Places

Harvey's is small -- just a few booths, tables and a bar. Harvey's is dark -- most of the lighting comes from the glow of beer signs and a Twilight Zone pinball machine. Harvey's is run-down -- bare concrete floors, ratty walls and wires hanging from the ceiling. Harvey's is smoky -- neighborhood types crowd the bar, accustomed to popping their first brew at noon.

At Harvey's, there is a pair of pool tables off in a side room, where we can plop down a few bucks for a quick game. And between shots, we gorge ourselves on out-of-this-world wineburgers. The beef is flooded with Burgundy as it cooks on a special, extra-thick grill (to keep the wine from evaporating too fast), drenched four times, topped with cheese and drenched twice again.

So we go back to the office smelling of smoke and alcohol? Playing hooky at Harvey's makes us very, very happy.

Ordering is always intriguing. Will it be baklava with nubbins of plump rabbit, fig, quail egg and pine nuts? Or eggplant tacos with lamb, arugula, cucumber radish and Kasseri cheese in roasted tomato garlic sauce?

Perhaps charbroiled beef tenderloin in sun-dried cherry barbecue sauce plus green chile stuffed with butternut squash, smoked bacon and provolone cheese? Or salmon, grilled with achiote seed in morel and baby clam sauce with crayfish-corn risotto?

Medizona's chef-owner, Lenard Rubin, gave up a comfortable resort kitchen career to open his dream restaurant, and it's sure paid off.

Medizona opened to rave reviews and continues to draw a steady crowd. And, with just 13 tables, reservations are a must.

Readers' Choice: Bahama Breeze and Voo Doo Daddy (tie)

If you're lucky, you secure a reservation at Gregory's, where chef-owner Gregory Casale has put together a menu that takes world cuisine on a whirl. Ginger and lemongrass-cured albacore tuna (Thai) shares the pages with mussels vindaloo and naan bread (Indian), monkfish tajine with preserved lemons (Moroccan), and pan-seared Hudson Valley foie gras in a sweet potato tart (French). If his pumpkin Israeli couscous soup is available, you'll swoon over the rich garlic chicken broth.

The wine list is all-out global boutique, a short list that tempts us with unfamiliar-to-most-folks grape blends we love after the first sip. It's difficult to find these wines anywhere else, and there's no shame in asking the chef's advice on the perfect pairings.

Trust us: Even the most jaded foodie will eat Gregory's up.

This is where the lords and leaders of our economic, political and social scene come for designer dishes like Bicher muesli, steel cut oatmeal brûlée, duck hash and chocolate brioche French toast.

It's better to move and shake on a full belly, after all.

Unfortunately, our bathrobe is coffee-stained terrycloth, our dog ate our slippers, and we don't subscribe to any papers without a comic section.

So instead, we get dressed and head over to Pierre's.

Breakfast starts off with steaming, fresh-brewed French roast coffee or just-squeezed lemonade, orange juice or sparkling apple juice. Handcrafted pastries flaunt fresh cream and real butter, and weigh in at the size of small sofa cushions. Our favorite is Pierre's lemon brioche, topped with terrifically tart lemon preserve and powdered sugar. The dough is buttery, billowy and positively bursting with mind-blowing poppy-seed-studded cheese.

Who needs Tiffany's when you've got breakfast at Pierre's?

Now, you need grease. The kind of good, old-fashioned, fatty, dripping grease served at Bill Johnson's to coat your stomach.

The Big Apple means big breakfasts, served country style in a setting so casual it doesn't matter that you look like you've been dragged behind a truck all the way to the restaurant. It's kind of dark, to soothe your bloodshot eyes. It's big enough that you can usually find a quiet corner for your pounding head.

Fill up on country ham, chicken-fried steak, bacon, sausage, T-bone or pork chops with eggs. Sweet-talk your stomach with three-egg omelets, blueberry pancakes and French toast (six massive slabs topped with nutmeg and cinnamon). If you've been really bad, stuff yourself with the Wrangler -- a full order of French toast, two eggs, a hefty ham slab, four slices of bacon or two saucer-size sausage patties.

After all, you've got to get your strength up so you can go out again tonight.

Most skilled chefs can easily fashion a high-quality, dainty Sunday brunch, too. A talented chef can impress with sumptuous à la carte entrees, perhaps fancied up with a trip to fussy salad and dessert tables. But that's little more than an excellent lunch, isn't it? And let's admit it: Brunch isn't a true treat unless it's all-you-can-eat.

Marquesa has captured the best of both. The Mobil Four Star/AAA Five Diamond restaurant unites inspired Catalan cuisine with Italian and French influences for a drop-dead gorgeous unlimited tasting experience.

We don't eat for weeks in anticipation of a mid-morning tour of Marquesa's market-style nirvana. And not just to allow for greater gluttony, but to better savor the delicacies put forth by chef Reed Groban. The menu changes per availability of ingredients, but we can always count on the radiant treasures of the Mediterranean.

It's almost an embarrassment of riches, but we struggle bravely through, feasting on duck with cauliflower puree, lentil and sausage; fire-roasted couscous; paella; braised quail; veal empanada; turkey with hazelnut polenta; and caviar.

Does Marquesa's brunch cost a little more? At $49 per person, yes. But it's so satisfying that it's the only meal we'll want to eat that day. And since the open-air brunch isn't offered during the heat of summer, we've got some time to save up the cash, and the calories.

Richardson's dimly lighted adobe/ranch thing is comforting, even soothing to the dimly lighted head. Of course, you'll have to suffer the obnoxiously mainstream thirtysomethings who crowd the place, much like their SUVs in the parking lot, bumper to grinding bumper, but it's worth it. Besides, it's so dark inside, you'll forget about them once your draft lager (Richardson's has tons of them) and forearm-size burrito arrive. There are sports on the TV monitors, a moderately priced menu (forget the specials -- they ain't worth the coin), a smoker-friendly policy, and a waitstaff that seems to be glad they're serving your stoned countenances rather than another table of yuppie wankers.

One minus. Richardson's is always crowded, and without a reservation, a party of four can easily wait more than an hour. Toke it or leave it.

Nestled in an old house in a historic corner of downtown Phoenix, the restaurant features a breezy patio and cozy rooms decorated with the work of local artists. Diners are seated in old school chairs, but don't expect cafeteria fare. The menu -- eclectic without being intimidating -- features daily soups and entree specials, along with staples like the chicken corn chowder, a meal in itself but great with a mixed greens salad or a Southwestern caesar. Another favorite is the roasted turkey sandwich, spiced up with cranberry-serrano chile chutney.

The staffers are friendly and they'll keep filling your iced tea long after you know you should have returned to the salt mine.

Readers' Choice: Durant's

From September through June, The Farm Kitchen serves hearty sandwiches and delicious salads -- complete with bread and veggies made/grown on the premises -- in sturdy baskets, picnic-style. Lounge at outdoor tables or toss a Mexican blanket on the ground, listen to classical music or the sounds of nature while you enjoy grilled eggplant on sourdough or a Waldorf salad.

And if you've still got time before you return to work, snag a piece of pecan pie. It'll put a smile on your face that will last until you're back to the daily grind, downloading Internet porn from your station at work.

Don't tell it to the owners of this culinary find, a swell little soup 'n' sandwich joint hidden away in the bowels of a Mesa industrial parkway.

Despite its less-than-high-visibility locale, however, Crackers and Co. sees a lot more business than many of its high-profile competitors. Arrive early for lunch to avoid the crunch of regulars who congregate here daily for more than a dozen fresh soups (the cream of spinach and artichoke is pure heaven) and an equal number of made-from-scratch desserts.

Sandwiches, salads and pasta dishes round out a hearty menu that also includes signature creations like the Drunken Chicken Sandwich (poultry in a wine-garlic sauce) and an unusual apple-spinach salad with charbroiled chicken. But save room for dessert -- the house specialty, a warm blackberry cinnamon bread pudding, is also must-try.

Open for breakfast and lunch only, Crackers and Co. is tucked away behind the Home Depot on South Country Club Drive, just off the Superstition Freeway. This is one industrial secret everyone should know about.

The bodies shown here belong to bronzed guys with "set clippers on two" haircuts and girls crammed into skimpy tube tops, the better to show off their sunless-tanning-cream glows. In Kodak moment after Kodak moment, the gals are seen lying on tables, their Victoria's Not-So-Secret pushed aside, while casting come-hither, "I'm soooo drunk" smiles at equally snockered frat boys sucking cheap tequila off their breasts.

Hey, somebody turn up Sugar Ray.

The dimly lighted cafe offers more sophisticated ambiance than Denny's, and is the perfect place to slouch in a booth and chow down after a hard night of partying. Though the restaurant is also open during the week for traditional dining hours, Punky's shines brightest well after last call.

Readers' Choice for Best Late-Night Meal: Denny's

So maybe the students aren't being treated to the multicourse feasts they prepare, but we'd bet there's a whole lot of tasting going on in the school's kitchen.

This is no cafeteria food. Faculty includes three full-time chefs and three part-time chefs. They take their work seriously, leading students through rigorous training on cooking, presentation and white-tablecloth service.

Hey, we're happy to help the kids with their homework. Especially when it means we get to gorge on dishes like mussels with mango citrus salsa, spinach vichyssoise, poached Seckel pears with prosciutto and wild rice, oriental petrale sole en papillote, daube of lamb, coffee cinnamon flan and pistachio citrus cheesecake.

The dog ate the homework? Hardly. It was us.

Even if it's more of a stripped-down warrior ride, a Harley becomes an extension of its owner on the road. Indeed, it's such a personal friend that most true Harley riders can pick out their bike while blindfolded, guided by their scooter's distinctive potato-potato-potato call. It's just as a mother knows her infant's cry from any other in the world.

The folks at The Hideaway know better than to come between such love. Open just two years, The Hideaway has become the place in town for serious bikers (and jealous gawkers) to gather. On weekend nights, in fact, it's often difficult to hear the piped-in Southern rock, the clicking of pool balls or your conversation with the always-friendly bartenders. That's because of the herd of thundering Harleys parked mere feet out the front door, cozied up like pampered pets to the railing of The Hideaway's wood plank porch.

The best seat in the bar is on this porch, sipping a good, honest pour, and snacking on country-style steaks, fish fry, burgers or sandwiches. Even if you're not lucky enough to own a bike, it's a kick to watch the blessed ones, cuddled up with their charges, caressing the chrome and planting baby kisses on the handlebars (grown men, no less).

Is it fancy? Are you kidding? It's a dirt parking lot, the bar dressed up with concrete floors and walls hung with posters of bra-busting bike rally queens.

Because there's no need for expensive decor -- all eyes are on the beautiful beasts parked outside.

Step up to the counter, order your choice of meat or poultry -- even prime rib and trout -- in whatever quantity you want. As Dusty's menu says, "by the pound or by the slice, how much you order determines the price."

The friendly gent behind the counter hacks off your selections with a glistening cleaver, weighs the meat and wraps it in white butcher paper. He tosses it on a tray with some buns -- plus lots of extra sauce, of course -- and sends you off to a checker-clothed picnic table.

Once settled, you assemble your sandwich or simply dig in. If you're craving sides, pluck beans, creamed corn, coleslaw, potato salad or macaroni salad from an iced-down watering trough near the cash registers.

Soon, you'll be groaning in delight at smoky, fall-off-the-bone baby backs, meticulously fat-trimmed prime rib and melt-in-your-mouth pulled pork. The excellent thin, peppery sauce gets on your face, your hands and usually all down the front of your shirt. But as long as most of it gets in your mouth, you won't be complaining.

Still, there's a definite charm to the jailhouse-style food service, especially as it's practiced at Hart & Soul, a south Phoenix rib shack.

We know the routine well. Step up to the glassed-off ordering counter. Study a brief listing on the wall -- catfish, chicken, pork chops, maybe a barbecue special. Push a doorbell, and wait for a cook to slide open a tall, narrow security slot crossed with heavy black steel mesh. She takes our order, and the slot slams shut. When our food is ready, it's placed into a black kettle mounted in the wall -- the pot's back half is chopped off so that it spins like a revolving door to deliver our goodies.

Like a life sentence, Hart & Soul's initially daunting service will eventually grow on you. The food sure does -- our fave's a mighty fine fried catfish for less than $6, accompanied by two side dishes and a cornbread muffin.

Besides, this time we're on the right side of the wall. We get to walk away when we're done with dinner.

How about top-quality, inexpensive Cuban chow?

Chary's is something special, situated unexpectedly in what's otherwise pretty much a culinary no man's land. From the lighthouse mural called Castillo del Morro La Habana Cuba that's painted on the west side of the building to the creative cooking dished out by owner Chary Castro, this is a treat on the downtown street.

At Chary's, you'll stumble on masitas de puerco, lean pork medallions marinated in citrus juices and herbs. And arroz con pollo estilo cienfuegos, chicken cooked in wine, tomato, red pimientos and criollo herbs. Or try Chary's classic Cuban sandwich, stuffing bread with marinated pork roast, honey ham, Swiss cheese, Dijon and mayo to be baked and pressed.

But we can pretend we're well-off, since current owner Geordie Hormel found a loophole in regulations that require the home be used as a private club only. Membership in Hormel's club costs only $10 a year (and he donates that to local charities).

The Wrigley Mansion restaurant has terrific food -- delicacies like dark ale poached gulf prawns with peppered papaya cocktail; seared fois gras and lobster medallion on artichoke and asparagus salad; baked salmon scaloppini stuffed with Maine lobster tail; and king crab legs with lemon grass, Chardonnay and Pinot Noir sauce.

Just as delicious, though, are the stunning views of this originally named "La Colina Solana" -- the sunny hill. We feel like old Ada must have felt when we dine, taking in the dramatic, 360-degree view of downtown Phoenix, Camelback Mountain, the Squaw Peak preserve and the Valley beyond.

The choice of where to indulge in a final meal before bowing to Jenny Craig is simple: Mrs. White's.

There's no need to get gourmet with descriptions here -- just imagine the best-ever Southern fried chicken, pork chops, smothered chicken, chicken and dumplings, chicken-fried steak and fried fish ever to bless your tongue. Picture great puddles of gravy, black-eyed peas, greens and home-style peach cobbler. Visualize massive portions that crowd every inch of the plate.

The meal is chosen from a menu written on the wall, surrounded by celebrity graffiti. (The Phoenix Suns are said to love this place -- sure, they can work it off on the court.) When you're done, tell the friendly folks behind the counter what you had, and they'll ring you up. They trust you not to cheat.

Now, if you can only trust yourself not to cheat on your diet.

When we need an escape, we disappear into Somewhere in Time. The clock has stopped in this quaint shop, with creaking hardwood floors, the scent of roses in the air, and a comforting jumble of Victorian furniture, knickknacks and porcelain dolls. Even the shop owner's name makes us think of quieter, gentler days: Mary Alexander.

We take a seat at one of the half-dozen lace-topped tables (elbows off, mind you). It's time for tea, and we take our English Breakfast with just a few drops of milk, the way our grandma used to. Somewhere in Time uses only loose-leaf blend teas, of course, poured from antique pots into delicate china cups.

Lunch is lovely, with a plentiful assortment of classic sandwiches like Black Forest ham with cream cheese; egg salad with fresh chives; cucumber with sweet creamery butter; chicken and tuna salads; cream cheese with olives; and creamery butter with fresh raspberry preserves. There are homemade scones with lemon curd and clotted cream, plus wickedly wonderful cakes.

Pleasures like this never go out of style.

That's all well and good, but we can get that at home, especially when we don't pay our APS bill. No, for us, romance thrives in a little more open setting, where we can show off the love of our lives, and catch just a smidgen of adrenaline from the universe. It helps us connect, knowing that through the craziest of times, we always have each other.

Convivo is perfect for us, combining coziness with the camaraderie of our fellow guests, to mysterious success. The cafe is basically a little box, set with white cloth tables. But it's been made romantically slinky, with sensuous, curving carpet-to-tile borders, and serpentine coffered ceilings. The soft flowing layout makes us want to glide.

The lighting is dark, in a soft, filtered kind of way. It makes us feel gentle, sultry. There's a quiet hum of people talking all around us, but it's a respectful restraint that's somehow soothing.

And the food -- it swells our hearts with passion for life and each other. Northwest Golden Chanterelle mushrooms in porcini tarragon cream are luxurious. Even a simple chicken breast rises to grace, grilled with balsamic onions and mustard butter, creamy Yukon Gold potato and goat cheese gratin.

Love is a many-splendored thing. For us, it's Convivo.

Readers' Choice: Mary Elaine's

You can still see one of those relics, a charming, 1920s cottage that now houses some of the Valley's most satisfying contemporary American food.

The visual tour starts in a relaxed, trellised garden leading to the bungalow with wrap-around veranda. Inside is a virtual Victorian revival of lace curtains and antiques. The floor plan hasn't been disturbed; a dozen or so tables nest in hallways and two small rooms.

It's not exactly grandma's cooking -- unless she was a whiz with grilled shrimp with Thai pesto and curried pecans, roast duck breast and pears in port, or stuffed eggplant lasagna with goat cheese and sun-dried tomatoes.

House of Tricks is a perfect mix: a cuisine that speaks of Phoenix's modern pleasures, in a setting that lovingly embraces its past.

T. Cook's is set to the back of an intimate, fountain-strewn courtyard, and decorated with breathtaking antiques. But what grabs our attention, even more so than the spectacular view of Camelback Mountain, is the restaurant's showcase fireplace. It spans a back wall, and roasts to perfection meats, poultry, vegetables and seafood in seasonal dishes from Barcelona, Spain, and the Tuscan region of Italy.

This fireplace brings forth the ultimate romantic meal: a dinner served for two, meaning cozy communing with our partner. Aptly called the "fireplace platter to share," our favorite entree comes brimming with spit-roasted chicken, rosemary tied pork loin and Mediterranean paella.

This only after feasting on a "Mediterranean antipasto platter to share," though, and before curling up with a cheese course finale, featuring Exploratore, Italian Fontina, Spanish Goat and Roquefort cheeses with sliced pear and fruit sauces -- ample enough for us both.

Love is not only blind, it tastes great.

The setting is discreet -- there's even a private dining table closed off with velvet curtains -- and the fondue menu gives us all the right tools for revenge. First, the table is equipped with a built-in, sizzling hot burner top (no back talk, please!). We can order the traditional fondue setup, with a caldron of nuclear hot boiling oil.

And there's an extra bonus for us: The food is delicious. Bubbling cheeses come with fresh breads, vegetables and fruit. Court-bouillon, oil or coq au vin fondues heat up meats, poultry, seafood and even pot stickers. And chocolate fondue makes parting such sweet sorrow, dunked with cakes, fruits and brownies.

To our ex, we simply say, "Eat your heart out, baby." (And count yourself lucky you didn't wind up with a lapful of molten fromage.)

The Satisfied Frog is one of those; it's an outright hoot, and it gives our guests that warm, Western welcome they're expecting. It's comfy, casual -- the kind of place where you could feed the dog under the table, if health codes allowed Fido through the front door.

Tablecloths are checkered. There's sawdust on the floor. Corny sayings are plastered all over the restaurant. The building's set back in what looks like a frontier town right off of a movie set (howling coyote souvenirs all around). Tourists love the Goat Sucker Saloon and the beer garden, featuring the honky tonk piano.

And the cowboy grub here is down-home delicious. Steaks, fish, shrimp, chicken, hamburgers, Mexican dishes and mesquite-smoked barbecue come in such enormous portions, we stagger when we leave. We initiate our guests with the signature deep-fried chiles, and a spicy cream of chile soup.

If that doesn't get us stumbling, the Frog's micro-brewed beer sure will. We've guzzled more than our share of Original Cave Creek Chili Beer, a golden, skunk-and-pepper-flavored ale with a whole chile pepper lurking at the bottom.

Satisfied? You betcha.

In this funky restaurant/art gallery, local artists and craftspeople create their unique pieces amid the din of raucous diners and live jazz, seven nights a week. Their works are displayed around the restaurant in the form of paintings, drawings, photographs, wood carvings, metal sculptures and jewelry. Prices for displayed artwork range from $50 to $2,000.

Diners are encouraged to interact with the artists, and we have, batting our eyelashes to request our own personal portrait. Ponying up a lot of green is also required. Each artist can charge whatever the traffic will bear; a friend of ours had hers done for $50.

Meanwhile, Beeloe's art-inspired dishes are a culinary experience, too -- Matisse's Soup of Yesterday, Whistler's Green Chile Queso Dip, Postmodern Pepperoni Pizza, Dada Caesar and The Muse Pork Loin VSOP.

Just remember, please -- great art takes time, and Beeloe's independent artists aren't obligated to capture your mug in paint. But, if you're ready to flash the cash and wait a little, there's a good chance you'll go home immortalized, and fit to be framed.

Still, with his impressive pecs and other musculature, Anthony himself looks like he's been eating right and lifting major weights for years.

We'll stick with the eats part, and as for exercise, we'll limit ours to jogging to his Scottsdale Road buff-et.

Anthony is generous with his portions, fair with his prices, and takes his restaurant's fitness theme seriously. We especially love his breakfast wrap, chock-full of veggies, cheese and eggs and dubbed the "Arnold," after you-know-who. Other selections include the "Venice Beach" and the "Flex" -- chicken and turkey sandwiches, respectively. And who cares that the "Dead Lift" -- a protein drink that contains more egg whites in it than we could count -- costs about the same as a burger? After pumping iron, you'll happily pick up the check here.

This upscale place is known for its fresh seafood, with diners paying upward of $25 for a nice, aquatic entree. Good enough, but we won't pay more than $2 for our dinner when we eat at the bar.

Du jour items during happy hour include a quarter-pound cheeseburger with fries, oyster shooters and seafood chili. The cost? Just $1.95 with a one-drink minimum.

They're primo eats, too, not that prefab, fresh-from-the-freezer-bag stuff other bars try to fool us with.

How does McCormick & Schmick's make money on the deal? We don't know. We don't care. Just save us a seat.

When the experience is as good as it is at Roy's, we're happy to stop in for a visit no matter where we are. We love the high-energy atmosphere and the buzzing exhibition kitchen. The clever menu planners know how to keep us interested. There's nothing routine about such vigorous dishes as crispy crab cakes with togarashi butter sauce, charbroiled garlic grain mustard beef short ribs and Mongolian barbecue lamb chops.

Roy's has it all -- good looks, good times and good food. It's like an old friend when we're traveling, and even when we're at home.

Roy's is no chain of fools.

The kids, some decked out in sporty hats and coats, swing to the live sounds of Alice Tatum and Margo Reed. The singers croon smoky tributes to Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, Charlie Parker, Nat "King" Cole and, of course, Frank Sinatra.

Keep an eye on the older folks hanging at the bar, which looks like it could collapse under the crush of 40-plus first wives and Wayne Newton look-alikes. Hair extensions tacked into bouffants? Tight white Guess jeans, paired with $400 slingback shoes and Prada bags? Toupees and George Hamilton tans?

The Velvet Room is the perfect catwalk for these guys and gals.

Short of the slow-roasted sow you'll find at a South Pacific luau, there's nothing better than the luscious Kalua pig served here -- tender, subdued and tossed with steamed cabbage. Breaded fish fillet and charbroiled salmon are definitely fast-food menu upgrades, served plain and fresh.

But our favorite is saimin, a ramenlike noodle created by islanders. We love the skinny, crinkly noodles in a yummy, warm toss of slender Japanese fish cake strips, char sui bits, chopped cabbage and shrimp sauce; or in soup with won tons, bok choy, char sui dumplings and fish cake.

Aloha Kitchen -- it's a shore thing.

These professionals, under the watchful eye of legendary Valley restaurateur Louis Germaine, are dedicated to making sure every tableside trick results in a memorable, classical French meal (longtime residents will remember Germaine from his 35 years owning Chez Louis in Scottsdale).

Something about seeing -- and smelling -- our dinner as it's prepared makes it taste even better. We watch as our server rolls up his geridon (carved wood cart), sets out his rochard (small propane burner), and arranges his mis-en-place (ingredients) to make our spinach salad for two. He sizzles chopped bacon in Worcestershire, mustard and red wine vinegar in sugar, then dumps it all over a big wooden bowl of fresh greens.

As we eat, he works up our entrees, steak Diane, and les tresors de la mer (seafood). Pounded flat filet mignon cooks in bubbling butter, mushrooms, garlic, onions and capers added from little ramekins on the cart. Then our server splashes the pan with brandy and sherry, inciting great flames that leap as high as his eyebrows. A dab of Grey Poupon and the steak is complete. Shrimp, lobster tail and scallops take barely a minute to cook, soaking up lots of sherry and brandy.

Bananas Foster bring more fireworks, torching crème de banana, sherry, butter, cinnamon and brown sugar that spits out sparks when tossed to the flames.

Is it polite to applaud in a fancy restaurant?

The new fine dining experience celebrates the products born and raised in our own Valley of the Sun. Chefs like Rancho Pinot's Chrysa Kaufman insist on using locally grown or raised organic produce, eggs and dairy products as much as possible.

That's why we can usually be assured that the produce we're enjoying in Kaufman's dishes, such as wood-oven roasted vegetables with crispy risotto-wheatberry cake, came from a local grower. Or that the quails we're feasting on were raised at a local farm.

Rancho Pinot celebrates Arizona heritage in the 21st century, with its funky cowboy-chic interior. It celebrates the take-it-easy Western past, with Kaufman's commitment to "Slow Food," an international organization that promotes cooking from scratch, using the freshest, artisan boutique ingredients.

Of course, everything tastes magical, from roasted beets with toasted almonds, sheep's milk feta and spicy greens to Nonni's Sunday Chicken, braised with white wine, mushrooms, herbs and onion over toasted polenta.

No problem. Latino Express comes to your rescue with gourmet, South American treats created by local chef Erasmo "Razz" Kamnitzer, owner of the upscale Razz's in Scottsdale.

Housed in a former Jack in the Box, the drive-through accommodates gourmet motorists with a decidedly un-fast-food menu featuring the likes of grilled ostrich, mofongo (charbroiled chicken and beans) and tostones (fried plantains). Traditional grease 'n' go fare, this isn't. The few fried items are virtually oil-free, and many dishes (most dinners are priced at $7 or less) are healthful combinations of fresh grilled meats, veggies, rice and beans in light sauces.

Say, you wanna supersize that mofongo?

But that's exactly what makes the final destination so spectacular. Once parked on the patio at Persimmon, there's nothing to compete with the views of Daisy Mountain, soaring almost 3,200 feet above the desert floor. No towering buildings. No sense of the pulsing, gasping rat race we've left at the far fringes of Phoenix. Once the sun goes down, there aren't any city lights to compete with the twinkling stars above -- just a few muted porch bulbs from homes tucked across the yawning golf course that serves as Persimmon's backyard.

The grill faces west, meaning we're in for spectacular sunsets. The country club has yet to be overrun with residents, meaning we're able to enjoy some peace and quiet with our Pinot Grigio. The outdoor furniture is fancy, cushy and clumped in private tête-à-têtes.

And for now, the view is free. The grill is open to the public. Now, that's worth a toast.

Readers' Choice for Best Outdoor Patio: Dos Gringos and The Grapevine (tie)

Even the sleepiest snacker will come wide awake with Barmouche's croque monsieur, combining hot ham, Gruyère cheese and Béchamel sauce in thick French bread. It's our pick, paired with a side of crisp, garden-fresh asparagus sautéed in butter.

Barmouche's restaurant is open until midnight seven days a week; the bar, which also serves food, remains open until 1 a.m.

You snooze, you lose.

Located just north of Main Street in downtown Mesa, its sparkling white decorative lights will lure you in. A trellis, framed by fragrant vines and trees, leads you into the lush front yard of a restored turn-of-the-century home. Inside the Victorian-themed house, you will find the usual coffee and tea offerings, as well as homemade muffins, cakes, pies and other pastries. You can browse in the gift shop or enjoy the free entertainment -- singers, musicians and comedians.

But it's better to head outside. Whether you're in a large group or a party of two, there's a spot for you, on the porch or gazebo out front or beside a tinkling fountain among the backyard ficus trees. And as you banter over the biscotti, remember -- it's the coffee talking.

Readers' Choice for Best Coffee House: Coffee Plantation

The search is worth the effort, unveiling a completely charming, comfortable room seating up to 25 people around a grand, copper-topped table and at comfy booth tables lining the wine-bottle-lined walls. Our favorite spot is curled up in front of the kiva fireplace.

As pretty as the place is, the experience is low-key. Dick's Hideaway is brought to us by the folks at Richardson's, and that's the same menu from which we select. That means creative New Mexican dishes like chimayo chicken (stuffed with spinach, sun-dried tomato, poblano chile and asiago cheese); pork tenderloin (marinated and pecan grilled with red and green chile jelly); and even posole (hominy and pork in red chile broth).

Best of all, Dick's Hideaway doesn't stick guests with a fixed menu, like most private rooms do. Everything's flexible -- individual meals, custom requests, open or hosted bar service, even birthday cake.

Now that's casual with class.

No matter, we've got a back-up with the ultra-luxe private dining room we can reserve at the Phoenician resort. Happily, it looks just like a castle, replete with Renaissance-era decor, barrel-vaulted ceilings, brick archways, European antiques and a full wall of wines. It's just spacious enough -- we can park up to 16 of our friends' premier posteriors on tapestry-upholstered chairs.

Adjacent to the resort's fabulous Terrace Dining Room, it also serves as the Terrace's working wine cellar. And when it's time to eat, we can have anything we want from the resort's flagship restaurant, Mary Elaine's. The magnificent modern French cuisine and highly polished service are just what we need to take our minds off our employment troubles at home.

It makes for such a peasant -- uh, pleasant -- evening out.

Q: Are you in favor of matrimony?

A: Only with cheese.

But seriously, ladies, when it comes time to tell the folks you're in the family way without the benefit of wedlock, we can't think of a better place to bite the bullet than this clamorous pasta palace.

With dishes clanking, an opera singer wailing and other customers shouting to be heard above the convivial din, your parents will soon be lulled into a state of idyllic catatonia. And when you do break the news, chances are the only reaction will be, "I'm sorry, dear. What did you say?"

And the food isn't bad, either. Dig in -- you're eating for two.

But the lady's got more life than most folks may realize. Without abandoning the classic charm that's carried her all these years, the Palm Court surprises and delights with a very nicely done traditional Continental menu.

As the heavily draped windows, elaborate chandeliers and tuxedoed waiters suggest, the Palm Court relies on tradition. We get a kick out of the steak au poivre, flambéed tableside with cognac and tricolor peppercorns. Dover sole is filleted tableside to be topped with roasted almonds and parsley. And roast tenderloin is carved under our watchful eyes, then doused with béarnaise and Merlot sauces.

Plan to spend some time -- meals are prepared the old-fashioned way, to order. There's no need to rush -- our old friend, the Palm Court, isn't going anywhere soon.

Of course, nowadays even farmers can't afford to eat like that every day, much less we couch potatoes. But when we're feeling more than peckish in the a.m., we treat ourselves to the fantastic fare found at the Farm House.

The Farm House is part of an old working Arizona farm -- the barn and some working tractors are still out back. Tables are tucked in former bedrooms, plus the original parlor and living room. It's definitely a blast from the past, with jam jars on the tables, hardwood floors and period furniture.

Portions are farm-hand humongous: giant omelets with sausage, bacon and potato, and cinnamon rolls the size of wagon wheels. All our favorites are here -- home-style pancakes, waffles, muffins and more.

It's not fancy, but it's filling. And it tastes mighty fine. It's the good life, down on the farm.

Readers' Choice: The Good Egg