So just how tough is it to get your garden to grow here in Phoenix? We asked the kind folks at the Roosevelt Growhouse to explain. Three years ago, local artists Kenny Barrett and Kelly Placke were living in a large but shabby house on the corner of Garfield and Sixth streets, in the Roosevelt Row neighborhood. For years, the home had been run down by previous owners, and the yard that surrounded it was used as a parking lot.
Barrett and Placke had other plans for the barren corner lot. "We just started digging," Barrett recalls. "We came out here every Sunday, we picked a day and it was Sunday, 10 to 2, to come out here, friends started joining us, volunteers started joining us and we just started working the ground little by little."
"The great thing about Phoenix soil, desert soil, is that this soil in particular holds water really well," Barrett says. "However, it lacks any type of organic matter which you need — you need that nitrogen to feed your plants."
The Roosevelt farmers combined the absorbent desert dirt with composted manure and — voilá — it was time to plant.
Since 2008, the Growhouse has experimented with growing different varieties of lettuce, beets, chard, kale, cauliflower, arugula, carrots, spinach, broccoli, corn, watermelon, and wheat. While the operation started out small at the front of the house, it's taken over the entire front, back, and side yards in subsequent years — even the patches of earth nestled between the sidewalk and the road.
The growing cycle usually begins in August, when the volunteers come together to fertilize the soil, then use a ditch planting method for the seeds.
Harvesting begins as early as mid-October and continues throughout the winter, especially with leafy plants like lettuce and chard that will keep sprouting new shoots.
As the year wears on and temperatures climb, the gardening begins to wind down. The last crop to be planted to grow through the summer is corn, which adds some much- appreciated greenery to the Roosevelt Row landscape and fares well even in the heat. The soil has to be watered continuously even through the summer months and covered with mulch to maintain its moisture and protect the delicate microorganisms that begin to flourish from the fertilizer.
The garden has grown — and spread, as Barrett and Co. are working with Roosevelt Row to encourage others in the area to plant community gardens. As for the Growhouse, they've bought a tiller — and they know what to do with it. Another plan in the works: vermicomposting, a big bag full of compost and worms through which a watering tube is fed and which can then be thrown anywhere; seeds are planted right into the bag and need no contact with external soil to grow.
Look for Growhouse produce at the Downtown Phoenix Public Market.
If not, you might want to try to hook up with Chef Woody (a.k.a. Forrest Rosh), who's been throwing dinner parties in his mother's North Phoenix backyard since last November.
Rosh, 22, is a graduate of Cordon Bleu in Scottsdale. He's worked at the Wrigley Mansion and the House at Secret Garden. He knows his way around a professional kitchen. But one day he decided to go basic. He made a web site and put up some flyers. No specifics about the menu were given. Through word of mouth, 25 people made a "suggested donation" of $40 on PayPal, BYOB'd it, and found their way to a seven-course meal in Eduarda's backyard. The place settings came from Goodwill, but no one skimped on the food. That first menu included cold and hot soup shooters, pork belly cilantro salad, a cheese board, warm butternut squash and arugula salad, sorbet intermezzo, salmon cakes, hanger steak with mac 'n' cheese and Brussels sprouts, and finally a semifreddo for dessert. The meal went on for three hours.
Since Woody's Underground is not a restaurant, Rosh cannot charge money, tax, or tip for the experience, and he and his family do not have any relationships with health inspectors, fire marshals, or PR agencies. Think of it as a dinner party for strangers. At the end of the first evening, the family broke even. They considered it a smashing success.
Preparation and service is a family affair. Rosh uses nothing more than the standard fridge and sink, a four-burner stove, and a lot of organization to pull it all off. His sister helps with the management, and a slew of teenage cousins are brought in to bus, plate, and clean. While space is a challenge at times, careful planning has made everything work so far.The second event was a brunch, which attracted more guests, followed by an all-you-can-eat pasta supper designed to reach a broader demographic. But with space for just 40 in Mom's backyard, Chef Woody's going to have to get creative.
He's been thinking ahead. For his meals, Rosh relies on local farms and retailers as much as possible and presents a list of his suppliers to the guests in hopes of promoting their businesses. He also is hoping to start a vegan line of baked goods to sell at local small business and farmers markets — Woody's Goodies.
As fall approaches and the temperature cools, Rosh is beginning to plan the next backyard events, and considering hosting events at other private homes. Instead of planning bigger parties, the goal for the moment is to keep things small. You know, underground.
Perched atop a mountain ridge hundreds of feet above the Valley, Rustler's Rooste is hardly underground. But follow the winding road up to this cowboy-themed chophouse, wave at "Horny" the live bull standing in his outdoor pen, and ease open the massive wooden door. Suddenly, you'll find yourself inside a cramped, rock-lined mineshaft literally hacked into the side of South Mountain. Wrapping around the corner, guests emerge into a massive two-story dining space brimming with kitschy-cute charm, including a waterfall streaming down one entire rock wall and a metal slide leading down to the second floor. Yes, a slide. No wonder this 30-year-old landmark has hosted everyone from Clint Eastwood and former President George H.W. Bush, to, um, Ice-T and Coco. Sadly, only two of those people rode the slide, and it wasn't Dirty Harry or the commander in chief.
Ask a Mormon family to see their pantry and you might get a tour of the kitchen, but ask to see their "year's supply" and given the house's floor plan, you'll probably end up in the basement.
A year's supply is an LDS tradition, heavily encouraged by church leaders, in which individuals and families carefully plan, can, jar, and store basic items (water, flour, rice, salt) in ratios per person in the house and per month of expected storage.
Church members say a year's supply is never something purchased at once or backed into the garage with a truck. The collection (of what could easily be mistaken for a quick fix for 2012 or total wipeout) is a stash of long term storage with a rotating "three month's" supply of more perishable food items in case of community disaster, a sanitation issue — hell, even a crappy economy.
It's all about preparedness, church documents, and food preparation pamphlets, and it's often hard to do (especially in the desert and in houses without pantries — or basements). But individuals and families have adapted and thank modern-day solutions (read: The Container Store) for tubs easily disguised as hallway benches and false shelves that rotate to reveal hand-jarred preserves and tightly packed grains.
If you like your pizza served with heaping piles of cheese, then you'll love this iconic concert hall/dinner theater. A Mesa tradition since 1975, the star attraction at this 600-seat supper club is a historic Wurlitzer pipe organ that rises dramatically out of the basement — organist and all — to kick off each show. Originally built in the 1920s to provide musical accompaniment for silent movies, the massive organ has been expanded and reconfigured to include nearly 6,000 individual pipes, plus 57 individual instruments such as snare drums and sleigh bells, all controlled by a single musician. In fact, you really haven't lived until you've seen organist Lew Williams rock out to "Bohemian Rhapsody," using both hands (and feet) to manipulate all the keys and pedals. Somewhere, a shirtless Freddie Mercury is smiling.