Prize

Or at least that used to be the case before this fry bread fortress pitched tent inside the west Valley's SwapMart.

Angelina's makes pouf-perfect fry bread from a recipe handed down through generations of Native Americans, rolling the dough, working it into ovals, puncturing its middle and dropping it into fryers. The bread emerges glistening, puffy and impossibly light. Topping options include vigorously seasoned red or green chile, ground or shredded beef and shredded white meat chicken, as well as simple shakes of powdered sugar and sticky squeezings of honey.

Alas, the swap mart is only open on weekends, but we're willing to wait: It lends new meaning to TGIF -- Thank God It's Fryday.

Served between two slices of seven-grain bread, the patty is a delectable hodgepodge of soy, sesame bits, and vegetable products that beats Boca Burgers any day of the week. The patty's buried under mounds of chopped romaine lettuce, red onions, sliced roma tomatoes, alfalfa sprouts and a large slice of fire-roasted sweet red bell pepper. A side of tahini is included, thus reducing the potential for a mushy sandwich meltdown.

Whether you like PETA or pita -- or both -- you'll love Pita Jungle's veggie burger.

We love your buns, Johnny! And we'll take a bite out of them any day of the week, baby.

My Florist's baked oatmeal is even better than Mom's. Or would be, if Mom had ever made the attempt.

Today, in good restaurants, appetizers are works of art. They're prepared as meticulously and creatively as entrees -- sometimes even more so.

At Ridge Cafe, however, appetizers aren't just as elaborate as entrees, they're almost as big -- at half the price of a full dinner.

The chefs here serve up a generous asparagus and shrimp combo, with beautiful veggies served cool and crisp under two truly jumbo shrimp in a tidy, red onion and dill vinaigrette. What could be better than a massive chile relleno, a pristine pasilla pepper in lacy batter stuffed with whole mushroom, chicken breast and jack cheese? And how about a mussel appetizer, bringing a generous baker's dozen of bivalves in a savory white wine, tomato, garlic and fennel broth?

A few slices of bread, a glass of wine, and there's simply no room left in our bellies. Change is good, we've been told. We have to agree.

Bravo's couscous is Moroccan, which means it's larger and moister than the tiny seffa variety served around town. These caper-size beauties pop in the mouths, exploding with wholesome, grainy goodness. Bravo serves this dish with sautéed grilled chicken and fresh vegetables in an aromatic herb broth.

It's the couscous we choose.

But the real head-scratcher is why many of the pizzas found in the Valley are such dainty little numbers. This is the land of wide-open spaces, where tough-talking cowboys cuddle with rattlesnakes and keep company with scorpions. Yet here, thin crust rules, slices require just one hand, and many places top their pizzas with -- gasp! -- designer stuff like barbecue sauce, feta, goat cheese and shrimp.

When we're craving good, old-fashioned New York-style pie, we pick Pizzafarro's. There's nothing shy about these servings -- the 16-inch large is enough to feed a family of four. Pillowy-crusted slices are enormous. We can fold them for easier eating, but if we don't want delicious pizza oil dripping down our fronts, we're looking at using a knife and a fork.

Pizzafarro's doesn't believe in frou-frou, either. All our favorite toppings are there (even fresh anchovies), but the only nods to contemporary cuisine are artichokes and green chile.

Back up the SUV and fold down the seats. We're going to pick up a pie from Pizzafarro's.

Readers' Choice for Best Gourmet Pizza: Pizzeria Bianco

Readers' Choice for Best Classic Pizza: Pizza Hut

At Western, there's no skimping on toppings -- bubbly-crisp dough groans under the weight of barbecue chicken breast with pine nuts, or spinach, feta, olive, sun-dried tomato and pesto. The best seller is the Western Round-Up, with mushroom, pepperoni, salami, ham, peppers and onions (the meat is layered high and thin like a hoagie, then buried under a truckload of mozzarella).

And we like Western Pizza for its hours. It's not only open until 3 a.m. Thursdays through Saturdays (1 a.m. other days), it delivers until then, too. That's pretty macho.

Or something like that.

Of course, that was before we discovered the Hellenic heroes served up at Super Gyros. A two-handed feast of Olympian proportions, the generous mound of pressed lamb and beef is so juicy, we actually forget there's a side container of wonderful yogurt dressing until we're halfway through.

But don't you make the same mistake: As the sauce succulently soaks into the hot pita bread, it lends a tangy kick to the feta-topped meat that's fit for the gods. Super Gyro? Don't myth it.

Apparently, we weren't the only ones disappointed with Houston's wrong-headed marketing decision, so the salmon's back on the menu again in Phoenix. It's the best this side of Seattle.

Bubba lines a delicate homemade pie crust with a hearty, spicy filling made from fresh, not canned, sweet potatoes. Each generous slice (about a quarter of a pie) is served warm and slathered with plenty of whipped cream. After one bite, you'll feel as if you're back in the bayou. Sweet zydeco!

But that was before Marcella's opened for business, dishing out the verdant veggies that are a hallmark of any soul food menu. Kale, cabbage or collard, they're all prepared essentially the same way. Steamed with bacon or ham hocks until soft and tender, the leafy treats kick into high gear with the addition of garlic, and are then served in a steaming bowl of potent pot likker.

Forget chicken soup for the soul -- Marcella's greens will keep you in the pink.

Today, their Tennessee-style barbecue continues to draw in diners, lured by the smells of smoking meat and simmering sauces.

Their slogan: "You don't need no teeth to eat our meat." That's true. Pulled pork, beef and chicken positively collapse before we can gnaw them down. Pork ribs and whole or half-chickens slip from the bone. Hot links -- well, these take a tooth or two to snap their firm casing and get to the spicy sausage within.

Our honey of a meal is a large combo sandwich of pork and chicken. It's not on the menu, but always happily accommodated. The massive mound of meat comes tucked in a soft bun and wrapped in tin foil. The foil's important -- it seals in the heat, keeping the bun warm. Spicy sauce is served on the side.

It's a barbecue we could bear to eat every single day.

Readers' Choice: Honey Bear's BBQ

Forget those canned baked beans of backyard weenie roasts of yore. This is a killer combination uniting kidney, lima and navy legumes thickened with shards of cooked-on-site sausage, chicken and beef. They're served blissfully hot, are inexplicably cheap, and are so very satisfying.

Bean there, done that? Not until you've tried Joe's.

That's him behind the counter, chopping garden loads of fresh vegetables that grace so many of his broths, and yelling at customers, "Eat more soup! Now!" This guy's not shy, smiling and shouting at guests who take too long to order.

With up to a dozen varieties offered daily, choosing can be a challenge. All the soups are made from scratch with recipes handed down from the Doctor's mother and grandmother. Vegetable beef barley swims with whole mushrooms and tender steak in a rich tomato broth. Chicken noodle is stuffed with shell pasta, cooked to perfectly slimy softness. And pasta fagioli is smitten with soft bean, orzo and celery in a salty base.

Take it from the Soup Doctor: You need more soup. Now!

(The soup -- but not the Doctor -- is also available at Arizona Bread Company, 23587 North Scottsdale Road, Scottsdale, 480-515-9440.)

The birds are lightly rubbed with paprika and spices, then roasted in their glass-fronted coffin for up to three and a half hours. The fat drips through the skin, touching the chicken with its rich flavors, then drips harmlessly into a metal pan below.

The result? A tender, juicy fowl so near-greaseless (and Heart Smart Restaurant endorsed) that we may never eat chicken out of a bucket again.

Like all other salads, it can be ordered in small or large portions ($2.45 and $3.45, respectively), or by the pound ($5.95) as carry-out.

Tuber or not tuber? At Sabuddy, that is not the question.

After tasting the produce of Quiessence chef-farmer Hallie Harron, we're right there in the dirt with him.

These are veggies of uncompromising virtue, grown under Harron's own hand in pretty little beds scattered across a 12-acre farm. The focus of her family-style meals, they're selected based on what the garden offers each day.

The only thing better than being a stalk of celery would be to exist as Harron's fennel, braised al dente and glossed with a thin red pepper marmalade. Or as her albino beets, roasted shallots, gloriously sweet and sour roasted onions, rich flavored grape tomatoes, or a curl of earthy daikon radish.

Finish our vegetables? Just try to stop us.

That makes Don & Charlie's pâté a winner in our world. The fact that it's served free as a prelude to a gut-busting steak dinner including salad, potatoes and all the bread we can handle doesn't hurt, either.

The appetizer is pure beef liver, smooth but studded here and there with little liver chunks for interesting texture. It's served in the classic way, crumbled with hard-boiled egg, cozied up with lots of chopped white onion, and plopped in a big scoop on romaine. Sides of roasted red pepper and hot pepper tomatoes cut the richness when we need it. The pâté's almost a meal in itself, spread on crisp lahvosh, rye bread and toast crisps.

At Don & Charlie's, we liver for the moment.

It's reassuring to know that any salesman trying to push these pseudo-pasta products on the folks at Il Pescatore would likely find a horse's head in his bed. That's because this charming, almost Victorian-looking restaurant is dedicated to excellence in the kitchen. All pastas are made fresh, from traditional family recipes.

Knowing that variety is the spice of life, Il Pescatore offers plenty of choices, too. Our favorite (fresh, of course) sauces, vegetables, meats and seafood can be paired with our heart's desire of cappellini, farfalle, fettuccini, gnocchi, linguini, penne, ravioli, rigatoni or tortellini.

We don't want pasta fasta. We want Il Pescatore, where they take the time to care.

With her compact menu of eight hot sandwiches, bubbly owner/TV personality Jan D'Atri has elevated a simple meal to an art form. How else to describe massive monuments of D'Atri's own Italian sausage, roasted chicken breast, marinated steak and more, all of it served in focaccia made from an old family restaurant? Our personal favorite is a two-fisted monster groaning with salami, ham, pastrami, mozzarella and provolone.

And while some pseudo-sandwicheries may try to sneak by, heating with a pan or cooktop, D'Atri dedicates two panini-style griddles to her bundles, grilling breads, meats and fresh veggies before closing the sandwiches into the hot presses.

An added bonus? When the mood strikes, D'Atri's been known to serenade diners with an accordion. Tasty!

Readers' Choice: Subway

In the Valley, at Miracle Mile Deli.

A Valley tradition since 1949, Miracle Mile understands the importance of slow cooking for optimum flavor -- and of lightning-fast service when the crowds arrive.

By the time the doors open for lunch in this '60s-style deli, the brisket meat has been simmering for hours in its own juices. It's been sliced just thin enough for texture and piled in huge mounds in warming trays at the cafeteria-style counter, waiting for us as it bubbles to tender perfection in additional juices.

A server grabs the best pieces with his tongs, plops it on our plate and sends it down the line. And mere minutes after we arrive, we're smacking our lips over the beautiful brisket, tucked into a fresh, sweet onion roll. We sop up the juices with our French fries, alternating bites of mild beef with the tang of a sharp, crisp pickle.

Brisket, served this good, and this fast? It can only be a Miracle.

The more conventional chicken pot pies at Mary Richardson's, however, are sublime -- succulent meat in fine, savory gravy, housed within a wonderfully hearty crust. The side dishes here are essential, as well -- whipped potatoes, a splendid crunchy coleslaw and a first-rate homemade applesauce. Get the #3 meal, which entitles you to a pot pie plus all three of the sides, for $6.15. There are also tasty apple, cherry, peach and blueberry pot pies for dessert, as well as tarts. On Wednesdays and Thursdays, there's a Burgundy mushroom beef pot pie, and with 24 hours' notice, you can get such more-plausible-than-aardvark special order pies as vegetarian, turkey, lamb and even seafood.

The sandwich is huge, of course. But it's a gentle giant, showcasing the old-fashioned Italian cooking that's largely disappeared in the era of cheese-stuffed pizza crusts.

The sauce is mellow, not too spicy, and not so soggy it makes the bread fall apart. The bread is crusty, lightly toasted and just thick enough to support its meatballs without getting in the way. And the meatballs? Orbs of beefy perfection, blending meat and restrained seasoning for a result so simply delicious it's almost extravagant.

Now let's have a big, two-handed salute to the ballsiest sandwich in town.

The red-white-and-blue sandwich shop never lets us down, no matter the time of day, no matter how busy. And it gets very, very busy as soon as the doors open, until every seat is gone and it's standing room only at the takeout counter. Fear not: The cooks are speed demons, slapping great mounds of thin-sliced steak on a sizzling grill, and tossing the meat as its juices crackle and spit.

We love the huge portions (the half sandwich size is anybody else's whole). We love the choices (11 different steaks). We've picked our favorite -- loaded with fresh mushrooms, green pepper, onions, gooey white American cheese and hot peppers bursting the seams of a squishy Italian sub roll.

Uncle Sam's? We want you!

But even an ax-swinger with XY chromosomes is going to have his work cut out for him with the Farms' hefty turkey sandwich. Delectable, thick slabs of real, Thanksgiving-style roasted turkey breast (raised in Dewey, AZ) are piled high on country-style bread just shy of sourdough. A light slick of mayo gilds the gobbler, topped with roma tomato, sliced cucumber, pea shoots and baby lettuce.

(Hint: Sandwiches come with a choice of potato salad or organic greens. Order the potato salad, a plate load of red, skin-on chunks dotted with dill, bits of fresh bacon, parsley and scallion. Why? It's not only delicious, it comes on a bed of greens already.)

Of course, the sandwiches are equally fabulous at both stores. This is top-quality stuff, bringing mounds of tooth tender beef thinly sliced and swimming in its own natural juices. We order ours "wet," for extra gravy to render the French roll into soggy, richly brothed bliss, and don't apologize for making an absolute mess of ourselves. That's what napkins are for.

That's all well and good, but we prefer a far simpler approach to America's favorite sandwich -- an uncomplicated serving of quality ground beef, plopped on a fresh bun, then gussied up with a slice of American cheese and perhaps a spritz of yellow mustard. In short, just like the burgers served at the Chuck Box.

The cooks at this long-standing Valley burger biz don't put much into ceremony; they're too busy churning out fresh sandwiches to order. They peer at us from behind the blistering hot mesquite charcoal broiler, waiting patiently as we make the agonizing decision between the Big Juan (one-third pound, and named after Chuck Box's "beef engineer") and the Great Big Juan (one-half pound). We can add cheese (Swiss, American or Jalapeño Jack) and, if we're really feeling feisty, we can toss on some guacamole or bacon. There's also a choice of white or wheat buns, which are lightly toasted on the grill as the meat sizzles merrily away.

The burgers arrive virtually greaseless, presented on disposable plates atop plastic trays, to be dressed as we desire at the Chuck Box's condiment bar (the fanciest thing offered here is ranch dressing).

To paraphrase the immortal words of one noted burger connoisseur, "We'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a Chuck Box burger today."

And for our do-re-mi, you won't find a better glass of the ubiquitous chilled brew than, ironically, at a place best known for its java. The unofficial state drink (the average Phoenician swills untold gallons annually), iced tea à la Coffee Plantation is a brew that is true. Supplied by the Tempe-based Revolution Tea Company, the leafy libation is available in a variety of distinctive flavors -- Red Hawaiian, decaf Vanilla Bean and Citrus Spice, to name a few.

The rival of any similar dessert in its New York deli homeland, this model is decadence on a plate -- huge, delectably creamy and, of course, obscenely caloric.

There are no superfluous toppings here, just a sprinkle of shaved almond, and plate companions of strawberry, blackberry and blueberry lightly drizzled with honey.

Everything here is to diet for, with sinfully rich tiramisu, zuppa inglese, cannoli, almond puff pastry, fruit tarts, and budino di riso (butter pastry topped with rice pudding; it makes our toes curl). We could make a meal out of Scorzo's dreamy bigne con Crema Pasticcera o Cioccolato (crème puffs oozing with custard or chocolate), topped off with a steaming cup of Torrefazione Italia coffee.

Sometimes, if you're feeling virtuous, go for the less-sweet but oh-so-satisfying focaccia with grapes or apples; or any of the crunchy biscotti, particularly the awesome anise.

There's no use sugar-coating it -- Galileo's got just the desserts we deserve.

Readers' Choice: Marie Callender's

Morton's takes an exotic blend of crimini, oyster, shiitake and portobello mushrooms, sautés them in a heady garlic herb butter, and serves them steaming in a ceramic crock. We get high just off the aroma, and melt when the mushrooms meet our mouths.

So toss away that book on how to meet chicks. Remember, guys: Girls just want to have fungi.

Leave it Chef Donna Nordin to come up with something as innovative as this mystical, addictive flan. Impossibly silky, this breathtaking use of the stinking rose is abloom with mellow garlic. Served warm, the custard wobbles and shimmers as you poke it with your fork, then ladle great smears on thick, chewy pieces of the jalapeño cheese bread served alongside. Top it with sweet-'n'-spicy pepper salsa in vinaigrette, and dust the whole thing off with a sprinkle of herb-roasted hazelnuts. It's a taste explosion.

Now if Nordin could just create a breath mint-flavored mole sauce . . .

An unbelievable bargain at less than $9, this enormous starter plate overflows with basil-flecked fresh mozzarella slices, properly salty prosciutto shavings, garlicky grilled eggplant rounds, marinated whole mushrooms, tomato, and grilled onion, eggplant, zucchini and green pepper.

On the other hand, envious diners will probably be so busy ogling your mouth-watering orgy of pre-dinner treats that they won't give you a second look.

It takes just one bite, however, to get over it. The amphibian flesh is firm, vaguely sweet and positively glowing with garlic marinade.

And Bistro Provence has a delicate hand with battering -- these gams are barely drifted through flour to offer a hint of crunch instead of the overwhelming crust found elsewhere. A half-dozen legs twirl like an Esther Williams revival in a pool of buttery, garlic-rich tomato salpicon. No crutches needed here; these legs stand on their own.

But you can also find the beefy beast on the menu at the Arizona Kitchen, served in delicious glory. This buffalo is so good, it almost makes you understand why entire herds were once made into lunch meat. This buffalo, of course, is farm-raised -- it never knows it was born to run free.

The Kitchen takes a huge, juicy slab, slaps it on the grill and lays it in a pool of glamorous Cabernet vanilla bean chile negro sauce next to lip-smacking sweet-potato pudding.

The Kitchen's buffalo isn't just the other nice meat. It's a delicious little bit of the Old West, served in one of the state's oldest resorts.

Owner Sal Alqardahji takes pride in this dish, and it shows in every silky bite of garbanzo beans, lemon juice, garlic, olive oil and tahini (sesame seed paste), served with pita bread scoops.

ZakeE means "very delicious" in Arabic, Alqardahji tells us. We've got to agree.