There are thousands of low-carb products on the market, which is a good thing, because most of them taste horrible. If you're looking for a little something to go with that plate of bacon and eggs -- maybe a low-carb tortilla or some chocolate for dessert -- it's all trial and error, 'til you find something edible. That's why we're so happy to have the Low Carb Mall. We have to chuckle at the name. It's a little ambitious, but then again, this shop is the Metrocenter of Atkins-friendly foods. You'll find rows of Atkins products, along with just about everything else on the market -- low-carb brownies, pasta, spaghetti sauce, margarita mix, peanut brittle, Gummi Bears, even something called "popped cheese" -- as well as vitamin supplements, books and anything else you might need to do the protein thing.

Bon appètit! Just don't mind the after-taste.

A few years back, some New Ager ruined the simplicity of fruit and ice by calling it a smoothie and adding enough supplements to choke a steroid addict.

But at AJ's Scoops, the art of the smoothie is returned to its essentials. You tell the nice folks behind the counter what fruits you like, and they'll purèe fine specimens of those fruits into a delicious drink topped, if you so choose (and you should), with gourmet whipped cream. Don't mention protein or echinacea or fiber boosts. It's all femme Greek to them. Just the fruits, ma'am.

Then sit down in one of the plush leather chairs and stare out the large corner-store windows at the bustlings of Second Street and Washington -- one of the most cityscape-ish scenes in the Valley -- and celebrate the fact that you're supporting a small independent business.

If AJ's smoothies aren't health-supplemented enough for you, think of it this way: The place has the ambiance of an intimate little pub. You'd be smoking cigarettes and drinking Irish whiskey in a real pub. Instead, you're having fruit.

Isn't that enough health for one day?

These flowers won't wilt, but we can't guarantee they'll be around long. Cookies in Bloom will deliver your loved one a lovely bouquet of iced cookies for any occasion. We like to challenge the folks at this little shop to get really creative, and they never disappoint -- they can decorate a cookie with anything!

Cookie monsters, this bud's for you.

Many a wayward Gothamite has found himself or herself in the Valley thinking, "What the hell have I done?!" Sometimes you find them hyperventilating, in a state of shock that they can't find the Village Voice and the Daily News on every corner of P-town. There's even a special ward at the Mayo Clinic devoted to ex-New Yorkers who've never recovered. They lie around all day watching Seinfeld reruns with glazed eyes, muttering, "All I wanted was a matzo!" Poor sods. Someone should've told them about Chompie's. With locations in Tempe, Phoenix and Scottsdale, Chompie's is so close to the real deal, you'll think you hopped the F train to Kew Gardens. That's because these kosher-style delis are run by the family Borenstein, who themselves moved to the Valley from Queens back in the late '70s to establish an outpost of Gotham in the desert. Sure, they've got classic American and Italian fare, but we go for the bagels and bialys with a schmear, the kasha varnishkes and kreplach, the matzo ball soup and the brisket au jus, the stuffed cabbage and plates of pickles that come with each order. And if we're feeling especially sinful, we'll order a side of the chopped liver, the best in the Valley, which comes in ice-cream-like scoops and is so smooth and rich we think Ben & Jerry's should consider adding a pint of Chompie's chopped liver sorbet to its repertoire. So next time, if you see an expat New Yorker going into convulsions, send him to Chompie's. He'll survive.

Readers' Choice: Chompie's Deli

How can something so simple go so wrong so often? Phoenix is a veritable citrus mecca, yet drinks bearing no trace of lemon get passed off as lemonade here every day. And don't get us started on how people have served us Crystal Light with a straight face, as if we wouldn't know the difference. Lemonade is simple; there's no need for creativity, tricks or gimmicks. Or artificial sweeteners. If you like your lemonade tart and straightforward, Jamba Juice does it just right. Buried amidst a lengthy menu of smoothie combinations, it's easy to overlook the almost quaint listing of lemonade. But it's there -- so satisfyingly sour, with just a little sweetness, and chilled with plenty of slushy ice. Pucker up.

It's not often that we break into tears at the sight of food. But as soon as we walk into Guido's, our hearts swell, and our eyes well up at what must be the closest thing to heaven on Earth for real (or wanna-be) Italians.

How could we not grow misty over San Marzano tomatoes? Overwhelmed by olive oil, bread and imported pasta? Smitten with sauces, marinated olives, cookies, pastries and even imported antacids? And that's just the stuff on the shelves. Mascarpone cheese, handmade mozzarella, carved capocollo, hard salami and more than a dozen from-scratch salads fill the cooler cases (the tomato and garlic salad is outstanding). If we don't feel like cooking our own, Guido's caters with its take-home lasagna, cheese tortellini, potato dumplings and ravioli. Whatever you do, take time to smell the sausage. It, too, is made by hand, gloriously juicy and bursting with fennel.

The name is deceptive: This is a shop with regular hours, not a weekend event. For cooks who despair of finding exotica like in-season cherries for less than $7 a pound, or for those who have heard tell of mythical eggplants that come in colors other than purple but have never actually witnessed such sights, the Guadalupe market is a mecca. It's not a tiresome gourmet shop with the precious-gem prices we've come to expect for things that should be everyday items, like ripe tomatoes or local grapefruit. This is a straightforward produce market, run by people who understand that they're selling vegetables, for goodness sake, not Russian caviar. Guadalupe Farmer's Market's plentiful produce is fairly priced, always fresh, and local whenever possible. Better yet, its fruits and vegetables taste like foodstuffs you've only heard about from elderly relatives who swear no one sells produce like they did "way back when." Guadalupe does.

Short of manning your own farm, you won't find a better, more reliable way to get organics than with the home delivery service of Boxed Greens. This company cuts out the middleman, so the just-picked treasures come right to our door, guaranteed by 7 a.m.

This certified organic produce is grown mostly right here in Arizona, without pesticides. It's all the best the season has to offer, with pick-of-the-week freshness and boutique varieties that can't be found anywhere else. Working exclusively with small farms (500 acres or less), Boxed Greens snags such delectables as heirloom tomatoes, unusual herbs or fruits, all picked to order. Sure, these precious pleasures cost more -- purple beans for $7.95 a pound, plus $9.95 for delivery -- but aren't your taste buds worth it? We know ours are.

Gourmet grub doesn't have to be expensive. This we learned at Trader Joe's, an amazing emporium of more than 800 upscale items for remarkably palatable prices. We love the freshness, and the variety of product, too. TJ's shelves -- and now ours, too -- are stocked with delicious things like sweet garlic sauce, artichoke lemon pesto, Satsuma mandarin oranges in syrup, Super Colossal Sevillano olives, Manchego cheese and Bluefort Aged Sheep's Milk Blue Cheese. TJ's has wines from around the world, organic cereals, mozzarella and tomato salad, poultry sausages, low-fat curried turkey burgers, ready-to-eat meats, Spaten Beers from Germany, Fiji Water, designer jerky, and even gourmet goodies for our pets.

We wouldn't trade Joe's for anything.

Saturdays, fall through spring, take on special meaning for gourmets who are looking to score some extra-special treasures for just a few shekels. Perhaps it's a bottle of little-known boutique wine, an obscure blue-veined cheese, artisan breads or organic produce. We find them here, all crafted or grown by independent vendors, and at factory-to-us pricing. Fair-weather Saturdays are when Guerithault operates his farmer's market, set up in the parking lot of his restaurant from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. The market opens for the new season on October 13.

If all this shopping makes us hungry, we can pause to snack on some of chef Guerithault's mouth-watering creations. Made-to-order crepes always make their way to our mouths, the whisper-thin pancakes filled with any number of delectables, savory or sweet. Duck tamales delight our taste buds, and soufflés satisfy even our most formidable stomach rumblings.

Hey, we may be cheap, but with Vincent's market, we can still be classy, too.