Best Of Phoenix® 2006 Winners
Food & Drink
When we decided to do a Garden of Eden theme for this year's Best of Phoenix, we knew we'd have to tell you where to find the best apple pie, the best place to make your garden grow, the best place to rent a snake. And, of course, we figured we needed to tell you where to find the best spareribs apologies to Adam. Turns out, the term "sparerib" doesn't refer to an extra rib at all. It originates from the German word rippenspeer, which means "spear ribs" apparently, the cut was traditionally speared and roasted. We Americans bastardized the term 'til it became sparerib also so-named because the cut, from the bottom section of the ribs and breastbone of the pig, doesn't have much meat. So we're confused. We want to tell you where to get the best spareribs, but frankly, we're not 100 percent sure of the cut of the ribs at Golden Eggroll, one of our favorite little Chinese joints, just around the corner from REI in Tempe. No matter, really. These are the best ribs in town an order comes with four juicy, tasty ribs, covered in a light sweet sauce and sprinkled with scallions. We often make a meal of them alone, so perhaps therein lies our answer there's nothing spare about them. One thing we know for sure: Eve would have chosen these ribs over that apple any day of the week. And she wouldn't have had to leave the garden: Golden Eggroll delivers.
In our opinion, it's always worth a trek out to east Mesa, to this homey and charming shrine to the land where corn grows freely, and it's all because of our favorite part of the day: dessert. More than 20 types of homemade pie are baked daily using passed-down family recipes, and the offerings will overwhelm your taste buds. There are straight-ahead varieties like the cherry and peach pies, as well as more unusual offerings like the decadent chocolate peanut butter and the sweet sour cream raisin. But what keeps us coming back to fill our greedy guts is the award-winning apple pie, a thick and sweet creation with a flaky butter crust available by the slice at $2.59 a pop or as a whole delight for $10.99 (with a $2 refundable on each pie tin). We guarantee that you won't leave hungry or dissatisfied, you hear, now?
We can't help but sigh when we think about Hermosa Inn and its beloved restaurant, Lon's. With its view of Camelback Mountain, its cozy patio fireplace, and trees and cactuses everywhere, the place oozes so much desert charm that we wish we could live there. (Yeah, only in our dreams . . . ) Of course, painter Lon Megargee did live there in the 1930s, and these days, the old-fashioned Arizona adobe ranch house that used to be his residence is home to one of the Valley's most memorable dining destinations. From the dining rooms to the intimate bar to the candlelit stone wine cellar, the ambiance is rustic and romantic, with antique Navajo rugs, wood-beamed ceilings, and Southwestern art throughout. And true to Megargee's artistic spirit, Lon's not only serves Friday night drink specials in Megargee's former art studio (a.k.a. "the Studio Lounge"), but also hosts its own artist-in-residence series, a four-course wine dinner and reception with a different talent every month. As for executive chef Michael Rusconi's creative menu, many of the ingredients are organic, locally grown, or even plucked straight out of the inn's own gardens. For a taste of the Southwest, try the moist cactus pear lacquered breast of duck, or the smoky, pepper-crusted pork tenderloin with prickly pear braised red cabbage. Mmm. We might not be able to move in, but on the bright side, we can't wear out our welcome at the dinner table, either.
BEST PLACE TO WAX NOSTALGIC ABOUT PHOENIX
Bill Johnson's Big Apple
Fifty years ago, former circus trapeze artist Bill Johnson threw open the doors on what would become one of the best-known and longest-running restaurants in the Valley, and the place that bears his name has been dishing out chops and barbecue ever since. The rustic interior of Bill Johnson's Big Apple is still hung with Western memorabilia, its servers still dress in cowboy drag, and it's still run by the Johnson family (Bill died in 1966, after which his kids took over). All these things add up to a place perfect for the sentimentalist in us. Because Phoenix's first theme restaurant has changed so little over the years, we can head to the Big Apple and relive favorite memories of a late-night post-prom dinner date; a brother's long-ago "just divorced" party; or merely the memory of an exceptional slice of deep-dish apple pie, a specialty of the house. The sign out front features a giant steer's head and the legend "Let's Eat!" But we visit Bill Johnson's for more than grub; we go there to remember our and Phoenix's past.
"In vino veritas," as the Romans were fond of saying when they weren't having orgies or out conquering the ancient world: That is, "In wine, there's truth." But the truth we've discovered through our own oenophilia is that it's often too damned expensive to drink the blood of the vine while dining out at a fine restaurant, assuming you want something better than the cheapest swill on hand. Then along comes cork dork Jock Wulffson, who had the nutty idea of combining a wine store and storage facility with a French-influenced restaurant where the eclectic art and decor are all for sale. And voil! Backstreet Wine Salon was born. Wulffson knows how to score deals on various vintages, passing along the savings to the customer. And should you spy a bottle you crave from the retail side of the aisle, you can consume it on the premises for a corkage fee, instead of doling out two or three times the bottle's worth. To this setup, Wulffson adds the culinary know-how of chef Patrice Barry, who cranks out scrumptious, small plates, such as veal empanadas, roasted head of garlic, frisee aux lardons, sorrel bisque, pork-fig roulade, petite osso buco, and so on. As a result, Wulffson's got a winning recipe on his hands a funky-cool ambiance with a very knowledgeable wait staff, a kick-ass chef producing value-laden, Frenchified eats, and a collection of affordable, palate-tickling wines. Best new restaurant? You betcha. If only all newbies gave you this much for your hard-earned greenback.
Expat Dean Thomas of Gunnislake, Cornwall, has single-handedly turned Tempe into Arizona's capital of Cornish pasty. See, pasties (pronounced pass-tee) are a Cornish specialty, the type of hearty fare tin miners in that section of England traditionally took with them to the mines. To the uninitiated, they might resemble a jumbo Hot Pocket or the Brit version of a calzone. The shape of a half-deflated football, the flaky, pot-pie crust is pinched in the middle so that it forms a distinctive, squiggly seam. Inside could be a whole lot of things, depending on your order. They come stuffed with lamb and mint, bangers and mash, chicken tikka masala, meatballs, chicken Alfredo, and so on. But the classic pasty is the oggie, filled with steak, potato, onion and rutabaga, accompanied by a side of red wine gravy. Served piping hot, the pasties go great with a pint of Newcastle or Kronenbourg, both on tap here along with other brews. It would not surprise us in the least to see Cornish Pasty Co.'s springing up all over Arizona one day, and even beyond, as both the concept and execution in Thomas' hands have been so cool, and so universally acclaimed.
How can you not love a pizza joint where the menu describes the Chicago-style thin-crust pie as "custom cut into tiny squares, like finger-jello"? This is a place that does not take itself seriously except when it comes to the quality of the food, which is always high, even as Oregano's prepares to take over the world or, at least, Arizona. There are now five Oregano's in metro Phoenix (Mesa, Phoenix, Tempe, and two in Scottsdale), one in Tucson, and another in Flagstaff. Really, even though the place doesn't deliver, you can pretty much reach up from the couch and grab a slice there are that many outposts, that close. Or pick up the phone and call; we've found the counter service to be as friendly as the table service. Once you're there to pick up your pie or salad or wings or garlic bread you'll likely want to stay, and soak up Oregano's retro-with-a-flair surroundings, along with the strong scent of garlic. It's all good.
Cave Creek: home of javelinas, biker bars, speed traps and fine dining? Hell, where'd you think all those folks in their million-dollar pads go to graze? To Binkley's Restaurant, of course, a little patch of genteel Napa Valley amidst the giant rocks and saguaros. Chef Kevin Binkley, who once worked side-by-side with Thomas Keller at Keller's much-ballyhooed French Laundry in Napa, commands the kitchen, while Binkley's wife and matre d' Amy works the front. The combination of flawless service and nonpareil grub keeps the small, elegant eatery booked reservation-wise most nights of the week. As the menu changes, the latter might include such French-inspired American cuisine as poached pear stuffed with duck liver mousse or monkfish medallions, with pattypan squash, polenta, and one sublime sliver of monkfish liver. Service, on the other hand, boasts Riedel stemware, serviettes tied with red ribbons, and periodic palate-cleansers to amuse your bouche. Only bad thing about Binkley's is that you have to hoof it all the way to Cave Creek to get there. Is it worth the drive? Well, what do you think?
Welcome Diner is the heart of Roosevelt Row we have friends who swear by the place, not as a good spot to grab lunch but as a mood elevator. Located just east of the gallery action, the diner has quickly become the weekday afternoon hangout for developers, artists and shopkeepers, who gather to eat the hamburgers and fries and catch up on neighborhood gossip. The joint is small the diner is a Valentine original, manufactured in Kansas and the A/C has to work hard to keep up with the hustle on the counter stools as well as behind the counter. Don't miss one of the house specialties, chocolate chip oatmeal cookies baked two at a time in a toaster oven. You'll blow your diet, but we promise you'll leave Welcome Diner in a good mood.
Here's how the conversation went, over the menus at Pink Taco: "Hey," said our dining companion, a Pink Taco fan (actually, Jason Rose, the restaurant's local PR guy), "you've gotta order the Pink Taco." "Oh, no," we replied. "We'll pass. We really don't like fish." That cracked Rose up. Whoops. Our bad. Turns out, the Pink Taco (a.k.a. panuchos) doesn't have any fish in it at all. C'mon, Jason. Who can blame us for assuming? Still, we turned the same rosy shade as the pink pickled onions in the restaurant's signature dish, and after all that, we had to order one. And we've gotta say: It was damn good. A small corn tortilla is filled with beans, grilled chicken, salsa roja, pickled onions and avocado. The chicken is tender and tasty, the tortilla's fresh and the onions are a nice complement. The only problem with the Pink Taco? It was a little messy. We know, we know . . . T.M.I. . . .
Like many longtime Valleyites, we have fond memories of the original Trader Vic's. It was located in downtown Scottsdale, and by the time we made it there, the blush was off the rose, the blowfish draped with cobwebs and dust. Still, for us, this was as glamorous as it got. (This was before the Drinkwaters brought liquor and clubs to town, and before we could order a cocktail ourselves, for that matter even with a fake ID.) We're not sure the contents are exactly the same, but one thing from the old Trader Vic's that seems resurrected with some authenticity at the new version swank and stark, tacked onto the edge of the Hotel Valley Ho is the pupu platter. Still aflame, still featuring enough pork and fried items to ensure you won't make it to the next resurrection of Trader Vic's, we love it, particularly alongside several cocktails we're now more than old enough to order.
We weren't surprised to see lavender on Mthode Bistro's dessert list, where it shows up twice in the form of creamy lavender ice cream (which accompanies wood-roasted pineapple and crisp pastry) as well as lavender cookies (paired with a white chocolate and blueberry frozen souffl). Something about its intoxicating aroma gives sweet foods a special twist. But chef Matt McLinn took us off guard with his Mediterranean-inspired dinner menu, where the herb takes a savory turn in a sauce for tender foie gras. It was unusually good, and now we've found ourselves craving this out-of-the-ordinary flavor. We can only hope that this spawns a trend.
Don't ask us to pronounce "aciliezme." Doesn't matter, you can just ask your kind Efes waiter for the Atomic Bomb. Or order the appetizer platter. That's what we did, and while the waiter did warn us that the pile of reddish crumbs he called hot sauce (hardly looks like hot sauce, more like hot crumbs) was a little fiery, we were not prepared for the assault to the lips, tongue and mouth. After a few minutes of gasping and gulping (water or wine, whatever was nearby), we went back for more. The mixture of breadcrumbs, walnuts and seven kinds of pepper (six for taste, one for color, we're told) is irresistible, in an S&M kind of way. Or maybe it's the luxurious pillows and low benches we're invited to lounge on at Efes, where the rest of the appetizer tray including hummus, spinach pie, pita and falafel was all delectable, and just the right temperature.
Lisa G has us by the balls. Sure, the creative salads at this chic, laid-back little wine bar are addictive (especially the steak salad with spinach and blue cheese). And the hefty sandwiches, made on fresh, fragrant MJ Bread (Tammie Coe's hubby), are some of the best in town. But Lisa's Bowl of Balls is what really gets us hot and bothered. Boy, do these meaty marvels ever delight the unabashed carnivore in us. They're made from owner Lisa Giungo's own family recipe using beef, veal, pork, and some secret-but-tasty ingredients, and they come smothered in chunky, homemade marinara sauce. The portion's certainly filling enough to be an entree, but don't be surprised if your friends all want to try them. Our greedy strategy for getting around that? Order them up as a grinder, with melted provolone cheese, and keep the sandwich all to yourself.
For such a ubiquitous salad, the mighty Caesar is sadly botched more often than not. Whether it's from the wrong kind of lettuce (only romaine will do), overpowering, gunky dressing, or too many shakes of straight-from-the-can grated Parmesan, too many restaurants take a heavy hand with this seemingly straightforward classic. Radda's "La Stella" Caesar is a shining star of simplicity. Although it's not prepared tableside, according to tradition (we're hard-pressed to find anyone doing that these days), this plate of large, crisp, artfully arranged heart of romaine leaves, lightly dressed in subtle seasonings and rich olive oil, still satisfies. The croutons, made from grilled focaccia, are deliciously chewy, and fresh shavings of high-caliber Italian Parmesan are generously feathered on top of the masterpiece. It's easily a meal unto itself. Order it with grilled chicken served thinly sliced and warm and you've got all four food groups.
We are well aware that salad is supposed to be diet food, but we're just as aware at how much wink-wink, nod-nodding goes on around many menus in town. Nowhere is this more evident or, we believe, better justified than at Country Glazed Ham, where we recently made pigs of ourselves over the club salad. No grilled chicken here the chicken atop this salad was deep-fried and delicious, accompanied by bacon, cheese, avocado and enough sweet dressing to satisfy our craving for dessert. The salad comes with a side of enough bread to make sandwiches for a week but if you're like us, you'll down that right then and there, too.
We figured the seafood would be killer at this new Scottsdale hot spot after all, it's Eddie V's sexy younger sib. Sure enough, Wildfish has quickly become our favorite place to chow down on seafood so fresh it tastes like it leaped right out of the ocean into the frying pan. From the looks of the crowds in this bumpin' joint, we're not the only ones who're hooked. And while we'll gladly come back for another plateful of salmon or buttery sea scallops, the one thing we'll insist on ordering is Wildfish's signature crab cake. Here, it's all sweet, moist lump crabmeat with a sassy touch of fresh horseradish. Served up lightly browned, with a helping of creamy chive rmoulade sauce, it's one of the best versions we've ever eaten.
At most places, bruschetta might get just a listing on the appetizer menu, but at Postino, it's more than a mere starter. Served up with a small bowl of olives on a wooden cutting board, it's four large slices of chewy, lightly crisped bread adorned with the most satisfying toppings (there are 10 options in all, and you can pick four no easy task). We like the chopped roasted red peppers piled on a layer of goat cheese; smoked salmon on pesto, sprinkled with capers and minced red onion; and (our favorite) creamy mascarpone and sweet figs, draped in thin-sliced prosciutto. Depending on how many people are sharing the bruschetta, the kitchen will slice up the pieces accordingly. But seriously, this bruschetta's so good you'll want it all for yourself. Even if you can't finish it, you'll still have fun trying.
There are things about the old Mill Avenue Long Wong's we still miss (seeing great local bands, drinking cold beer on the patio), and there are things we definitely won't (um, how to describe that awful smell that only got worse when smoking was banned?). But there's no need to be nostalgic at the new Long Wong's, a colorful little place just up the street from the lot where its predecessor once stood. Okay, so there's no patio, no booze, and no room for shows, but so what? The bird is the word, and these wings are just as good as we remember. Served up original style or extra crispy with carrots and ranch dip, of course you can get 'em slathered in a choice of nine different finger-lickin' sauces (we're partial to the flaming-lips sensation of Long Wong's suicide sauce). And at a nickel under five bucks for a dozen, there's no better way to stuff your face on the cheap.
Dammit, we know our gol-darn greens! We've spent many years in the Deep South. We've dined repeatedly at the (sadly) now-closed Stacy's soul food restaurant, as well as Mrs. White's Golden Rule Cafe and Lo-Lo's Chicken and Waffles, in Phoenix. We've even brunched at Roscoe's over in La-La Land. All of them do, or did (in Stacy's case), a mean plate of collards. But the recently remodeled joint on Indian School Road, just west of the 51, called Memphx has the best greens we've ever tasted anywhere. The owners, who hail from (you guessed it) Memphis, Tennessee, and right here in Phoenix (MEM-PHX), are on their way to turning their place into the best soul food restaurant in the area. Now, we weren't too fond of their concept of putting fried chicken and catfish into taco shells (guys, you're taking the Memphx thing too far!), but we'd go back again and again just for the greens with ample smoked turkey mixed in. There's obviously a secret ingredient, but the cook admits that she uses not just collard greens, but turnip and mustard greens as well. She substitutes the ham hocks that would be used in the Deep South with the smoked turkey (it's an obvious sop to health nuts, but you can't tell the difference really). She admits that she seasons the concoction with garlic and jalapeos, but will reveal nothing else. If you go there, ask for a double order of the greens (one order's just $1.75), and an order of Memphx's hushpuppies. For the uninitiated, a hushpuppy's a ball of fried cornbread so named because at fish fries in the South, bits of the cornmeal batter from the catfish would be scooped out of the deep fryer, cooled and thrown to the begging yard dogs, with the admonition: "Hush, puppy!" As for us, we can't stop talking about these greens.
Okay, you're probably asking how we can recommend anything at a downtown Phoenix Chinese restaurant. That is, how good could some dive behind Chase Field be? After all, we're not talking about a sports bar here. But if that's what you think, you're ignorant, round-eye. Actually, the area surrounding Sing High contained a throng of Chinese businesses back in the day. It was the PHX's oldest Chinese neighborhood. But even though the place has been owned and operated by the same family for 78 years, we aren't recommending the chop suey. It's not bad, but we've had better. What we're saying that you should brave the terrible downtown parking situation these days to sample is Sing High's six-piece Asian rumaki appetizer. Now, we're used to rumaki where the strip of bacon is wrapped around a water chestnut (this was a popular appetizer in old Doris Day and Rock Hudson movies of the '50s), but real Chinese rumaki is much better. At Sing High, the cook wraps bacon around a water chestnut and liver, and then fries it. Of course, there's a secret ingredient that makes it all Sing. Most recipes call for soy sauce, ginger and chili flakes. If your arm doesn't go numb from the impending heart attack after eating a plate or two of this delicious assemblage of ingredients, your cardiovascular system's in much better shape than ours, which is why we shared a plate with another diner. If you're a liver lover and who doesn't crave crispy bacon? you're in for a treat. Just don't overdo it.
Pain, suffering, and punishment. That's the theology most of the world's major religions sell. Well, later for that cheese! We've decided to worship that corpulent, jolly "buddha" with a small "b" known as Jin Foo, Bu Dai, or Hotei. This smiling, big-eared mendicant with a belly like Homer Simpson's greets visitors to the Chinese Cultural Center's Golden Buddha restaurant, where we like to pay homage by snarfing loads of dim sum, the best in the Valley by far. As you sit, servers race around you with gleaming steel carts, asking if you'd like to sample their wares, everything from steamed pork buns and shrimp dumplings to more exotic eats like beef tripe and barbecued jellyfish. For the fearless, there are fried chicken feet, and for the fearful, huge slices of eggy cake. Now, isn't this more fun than singing hymns in Sunday school? It's the only religion where being fat and happy is the mark of a true believer.
Without naming any names, there are a lot of big shots locally in the sushi game, some with labyrinthine sushi emporiums, outfitted with as much glitter and bling as money can buy, statuesque waitresses to fetch your raw fish for you, and, usually, a line of doods behind the sushi counter who might as well be making cheese-drenched nachos as toro nigiri. Over these places, we'll always take a smaller purveyor, one devoted to quality, who knows his fish like Captain Jack Sparrow knows the Black Pearl. One such purveyor is Tempe's Sushi Eye, helmed by sushi chef Richard Cho, who not only does traditional sushi right, but also whips up some of the best specialty rolls that we've ever had. Cho's got quite a catalogue of them. Our faves include the ASU Roll, with shrimp tempura, spicy tuna and macadamia nuts; the riceless Atkins Roll wrapped in cucumber; and the Climax Roll, with hunks of tuna and wasabi sauce, which is best eaten after a trip to the adult Fascinations superstore next door. Cho's a real maestro of maki, and is always adding new ones to his menu, so repeat visits are obligatory. You'll leave wishing Cho's House of Rolls was catty-cornered to your condo.
Welcome to Jamrock, as Damian Marley might say, south Phoenix-style. Sure, when you saw the line "Best Jerk," you thought we were talking about County Attorney Candy Thomas. No, that'd be "Biggest Jerk." Rather, what we're celebrating here is that Jamaican barbecue style that uses a dry-rub blend of spices such as allspice, Scotch bonnet peppers, cloves, cinnamon and thyme to transform your average clucker into a fiery bantam fighting cock. The jerk ain't the only way you know owner and kitchen maestro Eulet King has more talent and experience in her itty-bitty finger than most chefs do in their whole bods. There's also the oxtail, the curried goat, and the Jamaican national dish of salted cod and ackee fruit, to name a few. And we can't get enough of King's johnnycakes, dense, golden lumps of fried dough that pair so well with any of the entrees, or by themselves, washed down with a glass of lemonade or a bottle of ginger beer. How can such a tiny place produce such a big flavor, you may ask? Well, how did a small country like Jamaica produce Damian's pop Bob? It's a mystery. Best not ask. Just enjoy.
Say what you want about Republicans, them GOPers ain't stupid. That's why you'll always see a gray-haired herd of elephants in Christo's during the lunch and dinner hours at the old-school Eye-tie joint. At Christo's, the waiters do everything but kiss your tootsies, the grub is good, the drinks are stiff, and they've always got Sinatra on the box. No wonder moneybag conservative types flock here. But what keeps us coming back despite our lack of Grand Old Party affiliation is the linguini escargots: fat black gastropods in a light marinara sauce with garlic and mushrooms over pasta. The taste is so simple, earthy and satisfying that you wonder why more places don't make an effort to depart from the usual butter-and-garlic snail shtick. Moreover, it's a steal on Christo's lunch menu, at $7.50 a plate, a real value for well-heeled Republicans and down-at-the-heels Democrats alike.
This category should actually be named "Best Use of Several Mushrooms," since the chefs at Cowboy Ciao mix a combo of cremini, oyster and button 'shrooms topped with grilled portabellini to create the best mushroom fry we've ever tried. The dish served as an appetizer or hefted up for an entree is accompanied by double-cooked polenta and dressed with cotija cheese, avocado and tomatoes. Heaven in a pan.
At first, we must admit, it tasted faintly of lip gloss, a blast back to the eighth grade. But as we munched the lightly dressed shredded cabbage that accompanies many dishes at Ticoz a new restaurant just north of Camelback Road the slightly sweet and sour flavor of passion fruit grew on us. Passion fruit is just one of the unusual flavors (cinnamon's another not so unusual on its own, but the chefs implement it creatively) you'll find in your food at Ticoz. Now we find ourselves craving it so much that well, you'll have to excuse us. It's lunchtime. See ya.
The very talented chef Vanna Vorachitti of Glendale's funky, spunky Siamese Kitchen is responsible for our fave duck right after Donald her spicy gang-pedyang, or roast duck in red curry with coconut milk, tomato chunks, pineapple, bell pepper and basil. Not that everything else on Vorachitti's menu isn't worth eating. For sure, we love her laab, papaya salad, Thai toast, mee krob, tom yum gai soup, and all of her curries. But it's gang-pedyang for which we're most willing to make a special trip to her odd little space in a strip mall that she shares with a tattoo shop and a honky-tonk. That same honky-tonk's music thumps away at the '70s-style wood paneling of her diner-like eatery every evening, so it's probably a good thing that she's closed by 9 most weeknights. Otherwise, you wouldn't feel right eating there unless you were wearing a cowboy hat and a big shiny belt buckle. Are there any Thai cowpokes out there? If so, we've got the perfect strip mall for them.
"You say sanbusa. I say samosa. Let's call the whole thing off!" Wait a sec, Lady Day. Let's call the callin'-off off, instead, and make haste to that little corner of Somalia on McDowell Road known as Juba Restaurant. There we can partake of fragrant, spice-laden cuisine hailing from the Horn of Africa, including scrumptious Somali-style sanbusas, the Somali take on the sometimes meat-, sometimes veg-filled Indian pastries known as samosas. Juba's sanbusas are of minced, spiced beef, stuffed into crispy, fried, triangular crusts. The result is thick, flat, and larger than the samosas you'll find at most Indian establishments. Just try one of these Somali meat pies, and we promise you'll be hooked like a largemouth bass no matter whether you call them sanbusas or samosas.
The sammies this San Jose-based chain trades in are banh mi, the culinary intersection of Vietnamese and French influences. The Frogs contributed the thin, très crusty French bread, along with mayo and butter. And the Vietnamese added cilantro, pickled daikon and carrots. They split the difference, however, on the meats used, with Gallic-styled ham and pork liver pt getting equal billing with Chinese barbecued pig and crushed Vietnamese pork meatballs, in addition to headcheese and sliced pork roll. Lee's is a huge, gleaming place, with big flat-screen TVs, a bakery, a computer area for customers, and a station where little cream-filled cakes called Delimanjoo are pumped out nonstop. You can wash these down with exotic smoothies, such as durian, jack fruit, red bean, lychee, taro root, etc., or iced teas with pearl tapioca at the bottom. If Lee's sounds like the most magical place on Earth, well, it is to us. You take Disneyland. Leonard Cohen will take Manhattan. And we'll take Lee's any day of the week.
Yeah, yeah Guinness is still a meal in a glass. We're not about to argue with time-honored barfly wisdom. But our dark Irish stout really hits the spot when we down it with a tasty batch of fish and chips at Rosie McCaffrey's, where Emerald Isle memorabilia and photos of famous Irishmen add to the feisty, authentic pub feel. Here, the traditional dish is a standout: firm, silky cod fillets coated in Harp batter and fried to a crunch, partnered with coleslaw and a pile of crisp, skin-on spuds, thick-cut to maintain their potatoey heft. We could drink all night after a hearty meal like that, so no wonder this golden treasure's our favorite Irish grub in town. Hey, is there a rainbow around here?
Gourmet burgers abound in the PHX, and we've done our best Wimpy impersonation gobbling through them all. But the one we always come back to, the one we start to crave after a couple of weeks away, is the Delux burger, namesake of this stylish, L.A.-like eatery, where they offer 40 international brew-ha-has on tap and a limited menu right up until the 2 a.m. closing. You read that right, nighthawks, 2 a.m. So there really is somewhere to nosh something decent after 10 p.m. in this fair city. We like pretty much everything on Delux's menu, including the sweet-potato fries, and even the fish sammy when we're feeling like lighter fare while quaffing our Stella Artois. But the Delux burger is our all-time fave: freshly ground Harris Ranch beef, served medium-rare, and topped with a mix of Gruyère and Maytag Blue cheeses, as well as a combo of caramelized onions and applewood smoked bacon. Pure atavistic delight.
They're twice-fried 'til golden, delicately salted, and still light and fluffy on the inside, but don't call these bad boys French fries. At the fashionable Trente-Cinq 35, they're known as frites, and they're eaten with creamy mayo instead of ketchup, along with a big, steaming bowl of moules (mussels) simmered in a broth of white wine and tender leeks. This simple, satisfying combo is at the heart of Trente-Cinq 35's Belgian comfort food menu, which includes crisp, creamy-centered shrimp crevettes, fall-apart-tender lamb shank la marocaine, and bouche a la reine, a flaky puff pastry filled with mushrooms and roasted chicken. And needless to say, it all tastes even better with a cold glass (or two) of Belgian beer, like a full-bodied Stella Artois or a citrusy, summery Hoegaarden. This place takes brewski and fries to a whole new level.
Fans of this stylish Sunnyslope bar/grill rave about its new-and-improved ceiling, which has done wonders for reducing the place's once-raucous noise level. But perhaps even better news is what hasn't changed at Corbin's the grilled cheese sandwich is still the best thing on sliced bread. Made with Cheddar, Swiss and quesa fresca, this sandwich is always perfectly toasted on the outside and creamy on the inside, with fat slices of tomato and crisp bacon for that extra oomph. The vegetarian version, with asparagus and red bell peppers standing in for the bacon, is pretty good, too!
We'll always associate Camus chef Cullen Campbell with Krispy Kreme doughnuts. That's because the first time we experienced his sometimes quirky cuisine was at a one-off event in Tempe where he made bread pudding out of two or three boxes of plain, glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts. That eve was also memorable for truffled collard greens, and various other goodies that endeared our bellies to the self-taught, Tennessee-born taste titan. Leave it to Campbell, then, to try to build a better mousetrap with his pistachio PB&J, save that here all of the basic elements are made in-house: pistachio butter with hazelnut oil, instead of peanut butter; toasted slices of house-baked brioche; and vanilla-strawberry jam. Served in quarters with a little glass of milk, this scrumptious sammy overtakes the original, turning the most pedestrian of noshes into gourmet eatin'. Hats off to you, Cullen. Now if you'd only put that Krispy Kreme bread pudding on the menu, we'd buy an RV and take up residence in the Clarendon parking lot for good.
For our money and, more important, our time waiting for a table the best gourmet pizza in this burg is put out by Cibo, whose owners Karen and Tony Martingilio were wise enough to have imported young pizza maestro Guido Saccone from the town of Caserta, near the birthplace of pizza in Naples. Saccone used to make hundreds of pies a day in his brother's pizzeria back home, and his knowledge and expertise produce a superior pie here, with a light, thin crust that's never salty, and always refreshing, whether it's topped by mozzarella and spicy Italian salami as in the Diavolo; prosciutto cotto, mushrooms, artichokes and black olives, as in the Capricossa; or any of the other options. For lunch, you can't go wrong with one of Saccone's oven-fired saltimbocca sammies, and on the dessert tip, the sweet, warm crepes are magnfico. No lie: Saccone's pies will make you sigh, with a minimum wait, F.Y.I.
Considering the mind-boggling assortment of exotic toppings out there, you could, in theory, eat pizza every day of the week. But even mediocre pizza can pass for something decent when it's heaped with sausage or pepperoni or some other overpowering taste. The true test of good pizza is embodied in the humble, unadorned slice, a beguiling blend of crust, sauce and cheese. (Seems simple, but looks can be deceiving, as many unfortunate eaters have discovered.) Meanwhile, the plain slice at Gus's is deliciously addictive a thin, chewy crust with a touch of crispness on the bottom, covered in a light layer of almost-sweet tomato sauce and a blanket of melted mozzarella. It's as good as what you'd get in the Big Apple, and it's love at first bite.
Sure, there are plenty of places to get a plate of pasta in town, but few can reproduce that old-timey, Brooklyn-style pizzeria feel and flavor, which is why Redendo's remains our preferred corner Italian joint in the Valley. Chef Anthony Redendo is a Culinary Institute of America grad who hails from back East, so he knows his garlic knots, meatballs, calzones, eggplant parmigiana, chocolate chip cannoli, and all that other glorious goombah grub, the kinda stuff Tony Soprano gobbles on a regular basis. Moreover, thanks to satellite radio, you'll be listening to Italian crooners like Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Tony Bennett on the box. The place is full of WWII and '40s memorabilia, repros of beer ads and World Series posters from that time, photos of WWII fighter planes, pics of Frankie, and stills from Hogan's Heroes. What a freakin' cool place! Even the restrooms are made to look like "latrines." Folks in Fountain Hills are a lucky bunch, indeed.
How good are the handmade pastas at Marcellino's? So good we'd eat 'em off the men's room floor of a Chevron station, capisce? Marcellino Verzino is the real deal, a true Italian, who's owned and operated award-winning restaurants in both Rome and NYC. It's in Rome that he met his beautiful, vivacious partner-for-life, Sima, who runs the front of the house, while Marcellino busies himself with his artistry in the kitchen. Sure, if the guy wanted to, he might be able to get away with using a superlative pre-made pasta, but where's the joy in that for an old farm boy who still enjoys making things from scratch? So there's saffron linguini, porcini-infused fettuccine, potato gnocchi, fettuccine that's black from squid ink, and so on. There's more to the menu than pasta, like the calves' liver flambed with cognac, and scaloppine in a Gorgonzola sauce. But they don't call Marcellino the prince of pasta for nothing, bucko, so pasta is what we want from this Roman emperor of edibles.
When we first stepped foot through the glamorous doors of Drinkwater's City Hall, we knew we'd entered a sensual realm. This swanky steak house oozes sexy luxury, from softly illuminated glass panels and black leather seating to live music and dim, red-tinted lighting. There's a lengthy list of wines to perk up your taste buds, and lots of appetizers to get you in the mood for sizzling hot meat stellar chop salad, savory French onion soup, delicate sauted sea scallops, and that ultimate aphrodisiac, oysters on the half shell. You could be naughty and order the jumbo lobster tail or pork chop, but why not give in to the pleasures of red meat? After all, it's the main item of worship here. Entrees like the NY Strip and the bone-in filet (Drinkwater's specialty) are served juicy and slicked with butter, still sizzling on plates heated to 400 degrees. Even before your first bite, the incredibly rich smell will go straight to the pleasure center in your brain. Yep, you'll be completely seduced and we bet you'll be back for more.
We go to Katz's Deli not just because it's the best deli in town, but because it serves the most amazingly tasty, most authentic matzo brei we've ever shoveled into our piehole. The balance of matzo to egg is perfect, and the serving is large enough that we can eat the first half with salt (kosher, of course) and the rest with syrup, just like we like it. If we're there past breakfast, we always order the chopped liver, because we've learned the hard way that Katz's is the closest to New York-style chopped liver smooth and slightly peppery that we're going to find out west. The corned beef is also right on the money, and we order potato knishes to go because they're always the freshest in town. All these East Coast delicacies are served to us at a pleather tuck-and-roll booth in a room that hasn't been updated in decades not since someone put up all that wood paneling and those framed photos of local celebs chowing down. Even without the seal of approval provided by a photo of Wallace and Ladmo eating latkes, we'd make Katz's our first stop for deli food every time.
Tony's has been thriving in Sunnyslope since the late 1970s no easy feat, considering that chains like Yellow Mart, the Dolly Madison Bakery, and even Dunkin' Donuts packed up and left the area long ago. Owned and operated by the Abramo family (whose late patriarch, Anthony Abramo, emigrated from Italy), Tony's has always been the one-stop-shopping place for people who want to make real Italian meals with only the finest imported ingredients. The shelves of the deli are crammed full of pastas, sauces, cheeses, and seasonings you won't find anywhere else in Phoenix (there's even a section for imported chocolates). If you don't feel like buying all the ingredients for that ravioli recipe, Tony's has a full-service deli and kitchen, too, with hot pasta dishes made to order, and scrumptious sandwiches that are good to go, not to mention the best homemade cannoli in town. Oh, okay, we'll mention it.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. We know it takes more than slammin' barbecue sauce to garner award-winning 'cue. That's why this 20-year-old joint with its huge portions and reasonable prices is our favorite grub spot. The succulent sauce a vinegar-based Tennessee-style blend of ketchup, sugar, liquid smoke, mustard, lemon juice, and secret spices is definitely off the hook, but its purpose is to bring out the juicy cuts of meat and not to cover up some below-grade stuff. Pork ribs and chicken dinners, each served with your choice of two sides such as Cowbro beans, coleslaw, potato salad, corn, or tossed salad, will most definitely tickle taste buds. You may kill a tree with all the napkins you use, but the face-stuffing mess is definitely worth it.
Restaurant 28 serves up pretty good 'cue even if you don't hail from the Old North State. But if you're a homesick Tar Heel in search of the vinegary-spicy shredded pork that you were raised believing was the only kind of barbecue in the world, then you'll think you're in hog heaven once you cross the threshold of this tiny establishment. Actually, you'll have to ask for your barbecue "Carolina style," to get the good stuff. Otherwise, N.C. expat George Miller will serve you a sweet, tomatoey version that's from the western part of the state, mainly because he's found that most people don't cotton to traditional Carolina 'cue unless they're from back home. And don't worry; Miller's got hushpuppies, collard greens, chitlins, red beans and rice, red Kool-Aid to wash it down with, and Nutty Buddy pie for dessert. Someone crank up the James Taylor. We're gone to Carolina, son.
The name sounds prim and proper, but Mrs. White's Golden Rule Cafe is all about guilty pleasures. We figure that's what's kept this restaurant in business for 42 years. Where else can you go for such perfectly crisp, golden fried catfish, savory Southern fried chicken, or thick, sizzling pork chops? This is the place to get your Dixie fix, right down to the buttery cornbread and homemade lemonade. All the dinners are only $8.80, a number you'll soon have memorized after a meal here it's scrawled in black marker all over the walls of this tiny spot, along with the full rundown of crave-worthy dishes and sides, like tender, smoky black-eyed peas or melt-in-your-mouth candied yams. Come prepared with a big appetite, and maybe make time for a mid-afternoon food-coma nap, too. Because at Mrs. White's, even if you're stuffed, you'll definitely want to clean your plate.
BEST WAY TO PRETEND YOU'RE IN A CAFE IN THE BALKANS
Cafe Sarajevo
Now that the Balkan pot that threatened to boil over so many times in the '90s has eased to a simmer, it's time to explore that mysterious, beautiful bit of old Europe. What? Say your MasterCard is maxed out and you're two months late on your child support? Well, we can't all be Tony Bourdain, jet-setting all over the globe with a massive expense account. And really, when you get right down to it, long plane flights bite the big wang. So just venture on over to west PHX, where Cafe Sarajevo has Bosnian TV on the tube, murals of Bosnian cities Sarajevo, Gorazde and Mostar on the walls, an array of Balkan groceries, VCR tapes and CDs for sale, and, best of all, eats such as goulash, and these huge sammies made of flat, buttery bread that are referred to as cevapi, after the type of stubby, mixed meat sausages that make up the innards. What with everyone talking to each other in Serbo-Croatian, you can pretend you're in some Balkan cafe, awaiting some sloe-eyed beauty who's promised to join you. At least 'til you get the check.
No, it ain't much to look at, whether you're standing in the parking lot or in the foyer, but Silver Dragon is consistently first-rate, as long as you order from the Chinese menu instead of the more Americanized bill of fare. The Chinese version is for the slightly more adventurous, with hot pots of gingered beef, white fungus soup, beef chow fun, funky salted seafood dishes, and so forth. Service is friendly, doting if you're a regular. Portions are generous, and the price tag is very reasonable. Sure, ordering from the Chinese side of the menu will mean the occasional bizarro entree for us Occidentals, but that's part of the fun of eating at this family-run enterprise. Plus, how many times can you eat sweet-and-sour pork at the buffet down the street before you turn the color of the sauce?
Every Phoenix 'hood should be so blessed as the one near 32nd Street and Indian School Road, where Desert Jade takes up residence in what might have been an old steak house or pancake shack long ago. Inside the cottage-like structure, there are faded velvet booths and stuffed quail mounted over a fireplace that's been dormant for who knows how long. Despite the worn interior, the Chinese family that runs this enterprise offers snappy service right up until 10 most nights of the week, as well as the sort of Chinese comfort food that we need a weekly fix of to stay satisfied: sizzling rice soup, plump pork pot stickers, egg foo yung, mu shu pork, lemon chicken, tangerine beef, lettuce wraps, and pot after pot of hot tea. Nothing gourmet here, just standards well done. But that's enough when you don't want to drive to the far end of town or pay a lot for good eats in a casual atmosphere.
Johnny Chu continues to stir-fry the fun at Fate, where the young chef's unique sauces complement made-to-order dishes cooked with your choice of beef, chicken, shrimp or tofu. From the spinach bun starters to the sweet rice crackers that come at the end of every meal, we love Chu's twist of Fate.
Shimogamo is the kind of strip-mall haunt that you wouldn't likely stumble upon unless you happened to be visiting its more conspicuous neighbor, C-Fu Gourmet, or perhaps driving around looking for Lee Lee Oriental Market, located catty-cornered to the small establishment. No matter. If you love Japanese food, this jewel box of a restaurant is a more than worthy destination unto itself. Inside, the decor is modern and minimal, and the sushi bar is filled with Japanese regulars (always a good sign). The food, too, is straight outta Nippon: crisp gyoza, buttery Saikyo black cod, refreshing daikon radish salad. There are a few unusual offerings, from the simple (ochazuke rice porridge) to the complex (pork tenderloin katsu stuffed with shiso leaves, dried tomato and wasabi). For that matter, the sushi is uncommon as well so fresh you'll probably dream about it until your next visit to Shimogamo.
Referring to DC Ranch as the edge of the water is delusion on a scale as large as, oh, filling up a ditch with H2O and calling it the "Scottsdale Waterfront." But to be fair, Eddie V's Edgewater Grille had that handle in Austin, Texas situated, as the city is, on the Colorado River before it opened up the DC Ranch location. And the Valley's desert denial certainly preceded Eddie V's. (Uh, Tempe Town Lake, anyone?) Anyway, at Eddie V's, at least when it comes to the menu, and the flavor and freshness of the fin-bearers, you might actually be able to imagine that you're in some water-bordering burg, whether that water is fresh or salt. From the colossal shrimp cocktail and Maryland-style lump crab cake to the Parmesan-crusted lemon sole and the lightly smoked salmon fillet, most every dish is memorable, inspiring revisits galore. And DC Ranch is closer than San Diego, after all, when it comes to reaching a "waterfront."
You don't have to be Greek to yearn for the Old Country when you step through the doors of this relaxed, elegant eatery, where white stucco walls, wood-beam ceilings, and displays of folk art and pottery create a welcoming, taverna-like atmosphere. Effortless authenticity extends to the menu, too, with Hellenic favorites like taramosalata, a creamy caviar dip tinged with lemon; cheesy, gooey moussaka, with ground lamb and eggplant; and sizzling souvlaki, made with marinated lamb, chicken, or swordfish. You'll surely stuff yourself on all of this Mediterranean comfort food, but desserts are definitely worth making room for; the sticky baklava is divine, but we also love the sweet, custardy galaktoboureko. And as for the wine list, well, one of these hard-to-find bottles from Greece just might temporarily ease your insatiable wanderlust. Yasou!
Feeling ravenous? Good. You'll need to bring a big appetite to Baby Kay's, or at least make room in your fridge for leftovers. This sunny, friendly joint with pale yellow walls, homey wooden furniture, and upbeat music on the stereo promises mighty fine eatin' for days when you'll happily ditch your diet to dig into something rich and filling. Start things off with some hot wings or crabcakes, or, if you'd rather guilt yourself into ordering something lighter, rest assured even the grilled chicken salad is on the spicy side, thanks to a dose of apricot-habanero Tabasco dressing. Then gear up for a big helping of creamy crawfish touffe, a plate of spicy jambalaya jammed with chunks of chicken and andouille sausage, or a steaming bowl of chicken gumbo. (If it's too much trouble to choose, get all three with the Cajun Combination dinner.) It might take some endurance to clear your plate, but feel free to take your sweet ol' time like they do in Louisiana. Goodness gracious, a food coma never felt so good!
Cozy, candlelit Citrus Caf makes a primo date destination, or just an intimate spot to sip wine with foodie friends, nibble on something dreamy (like warm almond-crusted grilled Brie with apples), and marvel over the menu, an ever-changing list of bistro classics handwritten on a display board that waiters bring to each table. Sizzling filet au poivre, buttery lapin la moutarde, marinated lamb chops, and herb-crusted salmon are just a few of the delightful dishes that might make an appearance on any given night. As you might guess, dinner here is a splurge, but if you're expecting a smidgen of haughty Euro attitude with your French food, you'll be surprised at how attentive, discreet and (quel shock!) downright welcoming the service is at this elegant eatery. Just thinking about Citrus Caf makes us feel all warm and fuzzy.
If you're a meat-and-potatoes kind of person, Bavarian Point serves the ultimate comfort food, our favorite for German fare. The Wurst Pfanne is made for indecisive sausage lovers, with sizzling hot Polish sausage, bratwurst, and knackwurst all on one plate, and the rindsroulade offers an unusual take on steak, with vegetables rolled up in thinly pounded sirloin. Other specialties include Hühnerbrust Calbados (chicken with cream sauce and spaetzle), veal Wiener schnitzel, and several seafood options, but Bavarian Point does pork best of all. Loosen your belt and settle into a cozy booth before you dig in to the schweinebraten, a classic presentation of tender roast pork with moist dumplings and savory, not-too-salty sauerkraut. It's rich, it's filling, and it's the ultimate complement for an ice-cold glass of beer (there are a dozen on tap here). If that doesn't take care of your raging protein craving, nothing will.
What did Adam and Eve nosh in the Garden of Eden? Who the heck knows, but they probably couldn't have done any better than the rice at Eden's Grill Inn. Here the saffroned, aromatic basmati is crafted with seven different spices, and filled with sultanas and slivers of Marcona almonds, making it one of the best platters of rice we've ever inhaled in the Valley. They didn't eat meat in Eden, but fortunately we don't have to worry about that heavenly prohibition at Eden's Grill Inn, where the lamb shank is tender and soft, the chicken kebabs golden, juicy and plump, and the ground beef kebab chock-full o' spices. This Eden for Middle Eastern cuisine is run by Marcus and Shalem Narsa, Assyrian Christians originally from Iraq, but more recently from Chicago, where they owned a bakery and restaurant for some 25 years. As you might expect, their desserts are heavenly, especially the baklava, and the multi-layered caramel cake drizzled with melon sauce. Why, you'll think you've died and gone to, well, uh, Eden . . .
Valley diners have more options for Indian fare than most European cuisines, so this is a tighter race to judge than some of the other categories. And though we've rarely met an Indian spot we didn't like, Scottsdale's Tandoori Times garners the glory on taste alone. Its portions tend to be a bit smaller than at other places though reasonable prices help make up for this. And there isn't as wide of a selection as you'll come across in other Indian restaurants. But the flavor of TT's tandoori-cooked meats is more intense than elsewhere, and the quality of the curry gravies seems higher as well. As an added bonus, there's nothing dingy about the clean, airy and smart dining area. And it boasts a couple of the better sweets in town: a nice-size bowl of rice pudding (kheer) with raisins, and those large syrupy pastries known as gulab jamoon. If we pick Tandoori Times this time around, it doesn't mean we don't love the Valley's other Indian places we just love Tandoori Times a little more.
We're not sure we're totally with this whole tapas thing. Sure, if you're some Andalusian alkie hitting the booze parlors in Granada, the quality's guaranteed. Plus, in Spain, these bar snacks often come free with the drinks. Here in Ameri-duh, they make you pay through the nose, sometimes $13, the price of an entree, for a portion of food that barely takes up the better half of the palm of your hand! But at least at DC Ranch's Sol y Sombra, you seem to get your ducat's worth most of the time. We attribute this success rate to the presence of chef Aaron May, who once worked for Food Network overachiever and obsessive clog-wearer Mario Batali. May can whip up patatas bravas that'll make you sing, and gazpacho that'll make you dance like them fools on Fuse TV's Pants-Off Dance-Off. This being Scottsdale, there's a floor show of sorts with all the MILFs showing off their new implants to one another, so you have something to watch while you nosh.
Got a hankering for some truly authentic Vietnamese food? Da Vang's got the real thang. On a chilly winter day, we'll go with pho (a steaming bowl of beefy rice noodle soup) or one of countless filling stir-fry dishes. And during the summer, we'll start with the obvious hello, summer rolls! and then move on to some bun (cool rice noodles topped with barbecued pork, fried spring rolls, or shrimp) or a hot-off-the-griddle banh xeo (pork and shrimp crepe with sprouts) wrapped in fresh lettuce and dunked in salty-sweet nuoc cham. Truth be told, we could eat this stuff any time of year, regardless of the season. Da Vang's the kind of no-frills neighborhood joint where we feel just as welcome stopping by for a quick solo bite as we do relaxing with a bunch of hungry friends. The price is always right, too.
Korean barbecue is just the sort of ethnic food more Americans would love if they tried it. That's because the Koreans love charred meat, just like we do. So when you visit a Korean restaurant like Takamatsu, you not only have a variety of sushi, casseroles, kimchi, and even more exotic fare to choose from, there are also all kinds of marinated beef and pork, which you can grill up on the nifty gas grill built into your table. Eat it up with the half-dozen or more condiments that come with the order. And suck it down with a big bottle of Korean brew, and soju, a liquor made from sweet potatoes that's not quite as strong as vodka. Takamatsu draws its share of Korean celebs when they're in town, like pro-golfer babe Michelle Wie, which should tell you something. The place has a ski-lodge feel to it because of the wooden exterior and interior, so it's not devoid of atmosphere. Now if we could only run into Wie while we're there, and perhaps share a drink with her. A plate of beef, a jug of shoju, and thou, sweet Wie. That's all we really want.
The Valley can always use a new Thai spot, but what Sala Thai brings to the table isn't just more of the same; rather, it brings a different type of Thai cooking altogether one that's not as heavy, relies more on fresh veggies, and can strip the paint off a fire hose in its most potent form. Best order the mild or medium version of everything, if you can't stand the heat. But if, on the other hand, your sinus cavities are lined with flame-retardant metals, have at it! The clear noodle salad served at the hot level can mimic the surface of the sun, and the beef salad might just be that alternative fuel we need to power our cars without gasoline. The Thai omelet is on the cooler side, as is the "son-in-law egg," a mildly fried hard-boiled egg, sprinkled with fried garlic, which makes for the perfect pre-din-din nosh. Hot or not, Sala Thai's preparations are unique, and offer a different perspective on Thai cuisine, which is why it's earned this year's Best Of nod.
So here's one place where adults can eat with their hands with complete impunity: Tempe's Cafe Lalibela is a classic Ethiopian eatery where traditional stews called wat are served on large pancakes of spongy injera, a bread made from the grain teff, which is native to northeastern Africa. Along with your stew of beef, lamb, fish, and any number of veggies, like collards, lentils or cabbage, you get a hopper of folded teff. You tear off a bit, scoop up the food from platter to mouth, and munch out. No fork needed! Brilliant, eh? Also, the wat lends itself to endless Abbott and Costello-like discussions, such as: "What's on my plate?" "That's right." "What?" "Yes, wat." And so on. Great for hours of amusement as the proprietors wonder when your party's finally gonna vacate the premises.
The scrumptious South Indian eats at Udupi Cafe prove once and for all that vegetarian/vegan food doesn't have to taste like plywood. After all, residents of the Indian subcontinent have been practicing Hindu-based vegetarianism for thousands of years, so you could say they're the past masters of making fleshless feasts tummy-worthy. The menu here is only about 80 percent vegan, to judge by the menu's identifying marks, but it's 100 percent vegetarian and delicious. This ain't the North Indian fare most of us are used to; rather, there are giant rice crepes rolled around saffroned potatoes, fried lentil doughnuts smothered in yogurt, fat dumplings of ground rice and lentils, deep-fried cauliflower, great bowls of lemon-flavored rice topped with Spanish peanuts, gooey okra in a tangy red paste, thick paratha bread stuffed with garlic, and on and on. Udupi is one of the few places in town where you can eat like a vegetarian and a king at the same time. And that's the poopi on Udupi.
Let's be honest: Vegans are a major pain in the tuchis. Never mind abstaining from eggs, milk and cheese; they won't even eat honey, people, lest the bees be exploited by man. This is why most vegan-friendly fare bites. Customers for this cuisine are more concerned with their own hairsplitting ethics, and don't mind punishing their palates for the cause. So flavor falls victim to morality. Unless you're talking about Tempe's Green, where they at least make an effort to craft vegan vittles that are a joy to nosh. Hey, you try cooking without any animal products whatsoever. You'll be lucky if everything doesn't end up tasting like sand. Green overcomes this handicap most of the time, with cheese, milk and egg substitutes, well enough to please even the occasional carnivore who wanders into Green unprepared. Green's vegan pizzas and Asian-style bowls are actually tasty. And the chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter bars truly kick some skinny vegan fanny.
By now, you downtown dweller, you've no doubt discovered City Bakery, over the tracks in south Phoenix, just beyond the baseball stadium, adjacent to the cavernous Bentley Projects. We love that the Arcadia Farms people have spread south from their Scottsdale outpost, and we love the chicken and strawberry salad they serve for lunch. But did you know that City Bakery is open for breakfast? We're not sure many do, because when we've been, the place has been blissfully empty. So we're making the sacrifice, sharing the knowledge, knowing that soon we'll be rubbing elbows with you at breakfast, too. That's fine; this secret is too good to keep, and we want to keep City Bakery in business. Try the fluffy eggs and thick toast, along with a French press coffee. Or grab a cupcake. We promise not to tell.
We don't blame Chris Bianco for closing his pizza shop at lunch, as long as he keeps Pane Bianco open. This super-cute, straight-out-of-Brooklyn (as long as you're picturing Park Slope) sandwich shop elevates the term "sandwich" to levels heretofore unimagined. We prefer the simple mozzarella, tomato and basil on ciabatta, although we have friends who swear by the tuna. And if you prefer to skip the carbs, try the tuna salad. Or blow the diet entirely and try the pizza. Part of the charm of Pane Bianco is the seating: It's only outdoors, so you'll be having a picnic at big, gorgeous hand-carved tables. Or sneak into Lux Coffeebar next door. If you buy a coffee drink, no one will mind if you pull out your sandwich although someone might ask for a bite.
BEST PLACE TO BE A LUNCHTIME LOSER
Pugzie's Restaurant and Catering Co.
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do unless you do it at Pugzie's. This lunch spot embraces the hungry single, providing open seating so you never have to answer the dreaded question, "How many?" Super tasty sandwiches, salads and soups are ordered and paid for up front so you can retreat to one of the small booths without interruption from the wait staff. To top it off, Pugzie's has a gigantic communal magazine rack. No need to raise your freak flag by reading at a restaurant; it's completely normal here. Feel free to indulge with a fresh-baked cookie and a trashy celeb magazine . . . no one's watching.
This little French restaurant is great at dinner, don't get us wrong. But our favorite time to visit is lunchtime, when this above-average dining experience gives us a little pick-me-up. The fresh white linens, sunny wood floors and (don't tell our boss) glass of dry white wine go well with the companionship of some giggly girlfriends. Try the French onion soup, or a light salad. And order the fries, you can share. The best part of the meal is free the tiny rich chocolate truffle that comes with the check.
BEST SUNDAY BRUNCH
Wright's at the Arizona Biltmore Resort and Spa
Yeah, it's a little ridiculous to start off a lazy Sunday with not just eggs and bacon, but also a mound of prawns and crab claws. But when you're filling up your buffet plate at this stylish restaurant, the main dining room at the Arizona Biltmore, such delicacies seem not decadent but perfectly normal. For $28, the Biltmore serves up one of the tastiest buffets in town, and the menu offers plenty of great options for diners who like their meal delivered. Add a mimosa for $9.25 and make the afternoon really lazy.
BEST PLACE TO TAKE YOUR DAD TO BRUNCH
Caf� Zuzu at Hotel Valley Ho
There's something inherently difficult about trying to take your dad out for brunch. In a city where there's an IHOP or a Denny's on almost every corner, it's easy to fall back on sub-standard breakfast fare and tell yourself Dad doesn't know any better. Don't fall into the trap. Caf Zuzu at the Valley Ho Hotel offers the same comfort food as the chain slop house, but in a much cleaner, more pleasing environment. We particularly like the Ho's thickly cut Virginia bacon, and the Denver omelet's not bad, either. It's a little more expensive, but don't worry Dad'll probably insist on paying.
If you've only stopped by this scenic Paradise Valley resort for a drink at the Jade Bar, its oh-so-stylish lounge, you've probably raved about the view. But you haven't seen anything until you've stepped into the dining room at its Asian-inflected restaurant, elements. Practically every table in the place has a stunning, panoramic view of Camelback Mountain and its neighboring hills. And, as viewers of Iron Chef America surely know, the food ain't bad, either.
The fresh air, the smell of green grass, the beauty of nature we love a picnic. But who wants to cook? At The Farm, the picnic is ready and waiting, prepared from ingredients grown on site (even the turkey is as fresh as you can imagine!). We love to order at the counter from a nice variety of sandwiches and salads, top it with chips, cookies and drinks, then head outdoors to find a shady spot to eat. Best of all, there are plenty of picnic tables to sit on, so your butt won't get sore. This kind of picnic, we could eat every day. But The Farm is only open during the cooler months, so call ahead.
We remember the old North Bank restaurant fondly, so we were eager to see what Chris DeMarco and company would do with the prime spot along the canal near 40th Street and Camelback Road, just up the street from DeMarco's small empire at Postino. We're very pleased. The patio at Chelsea's is comfortable, with DeMarco's signature aesthetic (read: you wish he'd send his people over to decorate your house) and without the cacophonous clattering that's the only drawback inside the restaurant. If you want to have a pleasant conversation over wine and comfort food (we recommend the warm chicken and spinach salad), head north.
Each year, we don our bonnets and gloves (okay, not really, but we do try to make sure our tee shirt's clean) and head out in search of the finest high tea in the Valley. This year, we award it again to The Phoenician, where the Lobby Tea Court, as it's so graciously referred to, puts this place over the top as our tops for tea. From the beautiful porcelain pots to the Devonshire cream, every detail is exquisite. And while we never imagine we'll leave high tea without room for dinner, we found the selection of finger sandwiches most filling; our party particularly enjoyed the salmon selection. Our favorite, naturally, is the chocolate course. If this is how life is like in England, we're ready to jump the ocean for more!
One school of thought says children ought not to be taken to a "real" restaurant until they reach, say, the age of 12. Naturally, the members of that out-of-touch school probably don't have kids. The alternative to eating out just isn't practical in this rush-around-like-crazy world, but here's a little secret if you need to escape the artery-clogging hell of fast food: Get to this ever-popular eating and drinking establishment by 5 p.m. (you might get trampled by the Thirsty Ones after that), and you and the kidlings will have a fine time. The service is uniformly exceptional, and the kitchen churns out the grub faster than you'd expect. It's usually loud, so the occasional shrieks and moans that are part of the program won't bother dining neighbors. The booths are roomy, and the cutlery comes rolled into cloth napkins (fear not the blades!). Oh, and the kids' burger, which we have tasted on occasion, goes for a mere $5, and tastes great.
BEST OLD SCHOOL SODA SHOP
MacAlpine's Soda Fountain and Espresso Bar
Established in 1928, MacAlpine's is the closest Valley residents can get anymore to an old-style soda shop. From the black-and-white-checkered tile and the vintage soda signs to the old jukebox packed full of 45s from artists like Petula Clark and The Platters, everything about the joint harks back to the days when Hula-Hoops and waitresses on roller skates were new fads (but, alas, the servers at MacAlpine's do not wear roller skates). The menu is old-school, too, with sodas available in 30-something flavors, from spearmint to wild cherry (and they'll top any of 'em off with whipped cream, too), and traditional American grub like Coney dogs and BLT sandwiches. The story on the menu mentions a rumor that Wayne Newton got his start at MacAlpine's in the '50s, when Lew King walked in and heard Newton singing along to the jukebox and invited him on his variety show, where Jackie Gleason spotted the youngster and started him on his trajectory to Mr. Las Vegas status. Competitors may try to emulate the '50s, but none of them will ever capture the spirit of those years the way MacAlpine's does.
Even if you know nothing about hunting, fishing, or camping, Cabela's is a wonder to behold: 160,000 square feet of gear for the great outdoors, from tents, backpacks, and clothing to ammo, fishing poles, and archery targets. You can even buy a boat here. The sheer quantity of merchandise is staggering certainly more than enough fodder for daydreams of outdoor adventures, not to mention pure consumer lust but what really sparks the imagination are the animals. Stand face to face with trout and catfish in Cabela's walk-through aquarium, and admire enormous taxidermied beasts displayed in museum-style exhibits, right in the middle of the store. Before you even have a chance to think about the food chain, your stomach will start rumbling, and that's where Cactus Flat Cafe comes in. At this in-house eatery, skip the pizza and burgers and indulge your inner hunter with venison bratwurst, or perhaps a sandwich piled high with elk, bison, or ostrich. Who knew you could heed the call of the wild at a deli?
Many lament the lack of fine dining or even a snack in the vicinity of any sort of performing arts complex in this city. Downtown Scottsdale is the notable exception, and has been forever. We remember dining at China Lil's or Jed Nolan's, '70s-era restaurants that circled the still-grassy Scottsdale Mall. Today Lil and Jed are long gone, but in their place we're happy to find AZ 88, just a bit younger than the old folks, and still going strong after years in business. After a performance at Scottsdale Center for the Arts, or an art opening at Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art, we love to sit on the patio at AZ 88 (or inside, with the beautiful people) and nosh on galettes flatbread trimmed with bacon, caramelized onion, black olive and Parmesan cheese. Really hungry? Try a burger or a chicken sandwich (the China Lil's namesake is our favorite). Skip dessert and sub in an espresso martini our favorite drink in town.
We love good food, but we hate getting gussied up. We know, we know, it's Phoenix. People go to the theater in cutoffs, hang in the lobby of the Arizona Biltmore in swimsuits. But we're more refined if we're dining out, we figure we owe it to the world to at least run a comb through our hair or wear a tee shirt without holes. On evenings when we just can't be bothered, but we want a good meal, we head to the bar at Roaring Fork, where the saloon menu is every bit as good as what you'll find in the formal dining room even better in some cases, particularly if you love roasted chicken as much as we do. There's nothing better than a half rotisserie chicken, perfectly done, alongside a good beer. Doesn't even matter if you spill it down your tee.
When your Big Apple buddies finally venture away from the Center of the Universe for an overdue visit to the boondocks of Phoenix, they're bound to experience culture shock. For one thing, they'll be expecting tumbleweeds, not a sprawling city. They might scorn the necessity of cars, but they'll quickly adjust to sunny days and towering palm trees set against a big blue sky. And when it comes to food, they won't be expecting much. After all, they're used to the world-class glamour of Manhattan's culinary scene, where top chefs duke it out for prestigious honors like the James Beard Award. So when you have to break the news that, yes, this bustling downtown restaurant leaves New York pizzerias in the dust (chef-owner Chris Bianco has the Beard Award and countless other accolades to prove it), here's some advice: Go easy on them. Put your name on the waiting list at Pizzeria Bianco, wander next door to cozy, candlelit Bar Bianco, and console your friends with a cheese plate. Seduce them with a bottle of Sangiovese. And maybe concede that Bianco was born and raised in the Bronx. When your table's finally ready, your job is done, because the quality of the food speaks for itself. And what's the most tactful way to handle that last, fleeting bit of New York attitude? Order up the pizza covered in onions, fennel sausage, and homemade smoked mozzarella. It's called the Wiseguy, and its name couldn't be more appropriate.
For 32 years, this shiny black-and-white supper club has been stuck in the '70s but in a good way. We go there for the delicious rolled roasts, the risotto, and the tiramisu, but also because we love the "gone-back-in-time" feeling we get whenever we step into this mainstay's faux-fancy foyer. Owners Benito Mellino and Angiolo Livi have occasionally updated Avanti's interior, but to our eye, it's always 1975 here. We dig the black-and-white-tiled lounge with its back-lighted glass brick bar, where singer Danny Long tinkles the ivories to the tune of all your favorite Nixon-era hits. And we love the main dining room, decked out as it is with zebra-striped banquettes, linen tablecloths, and a shiny chrome ceiling. A couple of martinis and a little squinting, and we're convinced it's 30 years ago. Time travel never tasted so good.
Leave it to a French chef to make us proud to call Arizona home. Over the past 20 years, Vincent Guerithault has built an enviable reputation with his namesake restaurant, where refined French cuisine goes hand in hand with a touch of Southwestern spice. At the cornerstone of his mini-empire near 40th Street and Camelback Road, classics like duck tamales with Anaheim chile and raisins, and grilled rack of lamb with thyme, rosemary, garlic, and spicy pepper jelly, appear with Guerithault's newer creations, such as pork osso buco with Anasazi beans. This place oozes special-occasion luxury, but next door, at the rustic, French-farmhouse-inspired Vincent's Market Bistro, diners can feast on quiche and coq au vin without getting gussied up. (Or better yet, they can get their gourmet goodies and fresh pastries to go.) We're also fans of Vincent's Camelback Market, a bustling Saturday morning farmers' market held out in the parking lot from October through May. Here, you can savor a homemade crepe or some warm chocolate souffl; pick up a bottle of wine and some olives; or just ogle the picture-perfect produce. Trust us: On a crisp, sunny morning when the rest of the country is blanketed with snow, a visit to Vincent's will make you beam with pride.
So which came first, the chicken or the waffle? Don't matter much, really, 'cause Larry "Lo-Lo" White is cookin' 'em both up back in the kitchen. White's the grandson of Mrs. Elizabeth White, of Mrs. White's Golden Rule Cafe, and he's a grandson done good. Lo-Lo's take on L.A.'s famous Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles has become a Phoenix fave, but there's more to this soul-food palace than just the signature, nap-inducing dish. White also serves up some of the best scrambled eggs and grits, catfish, mac 'n' cheese, cornbread, greens, and red beans and rice that you'll find anywhere in the PHX. Celebs such as Oak-town rapper Too Short have been known to slide through and get their soul-food fix, and one trip to Lo-Lo's will learn you why. And if you can keep from nodding off after ingesting a plate of carbs here, well, you're a better fresser than we'll ever be.
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