress has come to improve our lives with such marvels as air conditioning and frozen margaritas, both of which are available for your pleasure at Z'Tejas. Its eight-ounce Chambord margarita is particularly wicked -- a blend of Sauza Gold, triple sec and sweet and sour, swirled into Chambord liqueur that makes them so potent that imbibers are cut off after three drinks. While the knuckle-draggers are sipping theirs on the rocks (and probably trying to start a fire with two sticks), we'll be on our third Chambord maggie, enjoying a lovely yet profound buzz.

We can thank those wacky conquistadors for inventing this first distilled liquor of the New World. True, the Aztecs had already thought up pulque, a form of the fermented drink from the agave plant, but it was the Spaniards who first distilled this into tequila, probably because they ran low on their own firewater. Nowadays, fine tequila is as highly regarded by snooty connoisseurs as excellent scotch or whiskey, and it boasts nearly as many varieties. The Old Town Tortilla Factory offers well more than 100 types of tequila in its "Margaritas Tequilaria," the bar adjacent to the beautiful, hacienda-like hideaway of a restaurant. Sure, there are traditional margaritas to be had, and fancier ones, like the "Millionaire's Margarita" with Cuervo Reserva and 150-year-old Celebration Grand Marnier. But we prefer a glass of one of those rare, anejo (aged) tequilas to sip, while we watch Tortilla Factory's must-see, fire-spitting waterfall gurgle in the moonlight. What would we say if the ghost of one of those ferocious conquistadors stopped by for a drink? What else? ¡Salud!

Gregarious gourmets Carlos Manriquez, a.k.a. "the Sorcerer of Sauces," and Chad Withycombe hold court here at Mucho Gusto. They're two of the crew that operate Scottsdale's BYOB gem Atlas Bistro, and their contribution to the Valley is enormous -- now in the way of Southwestern and modern Mexican fare. Manriquez's passion for fine victuals at a modest price comes across in such affordable palate-ticklers as steamed clams Adobo, Barra Vieja shrimp, and a Gaucho steak in an Argentine chimichurri marinade. Salivating yet? Last one to Mucho Gusto is a rancid tamale.

French cuisine is what most folks think of when the phrase "haute cuisine" is bandied about, and this seems to follow. The phrase is in French, after all, duh! For many moons, French, Italian, and even Japanese vittles have lent themselves more to the concept of haute cuisine than, say, Mexican. But gourmet Mexican cuisine has been on the rise for several years now, with its rich, complex sauces, and this nearly French concept of taking the rustic, setting it in a more refined ambiance, and giving it the same care and respect as the most uppity of foodstuffs. The fulfillment of this process can be experienced at Coyoacán, Phoenix's most exciting restaurant since Such Is Life/Asi Es La Vida. Coyoacán's kitchen creates such exquisite delights as nopal Hidalgo, grilled venison, and mole poblano. Entrees are served with a smorgasbord of side dishes, and a half-dozen house-made salsas, all in a breathtakingly beautiful restaurant with murals depicting pre-Columbian marketplaces and ancient Olmec stone heads. Coyoacán out-hautes the haughty Frogs foodwise! Though the folks who run it ain't nearly as stuck-up as they deserve to be.

Nearly every 'hood in the Valley has its own "Best Neighborhood Mexican" restaurant, sometimes more than one. The category exists not for those gourmet, highfalutin Mexican places -- the same four places you always see listed in rags around town, and deservedly so, for exceptional, haute Mexican cuisine. We love those spots, but sometimes you just want a good enchilada, taco, or plate of beans, without having to deal with a lot of B.S., and that's when we cruise over to a spot like Rosita's Place on McDowell Road, just east of the 51, where the albóndigas melt in your mouth and the frijoles are as appetizing as the flan. Some of the best tacos in the Valley vie for your tongue's attention with enchiladas that'll forever make you turn your nose up at the gringo versions sold elsewhere. The environs are authentic as well: Brown, glazed Mexican pottery hangs from orange roof beams, vintage black-and-white pics of Mexican soldiers hang from the walls, and a gurgling, stone-lipped pond/fountain filled with goldfish sits before a makeshift shrine to the Virgin of Guadalupe. Rosita's is a neighborhood Mexican eatery that inspires neighborhood pride. And if you live or work nearby, you're fortunate indeed.

La Perla is a pearl of a joint. Opened by the Pompa family back in 1946, La Perla Cafe is located in the sort of funky building people instantly feel at home in, whether they've come in for a plate of chile rellenos and rice and beans, or to enjoy a margarita and some chips and salsa while grooving on any of the live music La Perla regularly showcases. Mariachi bands, and solo brass artists work the rooms on the weekends, but even if you're not there when the music is flowing, you'll appreciate the kick-back, family-friendly atmosphere, the big booths, and the photos of Old Mexico on the walls. No puttin' on airs here, even though the Pompa clan still proudly runs the joint. If you're in Glendale and need to feed your gob with some reliable Mexican grub, La Perla is the place for you and yours, amigo.

After more than 35 years and two generations of family ownership, Comedor Guadalajara still packs 'em in for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Neither the regulars nor the newbies are coming for the decor or the ambiance, as there's little of either on the premises. Everything's meticulously clean, but form follows function here, and CG's function is to fill that belly like it's your last meal on Earth. The menu is classic, Sonoran-style cuisine -- tacos, tostadas, flautas and enchiladas. But CG also specializes in mariscos, serving standards such as 7 Mares soup, shrimp Veracruz-style, pan-fried tilapia, and shrimp enchiladas in green tomatillo sauce. You'll also be blown away by the house-made flan, so rich and dark it's more like a caramel pudding than a custard. The service, too, is topnotch, and far more personal than one might expect from the cavernous interior and inexpensive comestibles. It isn't the building that gives this place soul, but the employees and the food.

We all like a sure thing. Like a rerun of Seinfeld, a steak dinner at Durant's, or the latest White Stripes CD. And in Tempe, when it comes to "neighborhood Mexican," Restaurant Mexico is a no-lose proposition. Tucked into a brown block of businesses just east of Mill Avenue, Restaurant Mexico has got it going on: simple yet tasty Mexican cuisine, such as enchiladas in tomatillo sauce, burros, chimichangas, tostadas, and some of the best sopes we've ever had, covered with chorizo and salad. Even Restaurant Mexico's refried beans are better than average. And the prices will put a smile on the face of a starving student. You can eat like a king for about $10. Perfect for that first date with the cutie from Chemistry 101, or that Sir Studly who sits across from you in Sociology.

For a "neighborhood Mexican" restaurant, Los Olivos is nicer than most, which may have something to do with the 'hood involved, one where SMoCA and the James Hotel are its next-door neighbors. We speak here of the original location on Second Street in Old Town Scottsdale, a beautiful, rambling place with tasteful, Diego Rivera-like murals, stained-glass windows, Spanish chandeliers, and walnut-stained wooden tables and chairs. Owned and operated by the Corral family, whose patriarch Tomas Corral built the structure long ago, Los Olivos is also known for its hearty traditional fare, such as tacos al carbon, chicken picado, machaca, and "Mexican flag" enchiladas. If you want a combo plate of chimichangas and tacos, Los Olivos has that, too, and L.O.'s sopaipillas, fried ice cream or flan will have you loosening your belt and longing for a siesta. Good spot for impressing discriminating dates without killing your wallet or pocketbook in the process.

This 8,000-square-foot hacienda-style restaurant is the kind of place you want to take mom on her B-day. The eatery boasts colorful tile-topped tables and collectibles gathered by owners Liz and Dennis Serrine during their frequent visits to Mexico. The place is named for Dennis' grandmother, affectionately known as Tia Rosa, or "Aunt Rosa," by her immense extended family, and the menu offers many Baja-style items, such as seafood tacos and shrimp quesadillas, as well as a number of more healthful takes on traditional Mexican fare. It's California that comes to mind when you visit Rancho de Tia Rosa, and at times you can almost imagine that you're at some beachside San Diego grub shack as you dine there. The cantina serves a selection of premium tequilas and can fashion them into 15 different kinds of margaritas, and the light, almost fluffy flan dessert is not to be missed.

There are a lot of great mole dishes in Phoenix, and consequently, this was one of the hardest categories to fill in BOP. Let's just say we never met a mole we didn't like, be it red, brown or green. The word "mole" comes from a Nahuatl word meaning "mixture" or "concoction," and true to the label, moles can contain a number of varying ingredients, including different chiles, onion, ground pumpkin seeds, and, if we're lucky, Mexican chocolate. Distinctive Oaxacan chocolate, ground with almonds, sugar and cinnamon, is renowned worldwide. And this may explain why one of our favorite PHX moles is created at the restaurant inside Mini Mercado Oaxaca, a little grocery store dedicated to selling Oaxacan products as well as serving a menu of traditional fare. Its mole with rice is everything a mole aficionado could ask for: thick as icing, warm and creamy, and a deep brownish-black in color. Sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds, the mole covers a chicken leg and thigh, but you're tempted to eat just the mole, maybe mixing in a bit of the orange-yellow arroz with it. Mildly spicy, this is the food of the gods. Or at least what we'd be noshing every day if we were deities.

We purposely set out to find tortillas better than those at Phoenix legend Carolina's, ate our way across town, and ended up about 40 pounds heavier. What did we glean from our efforts? That Carolina's still has the best tortillas this side of the Mexican border, tortillas so exquisite that they only need a little butter when grilled to melt in your mouth like savory cotton candy. Of course, they're equally delicioso wrapped around green chile, machaca with egg, chorizo with potatoes, or any of Carolina's variations on a theme. Carolina's has been doing what it does best since 1968, recently opening a second location -- Carolina's Mexican Food North, on Cactus Road. It's instructive to visit the no-frills Mohave Street location, set in one of the rougher-looking neighborhoods in town, and watch the businessmen in Mercedes-Benzes and homeless men on foot stop by for a bite to eat. That doesn't happen anywhere else in the PHX, and it's all because of Carolina's magnificent tortillas.

We never know when the fever will hit us (someone cue Peggy Lee) -- the fever for Mariscos Playa Hermosa's camarónes culichi, or shrimp in green tomatillo sauce. And once we've got the fever, nothing will do but to make a beeline to this humble little place and snarf up a serving of that tangy ambrosia, which includes melted jack cheese and fat, fresh shrimp, with a side of rice and tortillas. Tomatillos may be our favorite member of the nightshade family. When you buy them fresh, they look like jolly green figs, with a paperlike covering over a mini-tomato that has a sticky skin. Inside they're mushy, full of seeds, with a taste somewhat like a green apple. But turned into a sauce, their flavor intensifies, as does their color, and the result is polish-your-plate-with-tongue good. A lot of Mexican eateries make it, but we're partial to Mariscos Playa Hermosa's because it doesn't try to get all precious with it, as do some spots. Rather, Mariscos' is straightforward and immensely satisfying, curing us of "tomatillo fever." Well, at least for the moment.

Food critics are a nasty lot. They love to scrap, backstabbing each other until the meanest of them stands supreme, like the king of the hill in the children's game of the same name. Of course, our Stephen Lemons is the Blackbeard of Culinary Criticism, always ready to raise the Jolly Roger and let blast a flow of invective at his Lilliputian rivals. Are they ever in agreement on anything? Believe it or not, there is perhaps one meal they could all break bread over, and sing the praises of: Los Sombreros' lamb adobo, wherein a shank of lamb sits drowning in a bowl of dark brown adobo sauce -- a mélange of ground chiles that's both spicy and savory at the same time. The lamb is so tender, it begins to "baaa" whenever you stick a knife in it, and we've seen our otherwise proud Mr. Lemons cleaning that bone and drinking down the last remnants of that magical souplike sauce. But just when you thought a gustatory truce was at hand, our Terror of the Dining Table slices his culinary opponents into sausages with his razor-sharp cutlass, and raises their heads high on the yardarm. As Lemons escapes over their decimated bodies with the leftover adobo, we can even hear him singing, "Yo ho! Yo ho! A pirate's life for me!"

Lured into La Reina Michoacana by a painting of roasted corn on the cob in the store's window, we were all pumped to savor the unparalleled perfume and smoky taste of one of Mexico's finest street dishes. When we were told "no hay," we were very disappointed, but the counter lady guaranteed that La Reina's elotes en vaso (literally, corn in a cup) was muy rico. Was that ever an understatement! We're now hooked on La Reina Michoacana's 12-ounce Styrofoam cups of fat, steaming corn kernels drenched in melted butter and aromatic Mexican lime juice, topped with grated cheese that melts into little gooey globs of heaven (you can also get mayo on top, but we thought that might be gilding the lily). We added hot salsa and chile flakes as a crowning touch, and couldn't spoon this corny treat into our mouths fast enough. All this good gluttony, and we only spent three bucks!

None other than Aquaman rolls into town the other day on vay-cay from helping the Gulf Coast recover from Katrina, and the scaly superhero is craving some excellent seafood, natch. But where do you send the King of Atlantis for primo piscine eats here in our landlocked metropolis? There's only one place the Protector of the Seas and Oceans can sit down for a nautical nosh: Serrano's Fishmarket and Restaurant, purveyor of the finest piscatory platters coming under the genre of mariscos, or Mexican seafood. This clean little establishment only has a handful of tables, and the decoration is sparse. But the food, whether whole tilapia, pulpo tostadas, cocteles de camarón, or spicy camarónes a la diabla, is like a whirlwind of sea salt in your kisser. Run by Armando Serrano, brother of Ricardo Serrano, who in turn runs the Serrano's at 32nd Street and Shea Boulevard, the eatery never lets us down when we're in the mood to believe we've died and gone to Rocky Point. Needless to say, the Defender of the Deep Blue Sea dug Serrano's so much that he bought a condo nearby so he can winter in the PHX. Just hope the pool's big enough for members of his posse, like that hammerhead shark from all those Superfriends episodes.

You've seen those steadfast guys in the dead of summer pushing colorfully painted, four-wheeled refrigerated carts full of exotic frozen fruit bars through deserted streets and you've always wanted to stop one and sample his wares. You don't really have to go cruising for one of those heat-seeking vendedores when you get the urge to splurge your daily carb allotment. Just hightail it to La Michoacana, where a lovely young woman behind the store's immaculate counter offers paletas, those very same frozen fruit bars, in a rainbow of juicy, archetypically Mexican flavors. We got adventuresome and tried the sweet-tart tamarind and the smooth cantaloupe flavors, both of which were exceptionally refreshing on a scorching day. We're really intrigued by the sound of mango con chile, arroz (rice), piña colada, sandia (watermelon), ciruela pasa (prune) and the inscrutable nanche (we're told this mystery fruit is a sweet, deep yellow, olive-size tropical fruit common in regions like Veracruz and Nayarit), so we'll be going back to La Michoacana very soon for further research tastings.

Forget your carnival midway snow cones and Stop-and-Rob Slurpees. And Hawaiian shave ice (only mainland haoles dare to call it shaved ice) isn't even in the running. All hail the new king of frozen desserts -- the raspado, Mexico's luscious take on fruit-flavored syrup drizzled over finely crushed ice. What separates the divine raspado from its other, more pedestrian brain-freeze bros is its liberal dousing of plain shaved ice with both thick syrup and small chunks of fresh ripe fruit in season, like mango, plum, peach, strawberry and melon. Add to your list of choices banana, vanilla, walnut, orange, coconut, tamarind, lime and piña colada, and just about every other season is adequately represented. We seriously doubt that the creator of the Mexican raspado was aware of its real history, which dates back to A.D. 62. That's when ultimate party animal and Roman emperor Nero got the bright idea of ordering his slaves to the nearby Apennines to schlep back snow and ice to Rome, where it was pummeled into slush and doused with honey and fruit pulp. Chances are Nero's original version wouldn't even come close to the latter-day Phoenix version being dished up at Oasis Raspados.

Fresh pineapple or fresh strawberry? Hmmmmm. The choice was tremendously difficult, but after an exceptional amount of hemming and hawing, we decided to go with Panadería La Estrella's strawberry-filled pastel de tres leches, which literally translated means "three-milk cake." And after tasting what seemed to be a thousand less-than-stellar variations on one of Mexico's (and Latin America's) most popular desserts, we award a 10 to La Estrella, the winner of the tres leches cake competition we just created. Tres leches cake derives its name from the fact that it's made with three different types of milk: sweetened condensed, evaporated, and heavy cream. When made properly, it's a luscious saturated vanilla butter cake that borders on pudding, with fresh fruit layered between the cake to add a gustatory punctuation mark to the whole experience. La Estrella's ultra-moist strawberry version, loaded with lightly sweetened fresh strawberry chunks and finished with mounds of whipped cream (and we ain't talking Cool Whip here), makes American strawberry shortcake just plain pale in comparison.

In the 1860s, the French under Napoleon III descended for a short time on Mexico, dragging with them European-style breads and pastries. Lucky for us, Mexico ultimately kept the bread recipes but booted out the French, creating Cinco de Mayo for us to drunkenly celebrate here in the U.S., as well as the Mexican version of the baguette -- the bolillo. Since that time, the bolillo -- used as an alternative to tortillas for slurping up runny food and for making tortas (or, if you prefer, el sandwich) -- has steadily gained in popularity and is a staple in any Mexican bakery. We've had any number of versions of the bolillo purchased from panaderías throughout Mexico. Some are shaped like small footballs with hernias, hard and crusty on the outside and soft or chewy on the inside. But our favorite variety, ubiquitous around the Valley, is the round, slightly flattened version like those baked by La Sonorense Bakery. They've got a golden brown crust that's not too tough, and insides full of melt-in-your-mouth softness, which is the perfect combo for making sandwiches that won't put your jaws out of joint or break your back teeth.

We've been sampling fancy desserts at Mexican restaurants in this town for so long that -- we're embarrassed to admit -- we remember eating deep-fried ice cream at Willy and Guillermo's. Thank goodness we've grown up, and so has Mexican cuisine in Phoenix. One of our favorite adults is Barrio Cafe, where you can top your meal with incredible French press coffee and a dessert that will make you happy you skipped that second basket of bread. We love anything chef Silvana Salcido serves that's stuffed with Oaxacan chocolate, but our absolute favorite -- the one we think about in the middle of the night -- is the Churros Rellenos de Cajera de Cabra, goat's milk caramel-stuffed fritters with vanilla ice cream. The churros bear no resemblance to that cardboard stick you choked down at the state fair. Instead, they're light and crunchy, soft inside, perfectly flavored next to the cinnamon-tinged ice cream, which, we're thankful to report, is not deep-fried.

We miss the good ol' days when, instead of a 7-Eleven or Circle K, every neighborhood had its own little grocery pit stop right around the corner. Flores Bakery in Guadalupe is just that kind of place, an old-fashioned blast from the past with exceptional baked goodies to boot. Besides the usual quick packaged snacks, you'll find a small meat counter serving up fresh tortas with carnitas and barbacoa, as well as prepared masa for homemade tortillas, premade tortillas, sopes and crispy tostaditas. But Flores Bakery's shining glory is its traditional Mexican pan dulce (sweet bread) in a variety of colorfully decorated shapes and flaky puff pastry orejas (or palmas, buttery palm-shaped sweet pastries). Rich tres leches cake is de rigueur here, as well as cream-cheese-slathered carrot cake. We tried one of the gigante puffy turnovers filled with slightly sweetened apple filling and sprinkled with large-grained turbinado sugar, which was over-the-top delicious. But Flores' specialty, in our minds, at least, is its bolillos con crema y jalapeños. The very thought of these soft, French-style rolls stuffed with huge hunks of fresh cream cheese and vinegary jalapeño slices baked to a golden brown makes us whimper uncontrollably.

We know we've come home to Mexico when we catch that first whiff of smoky barbacoa wafting on the breeze. Whether it's from chicken, beef, pork, lamb or baby goat being grilled over an open mesquite fire or slow-roasted on hot coals in an open pit, that heavenly smell is, for us, an unmatchable part of the best of Mexican culture and cuisine. Carnicería El Camino keeps those fragrant home fires burning bright for homesick Phoenician Mexicophiles with its extensive selection of Mexican-style cuts of meat, poultry and seafood. A small, corner grocery store with a down-home, old-fashioned feel, El Camino is piled to the rafters with all ingredients Mexican, but it's the butcher counter that shines like the blazing sun over the ancient pyramids of Teotihuacán. Here you'll have no trouble finding real Mexican chorizo, diesmillo (thinly sliced chuck roast), cecina (paper-thin pieces of dried or partially dried and seasoned beef or pork), chuleta (huge, thin slices of pork or lamb both unsmoked and smoked) or carne de chivo and borrego (goat and sheep, respectively) for barbecuing. The store also has 100 percent Mexican brand Chimex salchichón (a spicy, salami-like sausage), beef tongue, premade fajita mix for the less ambitious of us cooks, and codornices (quail). If you're a seafood lover, El Camino has that covered, too, offering large uncooked shrimp, pulpo (octopus), and, on the weekends, fresh ceviche. Also available for those weekend hangovers is classico rico menudo, a sloshy, tongue-searing tribute to beef tripe, hominy and calf's knuckles that's a guaranteed cure for those who have over-partied on the fin de semana.

We are seriously jealous, not to mention thoroughly bummed. Now that we've been to Phoenix Ranch Market at 59th Avenue and Thomas Road (visualize AJ's duded up for a Mexican quinceañera fiesta), we are finding it increasingly difficult to shop at our local Safeway. Our neighborhood grocery doesn't sport larger-than-life-size metal mariachis and a tin donkey on its roof, gaily welcoming all who enter its cleverly designed Mexican-style portals with blaring mariachi and norteño music pumped into its state-of-the-art sound system. Nor does our corner store boast signs in Spanish trumpeting fabulous palapa-embellished meat, fish, bakery, tortilla, cheese and fresh deli sections geared to classic regional Mexican cooking. Does your corner grocery store offer baby goat and patas de pollo (chicken feet), as well as mini-corn dogs? We didn't think so. Since discovering Phoenix Ranch Market, we're unable to cruise the aisles of our humdrum, peanut-butter-and-jelly neighborhood food emporium without a pang of longing. We're virtually haunted by the memory of Phoenix Ranch Market's huge tortilla-making machine, operated by crisply dressed, hair-netted ladies and spewing out plate loads of aromatic, Frisbee-shaped wheat and corn pancakes. And by PRM's glass barrel jars of homemade aguas frescas in tangy tropical flavors of pineapple, tamarind, Mexican lime, watermelon, cantaloupe and cinnamony rice-flavored horchata. To be honest, it's become increasingly hard to live without instant access to fresh nopales (cactus pads), membrillo (guava paste), cooked octopus, piñatas, and our favorite Mexican fabric softener (Suavitel in "primavera" scent), all of which Phoenix Ranch Market stocks on a regular basis. The only thing that's saving us from moving across town is the knowledge that a new Phoenix Ranch Market has opened at 1602 East Roosevelt Street, close enough to become our new favorite food-shopping destination.

We thought we'd died and gone to Libertad Mercado in Guadalajara when we discovered the Mexican cookware, utensils and supplies stocked at La Tolteca, a combo bakery, deli, restaurant and meat counter on East Van Buren done up in bright, serape-esque colors. If you can tear yourself away from La Tolteca's long glass bakery cases filled with fragrant pan dulce, freshly deep-fried churros and whipped-cream-topped tres leches cake and are not deflected by its fabulous meat counter and eat-in dining area, you'll find yourself in the middle of neatly arranged, good-quality Mexican cookware and utensils hard to find outside of Mexico itself. We saw huge metal cazuelas, big tubs with handles used for deep frying and simmering; humongous tamale steamers; comales, flat metal griddle-like affairs for cooking tortillas, searing fajitas or scorching fresh chiles; and those wonderful, inexpensive hand citrus squeezers that Williams-Sonoma powder-coats and sells for a small fortune. We also scoped out tortilla presses, hand-crank corn grinders for making masa, straw scrub brushes, wooden spoons and stirrers, and molinillos, a sort of wooden whisk-like utensil you twirl between your palms to froth Mexican hot chocolate to foamy perfection. La Tolteca also stocks authentic volcanic stone molcajetes and tejolotes, three-legged mortars and pestles used by every good Mexican cook worth her sal to grind up everything from chiles and spices to tomatoes and onions for salsa and guacamole. And speaking of chiles and spices, you'll find an extensive selection of both fresh and dried ones at La Tolteca right across the aisle from the cookware.

There's no contest: Our Lady of Guadalupe is the reigning Queen of Mexico and has been for more than 470 years. Since 1531, when the brown-skinned Virgin first appeared to Saint Juan Diego, a humble man of Chichimeca descent (he made the saints' list in 2002), on the hill of Tepeyac in Mexico City and miraculously imprinted her image on his tilma (a cactus-fiber cloak), la Guadalupana has reigned supreme as the Patroness of Mexico and continues to rule the hearts and minds of Mexican Catholics. December 12 is her feast day, and Catholics throughout Mexico and the American Southwest celebrate her with processions, Masses, singing and rosaries. Beginning the evening of December 11, Our Lady of Guadalupe Chapel, a satellite of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church in Glendale, hosts a rosary and a blocks-long procession in her honor, as well as a theatrical drama re-creating the apparition of the Virgin to Juan Diego. Along the way, special homes with Guadalupe shrines are opened, and blessings are given, after which there is all-night adoration by the faithful. At daybreak on the 12th, special mañanitas, songs dedicated to the praise of Guadalupe, are sung, and Mass is said. There's no better way to get a real taste of Mexico than to be a part of this enduring and most Mexican of Mexican traditions.

Ever see those statues of what appear to be the Grim Reaper in drag at the swap meet? That, mis amigos, is La Santisima Muerte -- Most Holy Death. She's the subject of a fast-growing cult in Mexico that considers her a powerful saint, though the Catholic Church has banned her from its approved saints list (which now excludes the saint of surfer dudes everywhere, Saint Christopher). Actually, cultural experts consider La Santisima Muerte the Catholic folk disguise for Mictlancihuatl, the ancient Aztec death goddess and co-regent of the dark underworld. Mictlancihuatl happens to be the sister of the Aztec goddess Tonantzin, whose Catholic incarnation is the Virgin of Guadalupe. You could say Santisima Muerte is the dark flip side of Guadalupe, a sort of Virgin Mary represented as a skeleton. And though she's extremely popular with the less savory elements of society, she's acquiring street cred among respectable folks who invoke her powers for love spells. Yerbería San Francisco has a Santisima Muerte selection to die for, so to speak. From small statuettes to three-foot-high sculptures, this is a must stop if you're looking for love in all the right places but it's just not happening, or you've got a wandering boo who's making you boo-hoo.

We first stumbled upon the mysterious Jesus Malverde years ago during a trip through Magdalena, Sonora. We couldn't figure out the story behind the statues and busts of a dashing Errol Flynn look-alike that we just had to buy at a large religious store there, and the counter girl waiting on us wasn't very forthcoming about his history or the reason his prayer card depicted him with a noose around his neck. Later, we discovered the Holy Swashbuckler was none other than Jesus Malverde, El Bandido Generoso, who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. He's a not-so-underground folk saint particularly popular in Sinaloa, whence he allegedly came, and was summarily dispatched by hanging (there are several different versions of how he died) in the 1920s. Whether Malverde ever actually existed is really unimportant to his huge, adoring fan base, which conspicuously includes narcotraficantes, a.k.a. international drug smugglers. Since discovering his true identity, we've been voraciously collecting Jesus Malverde effigies in all their glory. Yerbería Fuente de Salud carries a number of Malverde busts, but we truly cherish our new addition to the collection: a leather-backed, embroidered necklace with Malverde's face on it that we got there recently for a mere $4.95.

For some reason, here in Phoenix, botanicas are uniformly called yerberías. But a rosa by any other name is still a rosa, and, whatever you want to call them, they're one and the same: specialty stores that sell a bewildering variety of medicinal herbs and religious supplies used for both natural remedies and curanderismo, a lively blend of folk cures, white magic and pidgin Catholicism. Spiritualism, occultism, medieval Spanish Catholic traditions and folk healing all meet and greet one another in your typical yerbería, a convenient stop where you can buy herbs and tree bark to lower your blood pressure, buy a Buddha for good luck, snag a Virgin of Guadalupe for your home altar, or acquire candles and powders to cast a spell. And at Yerbería La Esperanza, we always find crucifixes, good-luck amulets, statues of saints that we know for a fact are used in Afro-Cuban santería practices (which are becoming very mainstream in Mexico), and an entire wall of neatly packaged natural remedies that can also double as offerings in a number of rituals. This shopping spot even has several very cool statues of San Simon of Guatemala, another one of those folk deities deemed naughty by the Catholic Church, but who still has a devoted following throughout Latin America.

Just like in Mexico, this large indoor mercado, lined with small, individual businesses, is a one-stop-shopping destination that houses just about everything you could possibly want or need to make your life complete. Visit Friendly Records for Mexican music CDs in every genre, or bargain for over-the-top laminated and ormolu-encrusted 19th-century French repro furniture -- the apex of Mexican middle-class fashion -- at Let's Make a Deal Furniture. And while you're at it, arrange your next blowout, be it birthday, wedding reception or quinceañera, at the Salon de Fiestas, a part of Dos Hermanos Centro Comercial. Joyería Diaz is ablaze with gold jewelry, and there are several shops, including Novias Gladys, that specialize in wedding paraphernalia like silk flower bouquets, tuxedos and formal wedding attire -- and, for après fiesta, soccer equipment. If you're feeling particularly mainstream holy, cruise by Librería Dios de Amor, a Spanish-language Christian music store, or check out Yerbería Guadalupana, a traditional botanica chock-full of naturopathic remedies, herbs and potions that can also be used for arcane religious rites designed to bring back the wayward groom or beau. And to elevate your plunging blood sugar level after the glucose-depleting intensity of all this shopping, stop by the Mexican candy stand on your way out.

We hung the fastest U-turn we could when we spotted the artfully arranged chrome wheel rims standing guard at the entrance to 4U Used Cars and Tires on Van Buren Street. Even though we're usually not into this sort of thing, and admittedly know next to nothing about wheel rims (or cars, for that matter), we were inexplicably seduced by the eye-blasting gleam of 4U's chrome lowrider rims, fashioned into a seamless wall of sparkling pattern; by the come-hither look of the rims' sexy cross-and-radial-spoke patterns; and by the silvery sophistication of the elegant spinners on display. Omigod, the spinners! Ever since we saw 4U's sculptural shrine to car culture, we've been considering putting them on our 1992 Volvo sedan. Seriously.

They don't sell anything else but piñatas at La Piñata Nueva. A hundred or so tissue-paper creations of all shapes and sizes hang from the ceiling of the warehouse at 27th Avenue and Thomas Road: Traditional Mexican star-shaped piñatas share space with Scooby-Doos, Winnie the Poohs, Spidermen, and Shreks. The piñatas are made here, on site, by women who watch telenovelas as they layer sheets of colored crepe paper over cardboard forms. The folks at La Piñata Nueva can make a custom piñata to almost any size and shape you want; just bring them a picture of what you're after, and they'll craft it for you. They also sell bags of candy and trinkets to put into the piñatas, and crepe-paper-covered sticks for busting them open. The prices are reasonable -- a four-foot-tall Dora the Explorer piñata, for example, runs only $20. ¡Andale!

After we found out about the Latin American tradition of the quinceañera, we really began to feel sorry for Hispanic relatives everywhere. Blame it on the 16th-century Spaniards, or maybe it was those pesky Aztecs, but whoever thought up the idea of marking a 15-year-old girl's passage into womanhood and society with a huge, expensive blowout must have owned all the concessions that catered to this elegant tradition's many requirements. Basically a cross between a debutante's coming-out ball and a Sweet 16 party, the quinceañera celebration, which usually consists of a special Mass, reception and dance, can be likened to an ersatz wedding minus a real groom. The quinceañera herself wears a ball gown with billowy bouffant petticoats and a tiara, and carries a rhinestone-encrusted scepter; she's surrounded by an equally decked-out honor court of damas and chambelanes (up to 14 of each). If the quinceañera's dad is lucky, the whole shebang is underwritten by the kind monetary donations of extended family, godparents and friends. Where to find that perfect ball gown with the billowy bouffant petticoats? Try Joyful Events in Mesa, which carries all the mandatory quinceañera accouterments: the dress, rosary, tiara, scepter, last doll, cake cutter and kneeling pillow (it even carries tux rentals for the male honor court members -- our favorite was a zoot suit, complete with wide-brimmed fedora, two-toned spectator shoes and obligatory long watch chain). The dress choices here seem endless, from your basic fairy princess look to medieval styles that make you resemble a starry-eyed refugee from a Renaissance fair.

When it comes to fabulous Mexican folk art, for sheer variety and eclectic selection, no one can beat funkychickeneggranch. That's the seller's name that native Phoenician Nancy Nenad goes by on eBay, where she maintains a virtual store filled with the sacred, the profane and the downright loony. Go to www.ebay.com and search under sellers for funkychickeneggranch. Co-owner of the now-defunct Saints and Sinners folk art store in Glendale, Nenad prefers today to wheel and deal in cyberspace, which frees her up to sniff around Mexican mercados and artisans' talleres for the finest Mexican folk art to be found. Nenad knows her stuff, since she regularly travels south of the border with her equally adventurous 70-something mamacita, Bets Nenad, who for more than 40 years has been fearlessly scouring tiny Mexican towns for folk art. From funkychickeneggranch, you'll learn about where those retablos, ex-votos, papier-mâché skeletons, sequined saints and Mexican Santería ritual objects come from; their cultural and religious significance; and, often, about the artists who make them, many of whom Nenad knows personally. In fact, Nenad's entertaining auction titles and descriptions alone are worth a trip to her eBay store, like the one for a hot-pants-wearing devil figurine used traditionally for a Mexican Christmas crèche. Nenad swears that "the hot pants look a little like a sagging diaper." Or the "Don't Eat My Rabbit Tin Folk Art Retablo/Ex Voto" from Oaxaca that features a "blob-like image of a saint hovering over the scene" of a father about to consume his kid's rabbit. Muy hilarious!

Since the phenomenal rise in popularity of Mexico's DÍas de los Muertos (Day of the Dead to you, gringo) here in the U.S., folk crafts related to this uniquely Mexican celebration of the dearly departed are hot (and sometimes high) ticket items. A shotgun marriage between 16th-century Catholicism's All Souls and All Saints Day in November and ancient pre-Columbian rites honoring the dead, DÍas de los Muertos is celebrated by partying graveside with your ancestors and by creating special offering tables (ofrendas) at home laden with the favorite food, drink and smoking material of the deceased person(s) being commemorated. But where in town can you find those fancifully decorated sugar skulls for adorning your home shrine, now that you've embraced your repressed Mexicanidad? Especially in the middle of April? And, of course, you're gonna need those funky religious candles, holy cards and key chains bearing the likenesses of San MartÍn, San Antonio (patron saint of impossible cases) and Our Lady of Guadalupe as a finishing touch. Try Sueños, a Latin American import store owned by Robert Bitto, who joyfully crams his shop with not only Mexican folk art and crafts, but stuff from Peru, Bolivia and Ecuador -- even Poland, for God's sake -- as well. You'll find an entire wall there devoted to nothing but crosses, enough to keep the vampire population of the entire state of Arizona under control, together with contemporary retablos, nichos, paper flowers, santos, milagros, those fancy clay Posada catrina skeleton sculptures from the town of Capula in Michoacán, hand-blown glassware from Tonala, and talavera from Delores Hidalgo, Guanajuato. This is what we call one-stop religious shopping at its finest.

Long before the rank-and-file rabble elevated Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera to Mexican Idol status, Friends of Mexican Art (fondly referred to as FOMA) knew that Mexican fine and folk art were extremely cool. Started here in Phoenix more than 42 years ago (during an era when Day of the Dead most likely referred to your own funeral), FOMA, a nonprofit organization, has dedicated itself to fostering cultural ties with Mexico. For years, the group has raised funds to purchase Mexican art for Arizona art museums, mount Mexican exhibitions, and print art catalogues. FOMA's even underwritten the restoration of important Mexican national patrimony, like historic public murals damaged in Mexico City's 1985 earthquake, and the 18th-century, mural-covered Santuario de Atotonilco in Guanajuato, where Father Hidalgo first announced to the Mexican nation that he was mad as hell and not going to take it from Spain anymore. FOMA's Hacienda Tour con Folk Art Mercado, usually held in February, is its signature fund-raising activity, one that allows patrons to play looky-loo in houses belonging to people like Eddie Basha or Virginia and Jose Cárdenas (he's managing partner of the Lewis and Roca law firm here in town). But the best part of it all is the fabulous folk art mercado organized by longtime FOMA devotee Bets Nenad, who invades Mexican towns throughout the year to rustle up the finest quality crafts Mexico has to offer. It's worth waiting all year long for FOMA's mercado, so if you're a folk art freak, best pencil in this occasion now.

We said pots, dude, pots -- you know, the kind you grow plants in. So if you're ready to rid your front yard of those pink flamingos, lawn jockeys, '70s garden gnomes and icicle twinkle lights from Christmas Past, you can achieve a more sophisticated look (and the eternal gratitude of the neighbors who have been staring at all of the above for lo these many years) by replacing them with Mexican clay pots, planters and yard art from Pot World. It's worth the trip up Cave Creek Road to get a gander at Pot World's selection, which includes classic unglazed and glazed plant containers in a slew of styles from chica to grandisima. We fell in love with some of the chimeneas (freestanding outdoor clay fireplaces) the place stocks, as well as wrought-iron plant stands in a variety of sizes and shapes. Inside, you'll find not only glazed containers with vivid traditional Mexican designs from Delores Hidalgo (our fave was a big-ass blue bunny planter), but intricately painted sinks and bathroom accessories, too. We're also lusting after Pot World's gigantic fire-singed pots from the small town of Cucucho in Michoacán, old wagon wheels, and metal mariachi sculptures. And if you just can't keep away from the kitsch, this place also offers rusted iron cannons to replace your old peeing-boy fountain.

Sick of Country French (or Arts and Crafts or anything mauve) and want to plunge into more colorful Mexican decor? If that's the case, Mexican Tile Company is where you should start for your casita's extreme makeover. For more than 30 years, this veritable Valley tile institution has been offering real Mexican tile, both decorative and flooring, to picky homeowners and designers. It's now added stone, like Italian travertine and tumbled marble, as well as porcelain stone look-alikes, to its burgeoning stockpile of Mexicanesque decorative building blocks. Besides classic Saltillo tiles in a number of sizes and shapes, we spotted tiles from Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato, in an assortment of traditional patterns, including trim pieces in the shape of twisted rope, and San Carlos-style concrete tiles popular back in the '20s and '30s. Delicious high-fired Portuguese and Spanish tiles with 18th-century motifs, just waiting to make a statement in some neglected bathroom, are also available -- and make sure to scope out the store's gorgeous Mexican hand-painted sinks. If you can't find tile in the patterns or colors you need, Mexican Tile Company also works with local artisans who can create custom tiles from scratch just for your decorative do-over.

"Muy classy!" is all we can say about Fiesta Furnishings, a spacious decor emporium that features furniture and accessories with an elegant Spanish Colonial feel. Owned and operated by Claudia and Ralph Farrar, who were both importers of Mexican folk arts and crafts before they met and married, Fiesta specializes in items you won't see in your run-of-the-mill Mexican furniture stores. The Farrars travel constantly throughout Mexico and other parts of the world to cull beautiful carved wooden doors, mirror frames, candlesticks, and other contemporary architectural elements done in Mexican styles of yesteryear. You'll also see beautifully complementary items such as rustic Italian pots and Moroccan lanterns (because, actually, most of that Spanish Colonial look comes from 14th-century North African Islamic designs and motifs). Add to that mezcla ironwork, lighting, carved cantera stone accessories and lovely Mexican talavera pieces, and you've got instant, unassailable good taste.

Don't know where to find "country Mexican" furniture and accessories for that autentico rancho look? MexAmigo has crammed an entire building with reasonably priced rustic Mexican furniture just waiting to go home to your hacienda. It's right here you'll find table and chair sets of pigskin-and-estaca wood equipales (historically speaking, they're said to date back to pre-Conquest times in Mexico -- even Moctezuma had one of these pigskin chairs), chip-carved bales (chests), trasteros (traditional dish shelves), end tables, and large armoires for hiding your post-Conquest TV. We were especially taken with an all-wood bar emblazoned with the words "cantina" and "cerveza fria." The best part of MexAmigo's stock is that it comes with different finishes ready to roll -- or unfinished and just waiting to be stained, waxed or oiled or, if you're the adventurous artsy type, painted with abandon in wild colors of hot pink, colonial blue, buttery yellow, royal purple, rust red and turquoise.

We thought we had stumbled into 18th-century Mexico through a rip in some time dimension when we pulled up to Casa del Encanto, which literally means "the enchanting or bewitching house." Built in a classic Spanish colonial U-shaped configuration with rust-colored walls, arched windows and cantera stone trim, Casa del Encanto is a perfect re-creation of an elegant, upscale Mexican residence built several centuries ago. If you can get past the store's lush courtyard adorned with a water-lily-filled fountain and carved stone sculptures (all of which are for sale), huge doors open onto the Casa's display floor, crowned with soaring vaulted and hand-painted ceilings and artfully jammed with high-end colonial-style accessories and furniture. Better plan on winning PowerBall if you hope to do major shopping here, as the prices match the high quality of Casa del Encanto's spectacular inventory. Or heck, why not get out the credit card? Floating through a forest of one-of-a-kind merchandise, we spotted a six-foot-high carved and gilded candlestick that would not look out of place in a cathedral, wooden religious wall sculptures done in estofado, exquisitely decorated talavera pieces, and masterfully executed architectural elements that would make any museum curator do a double take.

It seems that if it's Mexican and it even remotely involves music on tape or CD, El Idolo de Oro has it. This tuneful stop stocks just about every regional group living, breathing and harmonizing in Mexico, including oompah bands from Michoacán; norteño/Tex-Mex groups from Sonora, Chihuahua and Sinaloa; the exitos (hits) of wailing mariachi ensembles from Jalisco -- even reggaeton, a salsita of hip-hop, rap and Jamaican reggae from Puerto Rico, and Mexican rap by Control Machete. El Idolo's strong suit, however, is an incredible selection of narcocorrido music, a recent twist on the romantic Mexican folk ballads, or corridos, blaring in every Mexican restaurant and cantina from here to Culiacán. Think of the narcocorrido as the Mexican equivalent of American folk tunes about Western gunslingers, desperadoes and bank robbers (or maybe the theme song from The Sopranos) -- except that these ballads chronicle the joys and derring-do involved in drug trafficking (narcocorrido expert Elijah Wald says, "They're an anachronistic link between the earliest European poetic traditions and the world of crack cocaine and gangsta rap"). Ain't nothing new here, since more than a century ago, the corridos were about crafty Robin Hood types, revolutionary guerrillas like Pancho Villa and campesinos who pulled fast ones on evil Texas Rangers. Wildly popular both south and north of the border, narcocorridos are set to polka or waltz rhythms and usually backed by accordions and often brass sections. El Idolo carries the latest by groups famous for these drug ditties, like Los Tigres del Norte, Los Tucanes de Tijuana, Grupo Exterminador (you gotta love a group that's titled one of its albums Contrabando en los Huevos), Los Pajaritos del Sur, and the notorious Sinaloan legend Chalino Sanchez. With titles like Los Tigres' Pacto de Sangre (Blood Covenant), it makes you wanna run to the nearest Berlitz for a crash course in Spanish so you can figure out all the lyrics.

The takeout menu for this great place announces in Spanish that it's "the place where you will find good ambiance, good music and good food." And the restaurant's proud claim is no lie, especially on Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings. On those nights, beginning at about 6:30, mas o menos, La Casa del Mariachi serves up bueno grub (its specialty is authentic Mexican seafood) and a free mini-floor show featuring live singing, often with live mariachi musicos such as Mariachi Tierra del Sol (who performed last May with the Phoenix Symphony at the Dodge Theatre). The night we went, we were regaled by a good-looking norteño cowboy dude in suit and hat who looked a little like a svelte Garth Brooks doing Mexican karaoke. Garthcito ended up doing a singing lap dance for a gaggle of señoritas, and later in the evening, as they so often do, the folks at La Casa broke out with live mariachi music in the spacious Salon Guadalajara. It'll cost you a cover charge to get in, but it's worth it to enjoy the raucous sights and sounds of a real-deal, full-liveried mariachi ensemble -- not to mention the enthusiastic patrons who play and dance until they shut the place down at 2 a.m.

You might feel a bit intimidated when approaching this popular discoteca, which is situated alongside a freeway overpass. But don't be put off by the parking lot crammed with Cadillac Escalades and Audis, the squad of Phoenix cops gathered outside keeping the peace, or the lengthy line out the front door. Really: Don't let it get to you, cabrón. Just get your ass past security and onto this hot club's expansive dance floor. Shake your culo until the wee hours of the weekend to such musical styles as cumbia, norteño, mariachi and banda, provided by either a DJ or a live band, depending on what night you're there. Expect to get down alongside vatas in tight-fitting dresses, caballeros in crisp new cowboy hats and matching snakeskin boots and belts, or jersey-clad sportos wearing plenty of bling. If refreshment is required, grab a Dos Equis, Negra Modelo, or a shot of Cuervo from the bar before heading back into the crowd to stage a dance revolution. ¿Desea bailar? You will after coming to El Capri.

You'll find the hottest Latin club in these parts is wedged amongst the high-rises of downtown Phoenix. Without fail, Club Dwntwn draws an enormous crowd -- 1,500 people on a Saturday! -- and in just three years has expanded from two rooms to three. Even then you can barely walk through without bumping into someone. In the main room, DJs Mixxman and Czr3ro energize a crowd of well-dressed partyers with a hybrid of Spanish pop, Top 40, and tribal tunes. Elsewhere, DJs Joey and Ponk spin pure reggaeton, where, in the back room, dancers writhe under a gorgeous chandelier to salsa, merengue, bachata, and cumbia played by DJ Roberto or the occasional live band. This hopping hot spot has even drawn big-name producers and DJs from Mexico like Pelos, Mijangos, Macsi, and Bolillo. And partygoers can keep shaking their cans until the sun comes up, because the music pumps 'til 5 a.m.

Club Karamba steams up its own windows every weekend with Kaliente Saturdays, a party packed wall-to-wall with queer Latin lovers dancing to the beat of DJs Tranz and Melo. The jockeys throw salsa, merengue, cumbia, rock and pop en español into the mix while Latin music videos project onto an enormous screen. It's a sexy backdrop for a high-energy crowd that's there to party 'til 4 a.m. And if you get there before 10 p.m., it's all free, mica!

Every month, on the night of the full moon, Nancy Lewis and her crew of Spanish-language champions convene at South Mountain's Javelina Trail to sweat out basic grammar, pronunciation and vocabulary under a glowing light other than a fluorescent one. Fluent speakers and Spanish-language newbies meet monthly to participate in a physical and linguistic workout en español. The sociable atmosphere is led by a number of hiking guides, including natives of Mexico and Ecuador as well as locals who teach the language professionally. Participants meet monthly at sundown in the Beverly Canyon parking lot, 46th Street south of Baseline Road, for the moderately challenging two-hour jaunt that is a longer yet less grueling version of Piestewa Peak. The events are English-friendly, so if you can't quite roll your tongue rapidly enough while screaming soy perdido! ("I'm lost!"), somebody will be there to guide you. The hike is free; just show up and glow.