No snack has fallen harder victim to the chauvinism of body-conscious health nuts than the potato chip. All that starch and fat, you know. But no one around here does them better than Jilly's. You can keep your fat-free pretzels and (unhh) veggie platters -- these chips are the phattest fattening snack you could hope for. Paper-thin, crisp as communion wafers and so generously salted and deeply cooked that no dip is required, or even offered. And to top it all off, a giant plate of them is only a buck. Take that, personal trainer.
Best Classic Pizza
Papa Johns
several Valley locations
Best Desserts
Cheesecake Factory
15230 North Scottsdale Road, Scottsdale
480-607-0083
Best Gourmet Pizza
Pizzeria Bianco
623 East Adams
602-258-8300
Many chefs test their creativity on appetizers. ItÕs less risky to get wild with small-portioned dishes, and diners feel more comfortable sampling an exotic plate thatÕs not entree-priced. Chef Gregory Casale is a perfect case in point. WeÕve never seen such fantasy at any other fancy restaurant, with compelling, perhaps a bit crazy, choices like Southern fried frogsÕ legs over leek-tomato fondue with black-eyed peas. Starters are also where Casale lets loose with dynamite delicacies such as Thai lobster bisque with kaffir lime leaf, lemongrass and Thai crayfish cake; hazelnut-encrusted veal sweetbreads over truffle-scented pea risotto in roasted corn broth; and beef tartare with spicy soy vinaigrette and cold sesame noodles. With starters like these, we know our meal is going to come to a most exquisite finish.
The fact that Michael DeMaria is a spectacular chef is reason enough to choose him to cater your next intimate party. The fact that he was trained at some of the Valley's best resorts makes him perfect for large corporate events, too. He handles each occasion with excitement and ease. DeMaria does on-premises catering in his high-tech kitchen studio adjacent to his elegant restaurant (12 to 17 guests) where diners watch the chef in action with Q&A sessions and take-home recipes. Or, you can relax at the Chef's Table (6 to 10), with multiple courses paired with wines. Larger groups of 20 to 60 can take over the private dining room, with glowing fireplaces and views of a pond-strewn garden, or one of the patios (12 to 60), with desert trees, adobe walls, a cascading waterfall and mesquite-burning fireplaces.
For catering at your own location, DeMaria's team arrives equipped for a memorable full-service wedding, private cooking in our own home, party at the property of our choice, and even backyard barbecues and picnics. The dining choice is yours, with tasting menus, custom menus, multi-course services and more, selected from an encompassing arsenal of contemporary, American and Mediterranean specialties. Better yet, let the remarkable DeMaria choose the menu.
Barmouche may be a fancy-looking restaurant, owned by a big-name celebrity chef (Mark Tarbell). It may have upscale dishes like "laitue," organic butter lettuce with Roquefort cheese and walnut dressing. But we go there for the things that everybody loves and understands -- mom's home cooking. Tuesdays through Saturdays, there are Blue Plate Specials (chicken fried steak, spaghetti and meatballs, fish and chips). Every day, there are the cozy basics, like "Mark's Mom's Mac & Cheese," biscuits and country gravy, or baked veal meat loaf. Desserts can't be missed -- chocolate banana bread pudding, ice cream sandwiches, an old-fashioned banana split and peach cobbler hit the spot. Not only cozy, though, this comfort cuisine is gourmet, prepared with loving care and the best ingredients (that cobbler gets its fruit from the local farms of Queen Creek, so we know it's fresh). It's the best of two worlds -- like mother's cooking, if we had grown up in the house of Julia Child.
Cyclo's owner, Justina Duong, loves to chat with her guests. One of her favorite stories to tell is about her chicken noodle soup, a classic comfort food she used to consume by the bucket as a child. It's one of the best sellers on her menu.
Except Duong is Vietnamese, her restaurant is Vietnamese, and her chicken noodle soup is Vietnamese, a dish called mien ga. We assure you, though, this is food that spans any culture. The chicken is tender breast, torn in toothsome shards and grilled. The noodles are delicate, opaque glass variety. The broth is aromatic brew, puffing steam, bobbing with chopped green onions, tears of pungent cilantro leaves and bean sprouts, plus a splash of fermented fish sauce and lime.
The bowl is huge, almost too much to finish, but so captivating that somehow, we always find the room. And at just $5, it's as comforting to our budget as it is to our soul.
We are so pleased to have found exquisite tortilla soup served at a most unlikely place: a restaurant inside the out-of-the-way Fiesta Inn resort at Priest and Broadway. It's a business hotel, a very nice one, but tucked on the edge of an industrial park. That's right, this is the best Mexican recipe we've come across. The rich broth is almost a stew, so packed is it with chicken, onion, bell peppers and chiles (spicy hot!), and capped with lots of fresh avocado, Cheddar and blue-red tortilla frizzles. It's robust, soothing, exciting and in all ways excellent. Way to olé, Fiesta Inn!
Zinc could send out merely decent smoked salmon. Lesser quality fish could be hidden when wrapped in such perfect, pillowy crepes as it is here, the feather light batter infused with fresh herbs. Less succulent fish might be forgiven, when dipped in such rich lemon crème fraîche created by Zinc's chefs. Even only okay fish might seem fine when partnered with the most garden-gorgeous shaved cucumber, red onion slivers and aromatic, peppery arugula, hand-picked to best the best of the day. Yet Zinc takes its salmon to a pristine level, smoking only the finest swimmers in-house and presenting it in eyelash-thin ribbons. Silky, succulent, melt-in-the-mouth wonderful, this is the fish of our wishes.
Ice cream always sounds so good. But sometimes, the anticipation doesn't live up to the experience. What's with the thick, sugary, virtually tasteless artificial pastes some places dare to call the cold stuff these days? Not Flor, though. Here, the frozen treats are handcrafted with real ingredients, for real, vibrant flavor. These are Mexican recipes made with actual fruits and nuts, prepared in-store, and the result is dazzling. Consider creamy coconut, mamey fruit, papaya, dulce de leche caramel, mango, guava, watermelon and nuez (pecan cream). Some 42 flavors tempt, with sweet snacks like coconut cream, mango cream, banana cream and peach cream, or pineapple, cantaloupe and lime. Try the avocado, and the elote (corn) -- you'll be pleasantly surprised. Frankly, with Flor, we're floored.
Readers' Choice: Cold Stone Creamery
A salad bar is vegetables, right? Sure, unless you're in Brazil, where it's everything and anything that a creative chef can fit onto a long, self-service table. Or unless you're at Fogo e Brasa, a Brazilian restaurant where the lavish salad bar spans more than two dozen exotic dishes. Yes, there's traditional lettuce and such. But there are also king crab legs, shrimp, octopus, mussels, crab, pastas, exotic cheeses (feta with red and yellow tomatoes, or expensive Parmigiano-Reggiano) and anchovies. Calamari are a marvel in themselves (they're served in marinated rings, and as rolled steaks stuffed with peppers or tuna). When it does come to veggies, Fogo e Brasa doesn't cut any corners. There are lots of high-end options, like artichoke hearts, vibrant wild mushroom salad, marinated and grilled Portobello mushrooms, marinated green beans, grilled asparagus and hearts of palm. Several hot dishes make this buffet a complete meal, changing per the chef's whim, but perhaps including something like swordfish in coconut sauce, and always featuring a complimentary basket of fresh-baked mini-cheese rolls. The display is included with dinner, but now can be purchased separately, too. When it comes to salads, Fogo e Brasa is raising the bar.
Okay, so sometimes we're completely old-fashioned. We yearn for the days when we could order a meat dinner at a steak house and get . . . a meat dinner. Just a nice, normal cut of beef, with potatoes, salad, and maybe some veggies. None of these frou-frou 400-degree plates seen at high-end chop houses now, no sizzling butter splattered about, no impossible-to-manage half-a-cow portion, and no $40 price tag that includes nothing on the side but a fork and knife. At the Stockyards, cooks have been serving the same honest meat since 1954, culled from prime aged beef. Our favorite, prime rib, comes in a lovely eight-ounce size, or the more manly 20-ounce bone-in model. It's exquisitely juicy, tender, and hits the spot with creamy horseradish, homemade jus, a relish tray, soup or tossed green salad, baked potato or cowboy beans, hot biscuits and honey butter. There are no surprises, and no sticker shock. At lunch, this prime rib sets us back just $13.95; at dinner, the priciest big cut is just $25.95. At the Stockyards, you can just brand us happy.
We're thinking the reason Crackers is located in such an odd spot -- in an industrial park hidden behind a Holiday Inn and a Home Depot -- is that its owners need warehouse space to inventory the huge selection of desserts offered at this charming breakfast and lunch hot spot. On any given day, the Victorian-ambiance restaurant serves up at least 16 mouth-watering marvels of sugar. They're all homemade, too, so we imagine fork lifts of carrots coming in for the dreamy carrot cake, kegs of Kahlúa for the brownies, and swimming pools of sour cream for the praline cake. Of course there would be pallet after pallet of chocolate for the fudge cake, German chocolate cheesecake squares, German chocolate cake, chocolate bread pudding, and éclairs. Perhaps these guys have their own farm as well, to provide fruit for delights like strawberry cheesecake, coconut-chocolate cheesecake, orange rum cheesecake, lemon coconut cake, lemon bars and raspberry cheesecake. We'd have to be crackers to go anywhere else for our sweet-tooth fix.
Readers' Choice: Cheesecake Factory
Chef Giovanna Fox isn't making money on volume. Not with just two ovens that bake only three cheesecakes at a time. But her fabulous creamy cheesecakes, each crafted with special care, are the best. We were believers after the first bite of her basic New York model, traditional and entirely decadent. But now we like to stop into her cute little cake parlor and sample slices of the more than 20 other varieties she sculpts. Try the white chocolate and amaretto, on a shortbread-almond crust topped with whipped cream, slivered almonds, and drizzled caramel. Or cookies 'n' cream (vanilla filling blended with sandwich cookies on a chocolate cookie crust, topped with whipped cream, crumbled cookies and drizzled hot fudge). Maybe the kiwi lime (real Key lime juice and sliced kiwi on a vanilla cookie crust topped with whipped cream and kiwi purée). Day after day, whatever the flavor, Giovanna's takes the cake.
We were standing in line, waiting for the clerk to wrap up our cake, explaining to a fellow customer that the decadent "zebra" confection we had selected was for our special someone's birthday. Another customer nearby suddenly shrieked, "Oh my God! I just bought one of those cakes for my husband's birthday last week! It was the most amazing thing ever!"
So true. Tammie's pastries are nothing short of wondrous, pieces of edible art handcrafted fresh daily. They're beautiful to look at, in swirling shapes of molded ganache, studded with fresh berries, wrapped with ribbons, and decorated with piping and florals so elaborate they almost look like pieces of expensively upholstered furniture. The flavors are incredible -- like our zebra, white chocolate mousse layered with chocolate cake and raspberries, or banana pudding and chocolate sponge cake layered with chocolate Frangelico mousse and toasted hazelnuts. With 72 hours' notice, Tammie will make a custom cake with all our favorite flavors, though we're happy as can be with the standard stuff, like strawberry shortcake, a beautiful pink and white round with vanilla custard, strawberries and vanilla sponge cake. There are always tarts, bite-size cream puffs, cookies, scones, muffins and pop tarts, too. Such a sweet life!
We still remember the first time our mom brought home some hummus. She was on her health food kick, and had been frightening us small children with strange "foods" like tofu, bean curd, and soy milk. Really, she promised, this time we would like it. We wrinkled our nose at what looked like beige baby food, tentatively dipped a carrot stick in the goo, and tasted. The rest is history. Since then, we have hummus at every opportunity, dipped with vegetables, pita bread, toast, crackers, even on pizza.
Caspian has the best hummus we've ever found. The garbanzo bean dip is thick and silky like mousse, sprinkled with paprika and a joy to slather on warm pita. Why, we've even called in a takeout order of a pint, and then eaten it all by ourselves. After all, if mom says it's healthful, more must be better than less.
We love eating our veggies, especially when they come from Quiessence, a garden-to-table experience of contemporary American farm cuisine. Housed in a converted home amid the lush greenery of the Farm at South Mountain, the quaint cafe is open limited seasons, just Fridays and Saturdays, with one dinner seating each evening, and with reservations required (we recommend a month in advance). Why all the fuss? Because each menu is uniquely crafted, selected from what's the most fresh and flavorful from the farm's Happydirt Veggie Patch organic gardens, and picked just hours before our meal. First, there's a chef's tasting in front of the cafe's wood-burning fireplace. Then, it's a five-course carpet ride -- perhaps warm Wilcox goat cheese and tomato galette, petite herb salad and hazelnut pesto drizzle; then pan-seared sea scallops with wilted farm greens and gingered carrot sauce. We select our entrees: maybe pan-seared halibut fillet with green whipped potatoes and caramelized baby fennel; free-range chicken breast saltimbocca stuffed with prosciutto and fontina cheese atop wilted baby spinach and wild mushroom sauce; or asparagus and spring pea risotto with spearmint and shaved Reggiano. Next, it's a cheese course, like Cyprus Grove Midnight Moon with glazed cipollini onions. Finally, it's on to dessert, which might be lavender-scented crème brûlée alongside a strawberry-rhubarb tart. We bring our own wine, and cheer our good fortune. Such incredible vegetables sure do our bodies good!
We've eaten a lot of gyro sandwiches during our search for The Best, wondering if somewhere some eatery might be able to create something better. And now we're eating another gyro from Gyros Express, just to confirm that, yes, Gyros Express is absolutely the best in town. What's the secret? We don't know. We can just guarantee that there's no better pressed beef and lamb, looking like a huge fat log of juicy goodness, carved from a rotisserie and tasting of deep savory meat. Great generous portions come tucked in a comforter of freshly grilled pita, layered with tomato, onion and cucumber yogurt sauce on the side (crucial for dipping). The diet-minded can get gyros meat over a Greek salad, with lettuce, green pepper, onions, tomatoes, cucumber, Greek olives, feta and Italian dressing. Any way, and no matter how much we get it, we always want more.
We know, we know: Technically, sushi needs to be paired with sweetened rice to be sushi. And there isn't a speck of rice to be found on Sea Saw's menu. But we're going with the looser definition of sushi being tiny Japanese appetizers with fish as a starring role -- partly because there's no other way to describe the unique, global dishes Sea Saw chef Nobu Fukuda creates, and because this food is so good we'd call it anything just to get it into our mouths.
Think of it as Japanese tapas. Each dish is individually prepared to order, so plan on spending some time at the intimate bar. It's a thrill seeing Nobu whip and turn in his tiny work space, describing each ingredient as he plates it like art. We can select our own choices of "warm" or "cool" dishes, like shinshu mushi (sea bass and green tea soba in scented mushroom broth), or tako and tomato (sliced octopus, organic tomato, buffalo mozzarella, micro arugula, vintage Turley olive oil, citrus and wasabi aioli). Chilled edamame soup is a must, the soy beans puréed and drizzled with crème fraîche.
But the best way to experience this sushi is to put ourselves in Nobu's talented hands. We embrace the omakase, a tasting menu that changes nightly depending on what's best in the market. Some eight courses may appear, each paired with an exciting sake, champagne or wine. Blue fin toro tartare, hamachi with grapefruit and avocado, seared tuna tataki with roast beet purée -- these are just a few of the delicacies that may be in store for us.
Sea Saw, we salute your "sushi."
Chef-owner Michael Mishkin isn't yet 30, which may be partly the reason he's not hung up on the old-fashioned, tried-and-true of cooking. This creative guy has taken a new approach to the classic caesar, and bravo. His traditional toss of crispy romaine comes currant with spunky green chiles, crunchy frizzled tortillas, and cotija cheese, a salty white Mexican variety with a dry, crumbly texture. Add roasted chicken or grilled shrimp to make it a full, magnificent meal.
At Classic Italian, we never have to wonder whether any pie we order will be less than perfect -- we can watch it baking right in front of us in a wood-burning brick oven. The personal-size pies are made with from-scratch dough daily, fresh yeast and no preservatives. Whole tomatoes are hand-crushed and blended with spices, then draped with homemade mozzarella. The crust is cracker thin; the toppings are primo, just like in Italy. There's a plentiful list of pies, and custom creations are welcome. But we're delighted with two standards, thank you very much. The Capricciosa combines tomato sauce, mozzarella, lean ham, Toscano salami, wood-roasted mushrooms, sliced fresh tomato sprinkled with Parmesan, black olives, artichoke hearts, red bell peppers, pepperoncini and oregano. Bliss! The Italian sausage is another jewel, with tomato sauce, mozzarella, homemade thin-sliced pork sausage, wood-roasted mushrooms, onions, green bell peppers and oregano. It's
amore!
Readers' Choice for Best Gourmet Pizza: Pizzeria Bianco
Readers' Choice for Best Classic Pizza: Nello's
We've got a little secret. We like mayonnaise on our cheesesteaks. It may seem like overkill, seeing as Uncle Sam's sandwiches are already the best on the planet, enormous torpedoes brimming with so much thinly sliced imported meat that we can't finish even half of one. These juicy beauties are draped in lots of gooey cheese, and our choice of extras: pizza sauce, mushrooms, peppers, onions, lettuce, tomato and hot or sweet peppers. Everything is plopped on a squishy Italian roll (white or wheat), and we always ask for a fork so we can spear every last bit when the overambitious package falls apart. There's a reason this place has been packing people in for more than 20 years. The only thing that could make these steaks better is, you guessed it, mayo. Try it. See if you agree.
This is a true story: Once we were in Guido's waiting in line behind an ancient, impossibly tiny lady. She might have weighed 80 pounds, and could barely see over the top of the counter. She ordered a capocollo and provolone sandwich. When the deli server slid the plate to her, she gasped. This monster sandwich was so huge, so bulging with meat and cheese, she literally couldn't lift it. The server had to come out from behind the counter and carry the plate to her table.
Yet there's more than size to impress. Guido's uses only the most premium ingredients for its sandwiches -- Boar's Head, and the finest imported Italian brands. Meatballs, sausage and tomato sauce and all the salads are homemade. A hot roast beef is heaven, layered with soft grilled onions and green peppers with lots of Italian herbs, thinly shaved meat and ladles of juices so rich and savory, we actually slurp as we bite. It's hard to choose: Sometimes it's the chicken focaccia, with spinach, roasted peppers, grilled onions and provolone, baked until the cheese melts to bubbly goo. Other times, we go for the Italian sub, a massive masterpiece of salami, mortadella, pepperoni and provolone with lots of fresh lettuce, tomato, onion and Italian dressing.
Guido's sandwiches span nine inches long, and we've measured them four inches tall. But still need convincing that these are the best around? Well, as we stole one final glance at the miniature old lady, she was wiping her chin with a napkin, and there wasn't a speck of food left on her plate.
Readers' Choice for Best Sandwiches and Best Sandwich Shop: Subway
Sophie's calls this plate Les Frites – la Parisienne. It sounds completely intimidating until you realize that, hey, this is just a fancy name for French fries. But
mon Dieu, these are not just any fries. For less than five bucks, you get a soup bowl full of exquisitely fresh-cut shoestring potatoes, perfectly deep fat fried to be crisp-skinned with a succulent hot interior. They're dusted with fresh herbs, ever so gently salted, and served with roasted tomato aioli (think sweet, chunky purée, much more interesting than ketchup). It's not uncommon to simply order a plate of these fantastic fries and some fresh-brewed iced tea. For lunch, nothing more is needed.
(and 19900 North Remington, Surprise, 623-584-8494) Who says real barbecue has to be served in a dive, usually on paper plates, with plastic forks and nothing but reams of flimsy napkins to sop up the mess? The folks at Dillon's have figured out that, while we demand the best in our meat, we also don't mind some civilized surroundings while we gnaw.
Dillon's is a cute, converted old house that looks like grandma's parlor. It's got fancier staples than many places, like prime rib, turkey, and Northern Atlantic salmon. But this 'cue is as honest as any rough-and-tumble, smoke-spewing joint. Large portions and reasonable prices shout of authenticity. We can't go wrong with traditional slow-smoked St. Louis-style seasoned pork spare ribs, or tender baby back pork ribs. A half chicken is slow smoked, too, sealing in its juices, while turkey practically melts in our mouths. Juicy choice cut beef brisket, pulled pork in spicy vinegar sauce, smoked sausage, or burnt ends marinated in Cajun or sweet-mild barbecue sauce have us salivating just thinking about them. Sometimes we go for a kick: the Southwestern smoked stew, a comforting dish of smoked beef, pork, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, peppers and corn in a robust sauce. Sometimes we go for the kill: The Brontosaurus beef rib platter could fell a WWE champion, with its huge, full rack of meat. Take a 'cue from us: Dillon's is the best all the way to the bone.
Readers' Choice: Honey Bear's Bar-B-Q
BEST DOWNTOWN EXECUTIVE LUNCH
Durant's
2611 North Central
602-264-5967
BEST LATE-NIGHT MEAL
Denny's
several Valley locations
BEST HANGOVER BREAKFAST
Denny's
several Valley locations
BEST GOURMET PIZZA
California Pizza Kitchen
several Valley locations
BEST DESSERTS
Cheesecake Factory
several Valley locations
BEST HERO SANDWICH
Subway
several Valley locations
It takes a lot to get us out of bed before noon. Cold cereal won't do it. An everyday scrambled eggs 'n' bacon breakfast from Denny's most certainly won't. But J.P. will.
All the expected items are available, but they're unexpectedly good. A biscuit combo mounds a duo of fat dough rounds with two eggs, cubed grilled potatoes and ladles of creamy, sausage-studded gravy. French toast is just fabulous, splayed six slices across and fashioned from thick challah dipped in lots of egg and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Dress it up with cinnamon, fresh strawberries or gingered peach compote. Specialty pancakes are indeed special, crowned with fresh blueberries, blended with chopped mixed nuts, or crafted from natural whole grains. A wonderful oven-baked apple pancake comes glistening with fresh sliced apples and sugar-cinnamon glaze. Fancier and fantastic: five kinds of Belgian waffles, or a plate of three eggs scrambled with silky lox and chopped onion, partnered with three pancakes, buttery home fries or toast. And the pigs in a blanket are terrific. Plus, breakfast is served all day. That's well worth waking up for.
Cafe Ted is one of the most beautiful restaurants we've ever seen. That has a lot to do with its tranquil setting, off a private garden in an office complex in the high Sonoran Desert. Rather than following signs, we hunt the place down by following the slinky aromas of freshly baked muffins, Italian coffees and homemade cinnamon coffee cake. And what a beautiful way to start the day. The menu here is a creative offering of upscale American favorites, Italian coffees and an endless number of flavored espressos.
Breakfast is big. The office crowds flood in for starters like two poached eggs perched atop fresh-baked cornbread biscuits so rich, cheesy and kernel-clustered that they deserve their own billing. A "fiesta" hollandaise sauce is thin but rich, studded with tomatoes, and we make our own Benedict by adding slabs of Belgian bacon, four nicely salty pieces served with seasoned cherry tomatoes. Another wonderful reason for braving the dizzying daylight is the pancakes, three large orbs infused with lots of earthy nutmeg. We get ours topped with fresh, tart raspberries, alternating bites with strong hot coffee. Ted's at the head of the breakfast class.
We know we're getting older when it's a Saturday morning and our brain isn't pounding. We also know we're getting older when, if we do go out and drink, we're in a horrible world of hurt the next day. The kind that even hair of the dog won't heal.
But we're not ready to give up the grapes. So now, we just factor in a good, greasy breakfast to follow a night marinating ourselves in alcohol. The fat somehow absorbs the pain and calms the stomach. Or perhaps it just bloats us enough that we can crawl back into bed and conk out until our bodies have banished the toxins. Either way, we find ample excuse to work in a meal at New York Bagels 'n' Bialys.
The service here is as crabby as we feel. It's a little dark and dingy, so we don't even have to shower first. And the menu -- plus portions -- is massive. Cheap doesn't hurt, either (what's with the $10 cocktails at nightclubs these days?). For less than $7, we can fill up and out with three eggs any style, plus a choice of huge amounts of bacon, sausage, ham, pastrami, corned beef or salami. The plate includes (homemade) bagel or bialy, home fries and juicy tomatoes or cottage cheese.
Now if we could just get our breakfast companion to stop chewing so loudly.
We know Chandler is so far east that it feels like New Mexico, but if you actually know the difference between a bagel and a doughnut, and wouldn't eat a fruit bagel if someone pinned you and shoved it down your throat, it's worth the drive. Yeah, they have fruit bagels and fancy cream cheese, too, but they have real live New York bagels. Honest. Add a great deli with items like ambrosia salad, whitefish, black-and-white cookies and chubs, and you'll swear you were on the corner of Second and 10th, except that it's a lot bigger, a lot cleaner, and in a strip mall with parking. We recommend the "everything" bagel with cream cheese, but that's just us.
Pretzel carts are the first things we leap upon whenever we hit Manhattan; at a buck, pretzels are the only remaining bargain to be found in the big city.
So imagine our glee at the opening of Walker's, a shrine to handmade soft pretzels. Don't be confused; Walker's is an entire cafe, with a full, impressive menu of soups, salads, sandwiches, pizza, etc. But its specialty, and rightly so, is the perfect pretzel. They're steamy hot, cloaked with coarse salt and pulled in pliant, chewy mouthfuls. We can get them plain or salted. We can get a side of cheese dip (Velveeta, it has to be). And we can get a superb pretzel dog -- the frank juicy with beef liquor, wrapped in a golden bundle of dough.
Walker's even has a dessert pretzel, lavishly sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. What a delicious deal.
We actually hate the term "comfort food." It's been used so much over the last year that it makes us think the world is full of babies needing their blankies. But the truth is, some dishes invite us to curl up and cuddle more than others. When we miss our grandma and grandpa, we head to Weather Vane, where we can always count on those down-home dishes that fit us as close as flannel PJs.
Sweet, tart blackberry cobbler with buttery fluted crust. Fresh baked biscuits from scratch. Light-as-air strawberry shortcake. Creamy cheesecake. Oh, my. We're getting ahead of ourselves in our lust for dessert. First, we should start with dinner, tucking in to center cut pork chops, meat loaf swimming in gravy, or a Reuben. These are full meals, partnered with soup, salad or coleslaw, vegetables, biscuits and potatoes.
We're feeling awfully warm and cuddly.
We start thinking about lunch around, oh, 9 a.m., pretty much as soon as we've finished our breakfast bagel. On some days, our lunch escape is the only thing that makes slaving in an office bearable. Yet, in downtown Phoenix, it can be hard to find something quick, inexpensive and relaxed that's more interesting than just another sandwich.
Which is why, several times a week, you'll find us taking our noon repast at Focaccia Fiorentina. The cute Italian cafe keeps us coming back for its remarkably fresh sandwiches, salads, pastas and desserts (imported meats, cheese and vegetables are delivered fresh each morning; tiramisu and cheesecake are homemade). Nothing costs more than $7.50, with a half-dozen gorgeous pasta plates brimming with gutsy flavor for just $6.25.
This is tasty Tuscan fare, like the valtellina, a hearty hot sandwich of bresaola (air-dried beef), fresh basil, mozzarella, lettuce, lemon and extra-virgin olive oil on focaccia. We adore the classic rigatoni al ragu, loaded with lean ground beef, zesty marinara, fresh parsley, a touch of cream and Parmesan. The caesar is the real thing, too.
We may be just office peons, but we're very well-fed office peons.
If ever a restaurant looked like it was built for the noontime spirits and cigar set, it's Kincaid's. Sure, it's a chain, but a mighty fine one, and if it takes corporate money and vision to bring such a class act to our barren downtown dining scene, we're all for it. Rich cherry woods, acres of sparkling glass, gleaming brass fixtures, vintage scenes of Phoenix on the walls and servers decked out in authentic old-time steak-house whites all lend classic flair.
Food is as delicious as the decor, with carefully selected staples like wild Copper River king salmon from Alaska; handmade, small-batch Maytag blue cheese from Iowa; fresh tropical Pacific game fish from Honolulu; and flavorful, juicy beef from Omaha's best stockyards. It's difficult to think about returning to work after such a feast as rock salt roasted prime rib with seasonal vegetables, red jacket mashed potatoes, natural jus and fresh Oregon horseradish. So sometimes we go a little lighter, with seared Northwest Dungeness crab cake atop sweet-and-sour and beurre blanc sauces, Asian slaw, sushi jasmine rice and pickled red ginger. We always hope our lunch companion, though, orders the center-cut top sirloin steak with martini butter and juniper seasoning so we can pick bites off his plate.
Desserts bring the final decadent blow: superb renditions of crème brûlée, Key lime pie, chocolate cake and apple tart. Meeting adjourned.
The folks at El Camino Cafe have a sense of humor. Here's how they tell us to find their restaurant: "Drive around aimlessly while parched and hungry and then call us up blabberin' about some road we've never heard of until we hang up on you."
Yet then, once we arrive, the laughter fades. They call their cuisine "Western ranch cooking," but unless tequila is considered a major food group, we're not leaving here walking straight. Consider the Tombstone Businessman's Special, promising heartburn on a plate, bringing a combo of spicy beef jerky, a jalapeño-pickled egg, a seven-ounce beer and a shot of tequila. Sandwiches from the grill come with a choice of sides: steak fries, potato salad, or a shot of tequila. For dessert there's, imagine this, a shot of tequila Sauza Hornitos served with an orange wedge and cinnamon.
All this before noon. If this keeps up, we won't make it to happy hour.
We love homemade treats, but who has the time? Martha Stewart's been one-upped once again, with the discovery of Arcadia Farms' granola. One of the Valley's best little cafes rolls oats, roasted pecans, dried apricots, pumpkin seeds and brown sugar to make the perfect breakfast cereal or anytime snack. You can buy the granola at Arcadia Farms, or call and order it ahead. It's also for sale at the Willo Baking Company in Phoenix -- enough to turn anyone into a serial granola eater.
No one makes everyday meats and cheeses as exciting as Miracle Mile. The Mile doesn't mess around, carving up towering portions of roasted turkey breast, honey cured ham, rare roast beef, pastrami, corned beef, brisket, barbecued chicken, even liverwurst and kosher salami. These are honest deli delicacies -- homemade albacore tuna, seafood, chicken or egg salad. It's impossible to leave hungry; the monster plates are paired with a mountain of French fries, potato salad or coleslaw, and a fat dill pickle.
We've experimented with our own fair share of sandwich recipes (hint: chocolate frosting on toast doesn't work). Yet leave it to the master at Miracle Mile to send out real winners. Specialties include the Straw (hot pastrami, melted Swiss, hot sauerkraut), the New Yorker (hot pastrami, coleslaw, Miracle Mile dressing) and the Triple Decker (two layers of hot pastrami on rye, imported Swiss, lettuce and Miracle Mile dressing).
Sandwiches this good truly are a miracle.
A tuna salad sandwich is a peculiar thing. It can be pretty basic -- fish, mayo, bread. But for some people, including us, it approaches an art form where we're mighty particular indeed. No dark meat tuna. No Miracle Whip. No fancy throw-ins like capers or balsamic. No soggy bread. Yet then, it's hard to please all the people all the time.
We'd be surprised if the Desert Grind had too many complaints about the tuna it crafts. Rather than one sandwich, this casual place offers four, each just different enough to satisfy individual cravings. The first is, of course, the classic, whole white albacore mixed with celery, jicama, dill and mayo with tomato, red onion, lettuce and more mayo on wheat. Then there's the Amy's Favorite, with salad, red onion, bean sprouts and honey Dijon on wheat bread. Not enough? Maybe the Mom's version will get you -- salad, dill pickle relish, tomatoes, lettuce and mayo on wheat. Yet there's still one more, the tuna melt, topped with provolone, marinated tomatoes, red onion and Dijon on toasted wheat.
If there's a Greater Tuna, we haven't found it yet.
It's without doubt the crowning achievement of the art of sandwichery: the club. It takes slabs of turkey -- one of the most healthful meats around -- and slathers it with layers of mayo and a ration of bacon. Lettuce and tomato are added not as mere garnish but as actual food, and a third slice of bread is oftentimes wedged in just to show off. And it's piled on so high that the very creation requires -- no, demands! -- toothpicks to keep it together. No self-respecting sandwich shop doesn't have a club on its menu. So why is a good one so hard to find? Well, we looked, and for our money, the best so far is at Buckets. The turkey is breast meat sliced thin and stacked high, and the bacon is crunchy like the whole sandwich depends on it, which it does. And the wheat bread is toasted just enough to support the whole concoction. There are some places out there that may do it better, but most of them are in Manhattan. So dig in. Just remember to remove the toothpicks first.
They're listed as escargot Provençal, even though they're served in drawn butter and not the cream sauce that snails are generally served in au Provence. But we don't care what this, our favorite late-night dinner spot, calls them, because these slugs are our favorite escargots in town. Baked in a wood oven, these little devils are served in drawn butter spiked with white wine and seasoned with shallots, garlic and parsley. Sometimes we add a caesar salad and, with a fistful of Barmouche's chewy sourdough bread, we make a meal of these tasty garden pests. Where Barmouche chef Brian finds such fresh snails in the desert is anyone's guess, and maybe we don't want to know. Just keep them on the menu, please.
We feel almost guilty that we don't spend every waking moment at Postino, a hip, happening wine cafe in a converted post office. Postino has an incredible wine list, rotating selections as the mood hits. We particularly like the Folie a Deux, a California Menage a Trois white. The Smoking Loon Syrah gets points just for its funny name.
As for meals, Postino isn't about dinner; it's about superior snacking. What an incredible offering of noshes, too. An olive bowl, overflowing with sharp fruit. Pesto and bread. Prosciutto with sweet-tart figs. Specialty cheeses, flanked with nuts, fruit and toast. And the best of them all, an antipasto platter laden with assorted meats, cheeses, breads, olives and fruits. But then there's the bruschetta, a massive serving of four flatbreads spread on a wooden cutting board. Toppings are indulgent: roasted artichoke, mozzarella with tomato and basil, crushed tomato basil, white Tuscan bean, goat cheese, ricotta with pistachios, roasted peppers and goat cheese, salami pesto, or prosciutto with figs and mascarpone. Just promise us that if we're not there, you'll have some for us.
We grew up on mac-n-cheese, homemade with ooey-gooey neon orange Velveeta. It was one of our all-time favorite meals. When we left home for college, we were too lazy to cook it Mom's way. Mac-n-cheese devolved to the boxed variety, powdered sauce mixed with milk and butter. It was still pretty good, and we thought we were mighty fancy when one day we sprinkled black pepper on it. Mild cheese and spicy heat, how great is that?
Then we grew up. One day, we wandered into Roaring Fork, chef Robert McGrath's cowboy cafe, and life was never the same. Because we found mac-n-cheese on his menu, but mac-n-cheese unlike any mac-n-cheese we'd ever had before. Sheer heaven.
McGrath puts an American West spin on his noodles, with a wow base of puréed poblano chile. More than macaroni, he sautés diced red bell pepper, red onion, minced garlic and corn kernels in corn oil until just tender. Then he stirs in the pasta and green chile, plus lots of grated pepper Jack cheese and heavy cream. The finishing touch -- generous sprinkles of kosher salt and cracked black pepper.
Sorry, Mom, we love you, but Velveeta just can't cut it anymore.
Gazpacho may be a summertime soup. Yet in the Valley of the Sun, it's summer almost year-round. So in our minds, gazpacho should be Arizona's state soup -- it symbolizes everything the shimmering hot Southwest needs. Chilled relief. Vibrant flavors that grip us by the lapels and send sparks to break our sweat. Enough substance that, when paired with a piece of good crusty bread, it's a meal.
For that state staple, we nominate Spyros Scocos' recipe. As owner of Iguana Lounge, he has taken a classic and infused it with funky Cuban charm. This soup arrives in a large parfait glass, tumbled in bright broth so sparkly we suspect carbonation. It bobs with sharp fresh tomato, red pepper, avocado, celery, scallion and onion. Even in its oversize portion, it disappears all too quickly.
It seems kind of sacrilegious to honor a hamburger shop for its hot dogs, but the two go together like baseball and, well, hot dogs. And when the dogs are as topnotch as the ones served at the Chicago Hamburger Co., it only makes too much sense to us.
The dogs in question are all-beef Viennas imported from Chicago. Our favorite style is the traditional, tucked in a bun and dressed with mustard, relish, onions, pickle, tomatoes and sauerkraut. Just one is a full meal at just $3.15, partnered (for free) with hot, mealy French fries or soupy coleslaw. But sometimes we want to step out a little, and for that, we turn to the Cheddar dog, the chili dog or the ultimate, the chili/cheese dog. The Chicago Co. doesn't disappoint with fans of Polish dogs, fire dogs or bagel dogs, either. Once, when we were feeling really macho, we tried to take on the massive "Dave Jantz Double Dog." It bit us back.
How much do we love these dogs? We still smile when we think of the Valentine's Day note posted once on the daily special board. It read, "Vienna Hot Dog w/fries 2.25. Nothing says I love you' like a steamin' weenie." We couldn't have said it better ourselves.
Why on Earth would anyone bother with a Big Mac when for about a buck more they could have one of the most glorious, juicy burgers known to man? Harvey's isn't about ambiance -- it's dark and grungy, and on any given lunch hour we can bet we'll find more than a few beer-suckers at the bar. But those burgers, man!
Here, the beef is doused with Burgundy as it cooks on a special, extra-thick grill (to keep the wine from evaporating too fast). It's drenched not just once, but four times, then topped with cheese if we like, and drenched two more times. Big Mac, ha. Our basic burger is a whopping one-third pound, with no special sauce needed -- this big, beefy taste doesn't hide. Toppings include fresh, crisp lettuce, tomato, onion and pickle. If we want more, we can add beef chili with beans and more onion. When we're super hungry, we pig out with the super wineburger, a full two-third-pounder with cheese.
Sorry, Ronald, but our favorite burger chef goes by the name of Harvey.
We went to Chicago recently, and while we were there, we made it our personal mission to sample as many Chicago beefs as humanly possible. We never knew our bellies could handle such massive quantities.
Interestingly enough, we had originally fallen in love with the Windy City's signature sandwich right here in Phoenix, when one of our friends, a Chicago transplant, introduced us to Luke's.
So simple a recipe, but so often other places cut corners and it comes out all wrong. At Luke's, the meat is premium, thinly sliced and so tender it's almost lace. The jus is critical -- it's got to be all natural, thick, peppery and so generously applied that the French roll supporting it gets soggy down to its deepest ends. It's got to be a mess, with beef falling off the edges of the bread, reined in only by an optional cloak of melted provolone.
Luke, the Chicago beef force is definitely with you.
We'll never be able to go back to Ore-Ida. Our heart is taken with Roti-Joe's fabulous fries. These deep-fried beauties come in a woodpile serving of hand-cut Belgian-style spuds, enormous steak-fry logs of primo potato spiced to high heat and dipped in Bohemian mayo dip (lots of hot, hot pepper).
Sometimes we get them with rotisserie prime rib or chicken. But often enough, we simply sit at the bar, sipping a glass of Penfolds Shiraz/Cabernet, slowly munching the hot, mealy slabs like cocktail nuts. After a few salty handfuls, we're almost sloppy in our happiness. It's Roti-Joe's, for when we just want to fry, fry away from this hectic world.
How could such deceptively simple food -- "smashed" potatoes, olive oil, lemon juice and garlic -- be so utterly addictive? That's the question we attempt to answer every time we frequent Pita Jungle for a garlic dip fix. Cheap, delicious pita sandwiches and salads have always been reason enough to visit this artsy cafe, but once we discovered the strong, tongue-tingling garlickiness of this creamy alternative to hummus, nothing else would satisfy when an extreme garlic craving kicked in. Served with a warm plate of -- what else? -- pita bread, the dip is a delectable appetizer. Funny thing is, we love it so much that we have to force ourselves to save room for dinner.
We've been going to the original Uncle Sam's on Shea as long as we can remember, after it replaced a grimy Pizza Hut at least 15 years ago. After all this time, though, we have yet to find any other shop approaching the magnificence of these extraordinary cheesesteaks.
The secret's in the meat, imported beef thinly sliced/chopped, tossed on the grill and heaped in insanely high portions on a soft Italian roll (wheat is available, but c'mon, white's the only way to go). There are 11 steaks to tempt us, ranging from just meat, to pizza, to our choice, the model loaded with juicy grilled mushrooms, peppers, onions and lots of gooey cheese. Sometimes we get hot or sweet peppers (free add-ons), but lately, since a friend turned us on to the treat, we've been asking for a swab of mayo. It's rich and wicked. Toss in a stack of crispy hot crinkle fries and we're ready for a blissful nap.
The steaks are available in chicken, too, and it's lovely, tender breast to be sure. But is chicken really steak? Who cares?
We don't turn our snouts to the sky over fast food. Hey, the idea is great. It's just that so much of the actual eats are so awful. Greasy burgers, limp tacos, stale sandwiches and watery rice bowls aren't worth it, even if they allow us to shave a few seconds off our busy day.
Then there's Maxie's World Grill, a little heaven on Earth owned and staffed by people who don't seem to realize they're operating a fast-food joint. Servers and line cooks actually smile at the customers. Prices are low, service is speedy, but there's not a drop of grease to be found. There's even a drive-through.
The menu has it all: barbecue, burritos, deli sandwiches, panini, pitas and salads. Owner Jeff Lee isn't going for ordinary, however. Service is quick, but dishes are cooked strictly to order on a wood-burning charbroiler. All salsas, dressings, sauces and soups are made from scratch. Fries are hand-cut from Idaho potatoes. Ingredients boast top names, with meats from Boar's Head, bratwurst from top Valley sausage shop Schreiner's, gelato from Phoenix's renowned Berto's, and tortillas crafted by Phoenix's famous Carolina's. Burgers are hand-formed Angus beef, and flank steak is USDA choice.
Homemade empanadas are crafted with chicken or spicy beef. Clam chowder swims with actual clams. Cookies and brownies are homemade; lemonade is fresh-squeezed. There's even a fresh salsa bar, with a rainbow array of mild, hot and fiery styles.
In the fast-food game, Maxie's is a brave new world indeed.
Classic Italian owner Halim Nefic notes that some call this comfortable rustic spot the Pizzeria Bianco of the East Valley. That a place as terrific as Classic Italian competes with one of our Valley's greatest pizza shops says a lot. That we agree says even more. We love Bianco, but have to give bonus points to Classic because sometimes we can actually get in. It's always busy, but at least we don't get stampeded by ravenous diners like we do at Bianco.
It's impossibly good, this thin-crust pizza baked in a wood-burning oven. Pies are 12 inches and serve two, though we've been known to finish more than a few all by our lonesome. Simple is stunning with the traditional basil and garlic, a white pizza with olive oil and fresh mozzarella cheese. The Capricciosa is a complicated thrill, uniting tomato sauce, fresh mozzarella, the finest lean ham, Toscano salami, wood-roasted mushrooms, slices of fresh tomatoes sprinkled with Parmesan cheese, black olives, artichoke hearts, red bell peppers and pepperoncini. And nothing compares to the spinach pie, zingy rich with tomato sauce, fresh mozzarella, wood-roasted spinach and mushrooms, zucchini, artichoke hearts and garlic.
We remember the days of straightforward chicken. No vertical presentation, no poke-in-the-eye spears of rosemary, just honest, nice poultry. Of course, the chicken we reflect back on wasn't all that great. The plain Jane bird rarely gets enough respect, hence the phrase (shrug required) "it tastes like, well, chicken." And usually, greasy chicken.
Leave it to Nonni's to make the best of both worlds. This is a grandma's cooking, yet only if your grandma were an insanely talented chef versed in charming, Italian-edged American cuisine. Everything here is superb, the carpaccio, the Sicilian sausage, the seasonal vegetable antipasto. It takes real talent to make a chicken sing, though, and for this, we have to look past everything else fabulous in this kitchen.
Fans of Rancho Pinot (same owners as Nonni's) will recognize the signature Sunday chicken, a tender bird braised in a savory broth of white wine, mushrooms, herbs and onion with thick, toasted polenta triangles alongside.
Our star is the crispy flattened hen. This is the chef's version of a traditional Italian dish that grills chicken under a brick -- here the kitchen sears its poultry in a cast-iron skillet with another skillet weighing it down. The result is a beautiful bird with a crisp crust. It lounges on snowy banks of mashed potatoes kissed with olive oil, plus Christmas-green fresh spinach cooked wet and juicy with just enough garlic to give it guts. It's a perfect pullet.
A while ago we didn't feel well. We felt really sorry for ourselves. We figured we were going to die, and summoned all our last strength to dial the phone. Please, we whined to a friend, Parrilla Suiza, puhleez. This is a good friend; he knew what we meant and made haste to the restaurant, picked up a giant bowl of consommé de pollo, and whisked it to our bedside. The first spoonful trembled in our tiny, feverish hand. The second burned our lips. By the third, that rosy glow had returned to our cheeks, and as we licked up the last bit of rice, celery, shredded breast, carrot and slinky broth, a little bluebird landed on our windowsill and began to sing. Now that's some soup.
We love steak. But perfectly prepared prime rib is like a drug to us, exhilarating down to its every last silky horseradish-slathered, salty jus-dunked, juicy-firm bite. It's got to be the real thing, the highest USDA grade available.
At Harris', they're so proud of their meat that they display it in aging coolers off the restaurant's entry. It's Certified Angus Beef exclusively, and dry-aged on the premises for 21 days. While virtually no fat arrives on the finished product, we suspect some is there during the cooking process -- a creamy ribbon of fat is critical to the beef, soaking its velvety richness into the meat as it slowly roasts.
Our sumptuous slab is pricey, $28 to $32 depending on the cut, but well worth the investment for its quality. That it includes sides of perfect potato and premium vegetable like crisp snap peas (freebies unheard of in top steak houses these days) makes it all the more delicious. At the end of dinner, we stuff our cheeks with complimentary peanut brittle from a tray in the lobby.
When it comes to prime numbers, the only one we need is Harris' on our speed dial -- reservations are strongly recommended.
Since 1985, Texaz Grill has been making good, old-fashioned Texan-style grub "one meal at a time." Well, as the restaurant celebrated this year its 500,000th chicken-fried steak sold, that's an awful lot of meat pounding, hand-battering, fried to crispy golden work.
There's simply no better substantial lunch than the chicken-fried steak, cubed beef double dipped and served with fluffy mashed potatoes, oceans of rich gravy, corn and a biscuit for just $5.50. The only thing that beats it is the supper, where for just $9.95 we get a double portion of steak, paired with a garden salad (love those pimientos), potatoes, even more gravy and a biscuit.
The meat is cut on site from USDA choice aged beef. The potatoes are homemade, but then so are the biscuits, the gravy, the salad dressing, the batter, well, everything.
Hey, if our childhood home had cooking like this, we never would have left it.
We like the Barbecue Company because, while its silky, smooth barbecue sauce is topnotch, it doesn't rely on it to hide lesser-quality meat. There's a lot of work that goes into cooking here, like its rib tip plate, one full pound of rib tips that have been dry rubbed, slow smoked and grilled with just a touch of Q-Sauce (more on the side for dipping).
All the classics show up in style: St. Louis-style pork ribs, smoked chicken, pulled pork, smoked brisket, or Q-turkey. A sampler brings a bit of everything, served with two ribs and choice of two side dishes plus bread. And we love the specials -- grilled ancho barbecue meat loaf, the Smokin' Bleu (pulled pork topped with bleu cheese coleslaw), or the Dynamite (hot peppers, chiles, onions and jalapeños, sautéed with Red Diamond marinated brisket on a jalapeño roll with melted pepperjack). The only complaint we have for this Southwestern-style 'cue company is that it's open only for lunch and only on weekdays. But still, this 'cue is a coup.
The shepherd's pie at Rula Bula Irish Pub and Restaurant comforts us as much as the soft sheepskin blankie we had when we were wee ones. This version rules, the loose pot pie stocked with ground sirloin, carrots, potatoes, parsnips and peas in a rich broth of red wine and a garden full of fresh herbs. The blend bubbles under a cap of champ -- essentially firm mashed potatoes spiked with scallion and no shortage of butter, baked to a crispy finish. It's an old world dish that's entirely welcome in the modern world.
El Chorro Lodge is a Valley landmark, lauded for its historic roots, graceful foothills setting and famous sticky buns -- massive cinnamon rolls that come with every meal. But just as worthy of fame are the most delectable eggs Benedict anywhere in Maricopa County. El Chorro doesn't underestimate the power of these beauties, featuring them at Sunday brunch, but also daily at lunch and dinner.
The classic needs no improvement: two eggs, lovingly poached to a hot liquid center, stacked with grilled Canadian bacon atop crisp English muffins, then smothered in heavenly rich hollandaise. El Chorro even offers an alternative: How about a turkey Benedict, the breast arriving juicy and bacon-wrapped? Or filet mignon instead of Canadian bacon? Even vegetarians are considered, with a sunny-flavored mix of grilled tomato, asparagus, eggs and hollandaise. Eggscellent!
Another upscale, contemporary American restaurant might be puzzled, or even insulted, that we decided the best thing about it was its vegetables. True, the entrees are wonderful at Rancho Pinot. But what really gets us going is the garnish. Nobody has a better eye for selecting, and a better hand at preparing, nature's finest bounty of garden goods than does chef-owner Chrysa Kaufman.
Who needs anything else, when we can get our fill on brilliant veggie creations like roasted beets tossed with spicy greens, toasted almonds and sheep's milk feta, or a savory tart of green garlic, leeks and spring onion with ricotta and manchego? And while other places may make do with steamed broccoli, carrots and potatoes, Kaufman conquers new ground with sides like Tuscan kale, rapini, artichoke-bacon-potato hash, flageolet beans with caramelized garlic, squash blossoms, and garlic spinach that's so good we want to curl up in bed with it.
When we're at Rancho Pinot, you can't make us not eat our veggies.
A potato is no simple spud. There are hundreds of varieties grown around the world, each with a distinct shape, skin, color, texture and taste. There's a different potato that's best for different uses, such as mashed, French fries, chips, salad, boiled.
But we're not concerned with what type of potatoes the kitchen uses at Peruanitos, an outrageously delicious Peruvian restaurant where absolutely everything on the long menu sparkles. Picking potatoes is the chef's job. Still, we are smitten with the spuds that arrive at our table, one glorious creation after another.
We could live on this stuff -- papas a la huancaina (in creamy, spicy queso fresco with palillo herb), papa rellena (spicy beef wrapped in a mashed potato shell with red onion salsa), causa rellena de atun (layers of mashed potato stuffed with tuna and Peruvian spices), sopa de leche (potato soup), papa a la diabla (potatoes with a creamy salsa of onion, queso fresco and boiled egg), and carapulcra (mashed and sun-dried potatoes with pork, peanuts and spices).
Peruanitos changes its potato dish selections periodically, but we've found that a woeful stare at our server works wonders with special requests. Any way you slice it, these tubers are tops.
We've dreamed of being trapped in a sushi restaurant. We try to run, but everywhere we turn, there teems more maguro, hamachi, tako, uni, ebi, sake, tobiko. The problem is not in escaping, it's in catching the slippery fish and shoveling it into our mouths before we wake up.
Now we're living the dream at Sushi 101, where there's an all-we-can-eat special for $19.95, no chasing required. There are some restrictions: Leftovers are charged at full price, including rice. This means that diners who bite off more than they can swallow face penalties on their bills. If we can't finish our shrimp tempura roll, or try to sneak in more value by not eating the rice on our nigiri sushi, we'll be charged the full per-piece sushi price on top of that $19.95.
We have no problem with that. We know, down to the grain of rice, exactly how much sushi our stomach holds (years of practice). And Sushi 101 servers warn us up front that this is not a buffet. We can order as much as we want, in as frequent intervals as we want, but we'd really better mean it.
A big part of popping the question is the style of how it's done. None of that "Well, we might as well get married, I guess" kind of stuff.
The thing about El Encanto is that it's centered on a beautiful lake, bobbing with graceful ducks and geese. While we're getting fed truly delicious Sonoran food (viva la margarita!), the waterfowl are hoping we'll spring a quarter into one of the grain-filled gumball machines. Turn the knob, fill a little paper cup with delicious goose chow, and the birds come flapping over.
Now here's our idea: Put the quarter in the machine. Fill the cup with grain. Then, take that expensive rock and stick it down into the bird seed. Hand the cup to your sweetie. Just be sure she doesn't toss the whole kit and caboodle in the pond. Isn't that romantic?
You don't have to travel to France to enjoy crepes. Instead, stop in at our favorite bistro right here in town for a spectacular selection of entree and dessert crepes.
Crepes salees are very thin, lightly salted buckwheat packets, folded around some of the most seductive stuffings imaginable. We ascend the French Alps, packing in fresh spinach, Swiss, béchamel sauce and nutmeg. We know the way to St. Tropez, stocked with tomato, zucchini, bell pepper, onion, garlic and herbs du Provence. And the Forest crepe marries fresh mushrooms in a white wine sauce with plenty of cream, garlic and herbs. The Normandie crepe is a sweet invasion of warm apple slices, caramelized with cinnamon, while the French Riviera crepe is an orgy of homemade light custard crème and fruits.
With just 166 rooms but Four Diamonds, it's clear that the Royal Palms understands how class cohabits with intimacy. Rather than catering to the masses and impressing with sheer quantity, Royal Palms puts exquisite effort into the tiniest details of every single element of its operation.
While other brunches use the flash factor of acres of food to draw oohs and aahs, T. Cook's offers a refined finish to the weekend, offering a prix fixe menu of à la carte Mediterranean-inspired classics. While we're not leaving as gluttons, what we do eat is guaranteed to be the very best in its league.
If we're feeling dainty, we can go for the $19 cold buffet, an all-we-can-eat extravaganza of fresh seafood, smoked salmon, gourmet salads, grilled vegetables, fruits, cheeses, breads, pastries and more. If we want to supplement -- or substitute -- our feast, we can select from T. Cook's regular breakfast and lunch. This means classy dishes like spinach and oven-dried tomato quiche; white truffle and fontina cheese omelet with chicken leek sausage; asparagus and wild mushroom soup; lobster and avocado with butter lettuce, shaved fennel and garlic jus; or seared pork tenderloin with sweet potato pancake, Savoy cabbage and apples.
All this in a brilliant, Southwestern hacienda setting lush with gardens, and T. Cook's is truly something for a special Sunday.
When we began investigating Kazimierz's wine list, inspired by next-door cafe's Cowboy Ciao (same owner), we knew we had our work cut out for us. What a masterpiece of obscure, cult, sensual and surprising wines. The list spans page after page, and would be entirely intimidating if not for the fun narrative to help us along. If we had a flashlight, we could sit here in this dark cafe all night just reading the quips:
"NV Gruet blanc de noirs, New Mexico, half bottle. The expatriate Gruet family, tired of the ridiculous French tax laws, moved to the one area of the planet they felt most mirrored the soil and climate of Champagne . . . who would have guessed it was Truth or Consequences, New Mexico? (although rumors of it being tied to an alien experiment at Area 51 are surely false, or at least stretched a bit)."
"NV Mountain Dome brut, Washington. Flavor wise, this is crisp, clean, balanced and refreshing, but the reason we bought it was the little elves on the label."
"'98 Burge Family semillon, Olive Hill, Australia. This starts out smelling of rubber and chloroform (it's not important how I know the smell of chloroform, it's need-to-know basis and you don't need to know), then changes to multiple layers of tropical fruits, finally evolving into the exact aroma of a box of jujubes (and it's not important how I know that, either, I just do)."
And -- on New Zealand Merlots: "New Zealand is about as synonymous with Merlot as I am with kiwi juggling, but this one is a winner (I did once juggle a Lake Geneva Playboy Bunny and a Miss McHenry runner-up, but I was quite youthful and generally anesthetized at the time, consequently more nimble and courageous; nowadays, I'm lucky to find my pants)."
If people knew Hungarian food like we know Hungarian food, they'd be at Peter's Budapest Cafe every night of the week.
Prepare to indulge heartily here, and heavily. Hungarian food mostly is enormous platters of tender, juicy beef piled atop plump noodles; breaded, fried veal cutlets nestled alongside great hunks of buttery fried potatoes; and deep-fried mushrooms, proud of their grease and cloaked in fat suits of tartar sauce. It's classic comfort. Favorite dishes include gently sautéed chicken livers, oven-baked pork loin, meat loaf in chubby slabs, sausage-potato-egg casserole, and obese sausage links resting on a bed of glossy tricolor peppers. There's no holding back the good stuff, either, with pools of rich cream sauce, lava flows of molten cheese, dollops of tangy sour cream and desserts that are more huge, sugar-entombed shrines than simply food. But most gratifying for us, the cuisine is rapturous, thanks to creative use of distinguished spices like paprika (spicy-sweet crushed pepper powder) and poppy seeds, plus sour cream to enrich rather than overwhelm.
If people only knew. If they'd only give it a try. The Valley would be such a happier place.
We're choosy about our cookies. None of the prefab, out-of-a-bag stuff for us, thank you. We want fresh-baked, with only the finest all-natural ingredients. And this is exactly what we've found at Chocolate Star, where the ovens are always on and the larder is always stocked with delights like Ghirardelli chocolate, fresh whole eggs, Arizona pecans, real butter, black strap molasses, old-fashioned oats and plump raisins. We can buy a dozen cookies for us, or baskets with coffee for gift giving. The selection is short but oh so sweet: royal chocolate chip, spicy ginger crisps, oatmeal raisin, pecan sandies, double fudge, peanut butter, snickerdoodles and mocha coco. For choosy cookie chewers like us, the choice is clear -- Chocolate Star shines.
Cookies Amour owner Lynne Wellish doesn't just have to keep her customers happy. She's got to answer to the Greater Phoenix Vaad Hakashruth, the authority that determines whether a Jewish kitchen is kosher. She had a rabbi approve it before opening and pays a fee for ongoing inspections.
The result for her kosher-cookie-craving customers is a wide variety of premium treats, made with imported chocolate, real vanilla and butter (non-dairy types are available, too). They're baked daily; there is no freezer.
There's a favorite for everyone: chocolate chip, milk chocolate chip with pecans, oatmeal spice, apricot shortbread bars, classic peanut butter, raspberry shortbread bars, chocolate decadence and much more.
Brisket can be a thing of beauty. Basically, it's beef, but beef that's been seared, seasoned and roasted with vegetables and red wine for hours on end until it's tender and oh-so-sumptuously infused with flavor.
Frankly, though, all that cooking jive is way too much work. So we're thrilled that the folks at Scott's Generations do it for us -- and better than anyone else. No dried-out meat here -- this carved bounty is juicy even without gravy. No fat, either (we hate blubber on our brisket), just lean, carefully trimmed slabs -- and no extra charge for extra lean here, by the way, as if a better cut could be found. We like to build our brisket into a sandwich, stacked a full eight ounces, served on a fresh-baked onion roll alongside coleslaw and pickle spears. It's a brisket worthy of bravo.
A friend has been gushing to us -- endlessly -- about this exciting ice cream shop he'd found in Chandler. Huh, we thought, we certainly respect his taste, but could a small store be that much better than the superpremium, handcrafted scoops we find in our local gourmet restaurants?
Oh yeah. We finally got out there to try it, and now, just try keeping us away. Angel Sweet makes its divine gelatos fresh every day, and is this stuff a knockout. Somehow, it manages to be low-fat, but you'd never know to taste the thick, rich Italian ice cream. One glance at the more than two dozen flavors on display, and our heads are spinning.
Angel Sweet's recipes, and many of its ingredients, come straight from Italy. Fruits are in high form, intense and arrogant, partnered with classic concoctions like tiramisu, panna cotta with caramel, and stracciatella (Italian chocolate chip).
Which reminds us: We really should give that friend a call back and thank him. But we can do that later, after we finish our dessert.
This stuff is truly good for you, and truly special. You can eat like a pig, yet leave still feeling petite. Even better, it's one of the only health food places in town that looks like a real, elegant restaurant rather than a hippie hangout hut.
What's magical? How about merza farangee (grilled eggplant with sautéed onion, garlic, tomato, fresh herbs, feta and olive oil, dipped with toasted garlic pita and cucumber-yogurt sauce), hummus-tabbouleh pita, or tofu portobello (sautéed silken tofu, spinach, onion, garlic, ginger root, tomato, feta, olive oil, lemon and soy sauce with brown rice, toasted almond-saffron-raisin)? When we crave chicken, we get it spicy with mushroom, bell pepper, onion, scallion, ginger root, celery, garlic, tomatoes, fresh herbs, Persian spices, feta and soy sauce. And while there's no beef, we can get shrimp (scampi) and lamb (gyros).
Even dessert is delicious, with velvety vegan creations including pumpkin pie, carrot and cheese cakes, or Persian saffron rice pudding. It's all a dream, capped with a hot cup of Persian chai tea with rose water, rose petals and cardamom.
Damn, it's hot. No matter what time of year you're reading this, we feel pretty safe in saying, damn, it's hot. So we find great relief in soaking our skulls at Island Ices, a funky place specializing in soft water Italian ices and frozen premium custards. A specialty of the house is ice and custard blended together as an Island Ice Shake.
It's as good for us as it tastes. Ices are made with real fruit, and custards are 90 percent fat free. Ice flavors are bright and refreshing, like cherry, lemon, mango, watermelon, piña colada, blueberry, grape, prickly pear and cotton candy. Custard comes in chocolate or swirl. And though we had to wonder when we heard about it, we're now devoted fans of the Island Breeze, a gelato combination of Italian ice scooped between two layers of custard. How cool is that?
When we're looking to get fresh, we head to Fresh Blenders. We have our reasons.
It could be the two free "super nutrients" blended into each smoothie. And these options are tangible substances -- bee pollen, oat bran, soy protein -- rather than chemical cocktails with vague, fancy names (a bowlful of "Femme Booste," anyone?).
It could be the immense variety. Fruit n' Tea Freezes of juice, fruit, green tea, vitamin C and folic acid. Vegetable blends of beet, carrot and celery juices. Cappuccino served hot, cold, flavored, in yogurt shakes. Non-dairy smoothies for the lactose-intolerant. MET-Rx shakes for the flab-intolerant.
Truth be told, the reason we love Fresh Blenders is this: Smoothies contain the only fruit our intestines ever see, and with flavors such as Orange Creamsicle Delight and Banana-Peanut Butter Yum Yum, this place makes nutritional noshing more score than chore. Plus the counter is piled with 98 percent fat-free cookies and brownies.
We can feel our thighs shrinking already.
We know these tarts are special, since they're spelled in the
très European "tartes." Each little jewel is handcrafted by the bistro's "Tarte Goddesses," and they're to die for (or at least diet for). We're thrilled with the expertly balanced flavors and the restraint in cloying, tooth-shattering sugar. The signature tarte is a symphony of chocolate crust brimming with bananas and coconut cream that's brûléed to order. We're also addicted to the white chocolate nectarine blueberry bread pudding tarte, a luscious mouthful made with homemade brioche, fresh fruit and caramel crème anglaise.
About a half-dozen tartes usually are on the menu, and they may change with the seasons (rustic peach in the summer). Yet whatever the selection, there's something that never changes about these desserts: They're divine.
On the episode wherein he scheduled a date with a deaf woman, Jerry Seinfeld made a fine suggestion: "How about six? Six is good."
While numbers never were our strong point, we can appreciate a simple mathematical formula now and again. Here's one: Gooey fondue plus swanky lounge plus tiny pitchforks plus sticky fingers equals sexy with a capital SEX. No matter the flavor -- Grand Marnier-Chocolate, Godiva White Chocolate or Butterscotch-Caramel -- this fondue formula liquefies first-date tension.
Like the mixed messages that make our dates so very frustrating, the nibbles are both nourishing (strawberries, raspberries, bananas) and naughty (cubes of cheesecake, bites of brownie, squares of sponge cake). And how enticing that, once the morsels are gone, there's no way to get to the remaining chocolate without plunging our fat fingers right into the pot. Sure, the room is filled with Scottsdale's thinnest and most beautiful. All the better to parade around with chocolate smeared across our ever-loving faces.
No one's looking -- just fondue it.
Hobe has been with us for 42 years, though the last decade has been a bit of a bumpy ride for the purveyor of fine meats, seafood and poultry. About 10 years ago, it was sold from its original family, and a roller coaster of quality ensued. Now, though, it's back in the hands of someone who really cares, Eric Fritchen, former assistant manager of A.J.'s Purveyor of Fine Foods. That means we have found -- again -- our fix for the best in prime and choice beef, ocean-fresh seafood, Young's farm turkey and chicken (absolutely the best in the world), lamb, and Arizona-raised shrimp.
It's fun to wander the shop and see what's new and exciting. If we want exotic game, we can ask for, and get, pretty much anything on special order. But we're captivated by that succulent steak, so thick and firm, blood red and singing with juices.
Woo-hoo, Hobe!
Let's be clear: This is the best place to
get a pig. This is not necessarily the best place to actually
be a pig. Because Smokey O's specialty is whole roast pig, delivered hot and ready to serve (or raw, for people who have a hankering to dig their own pit and fill it with flames). What's the use? Why, a luau, of course.
Smokey O's marinates its porkers in special seasonings, then roasts them for 27 hours over applewood smoke. The poor pig is then defiled with an apple in its mouth and a lei around its neck, but it sure tastes good. It's not even all that expensive -- $7.95 a pound for a big cooked pig, $3.50 raw. Poor pig, lucky us.
Mary Elaine's rates tops in our foodie books partly because of the fact that its dishes are all printed with capital letters. Not just lobster, but Butter-Braised Maine Lobster With Grilled Apple and Heirloom Tomato Fondue, with a suggested wine pairing of Messmer Muskateller Kabinett Halbtrocken, Pfalz, Germany, 1996. Prices are spelled out, none of those tacky numerals (A Service of Caspian Beluga Caviar in the Traditional Fashion, 2 oz., One Hundred Seventy-five). No simple iceberg salad, but a toss of Romaine and Aged Parmesan Custard, White Anchovies, Violette-Mustard Vinaigrette (Nineteen).
The thing is, the food warrants the pretension, because it's all outstanding. Jackets are required for men, almost unheard of in this casual town, but the requirement is fitting for such European elegance in decor, table settings, ambiance and service. Who wouldn't dress in the company of a $3 million wine collection offering more than 44,000 bottles and 1,800 labels?
Our handyman knows how to fix anything. He also knows how to eat: hearty, heaping portions of he-man grub like chicken-fried chicken, meat loaf, chili, burgers, and breakfasts big enough to fuel him through a hardworking day. His favorite place to fill up when on the run for more building materials, and now ours, is the Peppersauce.
It's pretty much a truck stop, parked among industrial yards, massive warehouses and salvage dumps. But it's pretty, like a country farmhouse inside, and flowing with serve-yourself coffee, fountain drinks and good cheer. The food is the real deal, too, homemade and hearty (the charbroiled chili-size burger is tops, flooded with spicy chili, Cheddar cheese and onions; the meat loaf is like Mom's, served with mashed potatoes, gravy, corn and a dinner roll). Any of the breakfasts start the day with a smile, like the $4.25 specials (ham and green chile scramble, hash browns and toast on Tuesdays). Thanks to our handyman, we've got a fix on the best working fella's lunch in town.
When we were in college, we saw lots of things spinning through the air. But now that we have a firmer hold on reality, we realize that, yes, a pizza actually can come from some far-away planet. If it's crafted by the creative cooks at Cosmic Pizza.
The place is tiny (order through a cutout in the wall), yet the menu is massive, almost galactic. More than 50 toppings. More than three dozen pizza combinations. More than two dozen subs, plus calzones, salads and appetizers. All with an otherworldly theme. Check out the names of the dishes: pulsar, axiom, quark, Apollo 13, full moon, alien, Sputnik. It's almost as much fun ordering as it is eating. No surprise, Cosmic caters to the ASU crowd, staying open until midnight on weekends with $1 delivery.
The moon isn't made out of green cheese. Here, it's a pie topped with breadcrumbs, prosciutto, garlic, Romano and basil.
We love to party. Who doesn't? Yet we have still to figure out why, the more we abuse our bodies, the more our bodies cry out for even more rough treatment.
Places like Jack in the Box or Denny's are quick fixes, but we can never respect ourselves in the morning. We rub our blurry eyes the next day, see that crumpled sourdough Jack wrapper by the side of the bed, and dread sets in -- what have we done?
So now, we head over to Mickey's Hangover, a fun dive bar that serves its full menu until 2 a.m. on weeknights, 3 a.m. on weekends. It's trailer-trash food, but well-prepared trash, like Santa Fe rolls of four fat taquitos stuffed with chicken and chiles in a thin, potent jalapeño sauce. Or "Jesus on the Mountain," mounding hefty shavings of ham with crisp bacon, melted Cheddar, two fried eggs and potato chunks on a bun. Or Mickey's Monster, an enormous pizza piled with every topping offered in this universe. And miniature hot dogs are cute, tucked in little-bitty buns, topped with Cheddar and chile, with a tiny bottle of Tabasco served alongside.
Hey, it's not high cuisine. But at least we won't be ashamed when we awake.
It's a fairly frequent occurrence that we're working, puttering, reading, retiling the roof, solving quantum physics, when suddenly we realize that, oops, it's the middle of the night and we haven't eaten for more than 24 hours. The only thing in our fridge is something we might recognize if it weren't covered in green fur, and we're not about to run to the grocery store for some ramen.
Which is why we have Western Pizza on our speed dial. The kind folks here keep the kitchen open until 1 a.m. on weeknights, and until 3 a.m. on weekends. They even deliver (from 32nd to 68th streets and Thomas to Camelback roads)!
Western Pizza serves up victuals so good, we could eat them 'round the clock. One pie, actually, keeps us full for at least two days. The 18-inch large is almost three inches thick and weighs almost 20 pounds, loaded to the gills with toppings like the Western Round-Up -- mushrooms, pepperoni, salami, ham, peppers and onions under buckets of mozzarella. And there's plenty of other delish dishes from which to choose: souvlaki on a stick (savory pork in Greek herbs), fries and gravy, a half-dozen types of wings, spicy barbecued ribs, a flurry of filling salads and funky desserts (bowl of cookie, puffed wheat cake and such). Now, is it time for breakfast yet?
If you're talking turkey, there's no better name than Young's Farm, a poultry ranch in Dewey, Arizona. Of course, such quality meat is expensive, but Arcadia Farms doesn't worry about these things. This country-cottage cafe buys its turkey from Young's, then piles it mile high on its sandwiches, layering thick slabs of real, Thanksgiving-style roasted breast on homemade bread with mayo, roma tomato, sliced cucumber, pea shoots and baby lettuce. It's served with a side of potato salad, a plateload of red, skin-on chunks dotted with dill, bits of fresh bacon, parsley and scallion on a bed of greens.
We admit it: We're gluttons for Arcadia Farms' gobblers.
"On top of spaghetti/All covered with cheese/I lost my poor meatball/When somebody sneezed." The tragedy of this childhood parody of "On Top of Old Smoky" never quite resonated with us until we discovered the meatballs at Nick's. Now, if somebody sneezes on our supper, they're going to lose a schnozz. Nick's is gangbusters on primo meatballs, rolling them by hand with fresh herbs and fennel seeds. We could eat them plain, but in a sandwich, they're hog heaven. Picture four hefty orbs, swimming in tangy marinara, draped in mozzarella, then slid into a hot oven until they go crisp on the edges and the cheese melts to a rich, chewy blanket. It takes balls to be named the best, and in our book, Nick's has got 'em.
What makes a burger better? Just good, old-fashioned, tender lovin' care. At Chuck Box, your burger doesn't meet the grill of its dreams until you've lined up in front of the steaming charcoal broiler and asked for it by name.
Try the Big Juan, a one-third-pound beauty named after Chuck Box's "beef engineer." On hungrier days, gravitate to the Great Big Juan, at a full one-half pound. You can add cheese (Swiss, American or Jalapeño Jack) and toppings of guacamole or bacon. Start salivating as the meat sizzles merrily away, next to fresh buns lightly toasting over the mesquite wood flames.
When it's done, your burger is placed gently on a tray, to be taken to Chuck Box's fully stocked condiment bar to be gussied up just a little more.
Big Mac? Ha, that wouldn't even begin to put a dent in our appetites. No, when we want the beef, we want the
beef.
Segal's stops us in our tracks, with sandwiches that stretch even the biggest stomachs. The quarter-pound and half-pound burgers are simply warm-ups. The battle burger, a half-pound of meat topped with hot pastrami, starts the competition. But the full one-pound burger has us waving our white flag. It's all juicy, cooked to order, topped with whatever we choose and served with French fries and coleslaw.
We've found the beef, and it's at Segal's.
Beguiling beans. That's the only way to describe the luscious legumes at El Conquistador. It's easy to miss this place, which is hidden from the street, but to find it is to be rewarded. Here, the basic bean is elevated to a fine dish, multi-textured with the perfect balance of a creamy base and tiny bits of chunk. There's no lard in the recipe, and we don't need it, content with the most assertively beany flavor we've found in the Valley. A light gilding of Cheddar, some crispy chips and hot sauce on the side, and we're as happy as can bean.
What's more way-out West than barbecue beans? No self-respecting cowboy, after all, could make a meal without his trusty sidekick of beans. But they've got to be real beans -- not that canned, bright-orange stuff ladled out at tourist traps. They've got to be treated with respect, as they are at Joe's. Here, the side dish salutes kidney, lima and navy beans, thickened with shards of cooked-on-site sausage, chicken and beef. Insist on sopping up every last bit with Joe's terrific caraway Cheddar bread. Forget those tired old has-beans; Joe's are
must have beans.
What's there to an onion ring? A little vegetable, a little batter, a whole lot of oil, and there you have it. Unless you're at Dillon's. Then you've got an onion ring that's outrageous, over the top, and oh-so-wonderful.
These are absolutely some of the most delightful crispy critters we've ever chewed on. It amazes us how decadent a stark pairing of vegetable and batter can be; the sweet onion rounds practically float off our polka-dot tablecloth under their joyously greaseless coating. We can dip them in the ancho chile sauce (think spicy Thousand Island dressing) that's served alongside, but these rings don't need gilding of any kind.
"Home of the Windy City Slider," the Chicago Hamburger Company's sign reads, and yes, the shop makes a mighty good burger. But it's worth a trip all the way to Chi-town just for this company's French fries. If you think fries are all the same, you've been sleepwalking through fast-food joints. Wake up and sample these spuds. Magnificent models of potato, these are piping hot, skinless, generously salted and crisp-edged. Like any proud potato, though, they've got to be eaten fresh from the kitchen -- to transport the delicate sticks too far would be tater torture. A generous sackful sets you back a mere $1.29, and for just 50 cents more, you can gild the fries with cheese or chili. Save your two bits, though. Fries this good don't even need ketchup.
What's a cowboy steak, unless it's made by real cowboys? At Rawhide Steakhouse, the place is swarming with 'em -- manning the mesquite broiler, plucking guitars onstage in the dining room, and shooting each other to pieces in faux showdowns outside on Main Street.
We think Rawhide Wild West Town is a kick, with its dirt street, boardwalks, haunted hotel, general store, "widowmaker" mechanical bull, covered wagons, clown days and more. The star of the show, though, is Rawhide's steaks. Surprise -- the kitchen's under the direction of celebrity chef Michael DeMaria (Michael's at the Citadel), and his finesse shines in beefy flavor. Choose your cut: 16-ounce cowboy T-bone, 12-ounce New York strip, 10-ounce top sirloin, 24-ounce porterhouse, 14-ounce rib eye, or the slightly more dainty tender filet. Steaks come with all the fixin's -- tossed garden salad, all-you-can-eat cowboy beans, a daily side dish, and ranch toast. For Rawhide's cowboy steaks, we say "Yeehaw!"
The bar at Eddie's is pretty enough to eat, all fashion and fun in a "Moroccan living room" kind of style, with plush chaises and overstuffed chairs. But much better to chow down on are the best nibbles in town -- sumac-grilled lamb chops with mint hummus, spicy "mo' rockin'" shrimp with chewy honey dough balls, and Sonoran crab cakes with spunky red-pepper aioli, to name a few. But our hearts really beat faster for the horseradish mashed potato-stuffed shrimp with cactus pear and five-peppercorn ranch dip. Our eyes brighten as we alight on crispy chicken-stuffed spaghettini egg rolls with spicy peanut sauce. And we practically melt for golden-toasted seafood ravioli, slicked with apricot-voodoo glaze. With such superb starters, at Eddie's we never want to finish.
When we were kids, we couldn't stand liver. Then we discovered foie gras, and now we can't get enough. Of course, this isn't just your everyday liver, but a type that's been a prized delicacy since Roman times. The goose variety that's served here has been force-fed until the bird's liver weighs as much as two pounds. Bad news for the goose, good news for us.
Though Valencia Lane changes its menus with the seasons, its foie gras shows up regularly, and is always prepared simply. One of our favorite preparations here has it expertly seared, partnered with a few thimbles of flavorful pineapple chutney, dots of tart 100-year-old balsamic, and a little hill of radish sprouts. It's a remarkable explosion of complementary textures and flavors that has us licking the plate. Long live Valencia Lane's liver!
It's 1 a.m. on the weekend, and the bars have closed. We're hungry -- and nothing helps soothe a martini-molested belly like pizza. No problem; we've got Slices, serving until 2 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. We could scarf a whole pie, but would probably regret it in the morning. Instead, we'll go by the slice, selected from a variety of 19-inch rounds. We order piece by piece; these suspects are unusually large and filling, and often just one or two slabs will do us. Thin-crusted and tasty, the slices are salvation to our overimbibing -- a potato, bacon and Cheddar concoction, baked eggplant with roasted red pepper, chicken parmigiana and the best: meatball pizza. Sometimes you've just got to grab a slice of life and savor it.
Pizza isn't fast food. At least not in the eyes of chef Chris Bianco. A co-founder of the Valley's only Slow Food chapter, Bianco supports the European-inspired ideal of using only ingredients available from local artisan producers.
This means select produce from boutiques like Victory Farms, an organic empire that produces amazing micro mizuna, a salad green that tastes of mild mustard; micro arugula, a joyously bitter salad green; and, of course, the tastiest, most tempting tomatoes of which a pizza could dream.
Whatever the topping, each pie is fired in a wood-burning oven. It's worth the wait, and wait you will -- this bistro is packed every night, with no reservations accepted.
Here's wishing all men pizza on Earth -- straight from Pizzeria Bianco.
When you're really hungry, don't mess around. Get a large pie from Western Pizza. The 18-inch monster will leave you pushing back from the table, gorged, happy, and with enough leftovers to feast on for a few more meals. At almost three inches thick and tipping the scales at close to 20 pounds, these pies tackle even an offensive lineman's appetite. We're not sure how this place makes money, piling on the toppings for its Western Round-Up -- mushrooms, pepperoni, salami, ham, peppers and onions under an entire cow's worth of mozzarella for $18.50. There's no going to bed hungry, either. Western Pizza stays open until 3 a.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, and 1 a.m. other days. It even delivers late, too, from 32nd to 64th streets and Thomas to McDonald roads.
New York-style pizza is a precise pie. It needs to be huge, as big as a bicycle wheel. Its crust must be thin and foldable. It needs to be baked fresh, and just the littlest bit greasy. It can only be basic -- red sauce, mozzarella, and traditional toppings (no barbecue chicken or pesto potato need apply). And, it must, absolutely must, be available by the slice all day long.
At 4 Brothers, we can count on having more than a half-dozen varieties displayed in their pans on the long order counter. Our favorite is the Napoli Special, loaded with spicy Italian sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, black olives, green peppers and extra cheese. Slices get a quick warming in the oven (not a microwave), and a couple of bucks later, we're on our way, humming a sausage-scented "New York, New York" under our breaths.
Goats in Scottsdale's posh Fifth Avenue arts district? It's true, except these curried critters reside in stew pots, waiting for the next guest to order them off the menu at Callaloo. Perhaps the most abundant comfort food to be found in the Caribbean, goat stew is a classic one-pot meal designed to disguise the tough chew of animals aged past their usefulness. The stewing allows flavors and textures to merge, enhancing all the ingredients. Here, the goat meat is a quality cut, braised in chunks, seasoned and simmered in a thick, pleasantly gritty curry with morro (pigeon peas and rice), bits of bacon and plantains. Topping it all off is a fistful of callaloo, steamed taro root leaves that resemble bitter spinach. There's no question: Callaloo has got our goat.
It's true that a boot on a bun probably would be fun at Dawg n' Bergs, a place full of funky, friendly atmosphere. Here's a neighborhood joint at its finest, hidden behind a Circle K but packed with regulars who actually apologize to the cook when they can't spend more time (and money) there. "Busy nothing!" is the warm reply. "You gotta eat!"
We do our part, lured in by Dawg n' Bergs ravishing Italian beef. It's a masterpiece built on lotsa juicy, tender meat bathed in peppery jus, a soft cornmeal-dusted sub roll, and a few slivers of our choice of hot or sweet peppers. It's a two-fister, and when we're finished, we're full.
We gotta eat. And when we're eating Italian beef, it's at Dawg n' Bergs.
We can never pass up pasta, delicious and delightful in any of its hundreds of whimsical shapes. Should we ever forget why we love it so, one trip to Leccabaffi reminds us.
Soft pasta in this quiet, upscale eatery is homemade, lovingly cranked out by real Italians. Sauces are fashioned from scratch and married with straight-from-the-homeland-style ingredients. Spaghetti and meatballs? For shame. Instead, we're feasting on authentic pappardelle con salsiccia casareccia e pisellini (a mouthful that means pappardelle with homemade sausage, tomato and peas). We're nibbling on gnocchetti, semolina based instead of flour, then baked, sautéed and coated with a vibrant blend of fontina and Gruyère cheeses. And we're feasting on fettuccine, egg noodles tossed with lobster, organic tomato, garlic and extra virgin olive oil.
In Italian, Leccabaffi means "lick your mustache." In English, it means "lick your plate."
This is the stuff all sausages should be made of -- homemade European-style tubes crafted from recipes unchanged by Schreiner's since 1958. And with more than 100 varieties, there are no missing links here. We're partial to Polish kielbasa, German brat and brockwurst and Hungarian kishke, although sometimes we take the high-health road and go for low-fat poultry models.
Schreiner's, we salute your sausages.
The only thing better than a good hot dog is a double dog -- twice the pleasure, you know. And Luke's has both on its menu, all pure juicy beef, and served in classic Chicago style. These tasty pups come tucked in a fresh poppy seed bun, and slathered with yellow mustard, chopped onion, and neon green relish. The capper? A sport pepper, sliced tomato and a whole pickle, sprinkled just so with celery salt. Unwrap the white paper bundle and find a delicious extra: mounds of crispy, salty, crinkle-cut fries. At just $2.85, it's an affordable meal any day of the week. And that double dog? It's just a buck more. We're in puppy love.
Whether it's served steaming hot to chase off a chill, or dished up cold to take the sweat from our brow, soup satisfies. And Kashman's has made soup into a year-round comfort food. When it's chilly outside, Kashman's charms with its winter seasonal menu. Selections change daily, and include favorites like a hearty white chicken chili with onion and shaved Parmesan, sumptuous autumn pumpkin, double-beef chili, beef barley, and a zingy New Orleans corn and crab bisque. During the summer, Kashman's sets out beautifully complex Portuguese lemon mint chicken, and cool gazpacho. No matter the time of year, we can count on the classics: rich Santa Fe tortilla, creamy broccoli Cheddar, matzo ball, chicken noodle and a lip-smacking lime vegetable.
We suppose it's better to call Diamondbacks pitcher Randy Johnson "The Big Unit" than "The Big Johnson." Still, it's more information than we want to know, thanks. Who came up with this nickname, anyway?
The only such thing we're interested in exploring is The Big Unit Hot Dog served at Alice Cooper'stown -- a two-foot-long frank, all beef. And it's a big meal, served with choice of two sides: fries, Coop's coleslaw, potato chips, or calico beans. For half a buck more, we can dress our dog with cheese, chili or beer-soaked sauerkraut. Now that's a unit we can understand.
"Over 473,899 chicken-fried steaks served," boasts TexAZ Grill's marquee -- and we believe it. We're personally responsible for about 208,414 of those orders. That's how much we crave these jaw-droppingly good slabs of hand-cubed beefsteak, double-dipped in a sinfully milky batter and fried. This is down-home Texan tuck-in, too, served with roll-your-eyes wonderful mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, a buttermilk biscuit and a do-ya-right salad topped with green olives. We tip our 10-gallon hat to TexAZ Grill.
The drop-dead gorgeous historic Royal Palms property makes a delightful place to eat our veggies. Garden-fresh beauties are selected, whenever possible, from local, organic farmers. Boasting select seasonal dishes from Barcelona, Spain, and the Tuscan region of Italy, the menu tempts with such dishes as a salad of organic greens, tomato fresca and pine-nut dressing; chopped vegetable salad with feta and Kalamata olive vinaigrette; or watercress salad with baby beets and baked goat cheese. Sandwiches scintillate, such as a goat cheese and red pepper pita with hummus and sprouts. And soups soothe our very soul, like a dreamy carrot broth with chervil emulsion.
Though they're not always on the menu, vegetarian dishes are a highlight here. We ask for the chef's seasonal selection, roasted in the hunter's lodge-style fireplace in the dining room. A superb sampling includes grilled eggplant, roasted pepper, asparagus, and goat cheese cannelloni.
The menu at Don and Charlie's warns that its prime rib is served daily until it runs out. So we get there early. We've never been denied, no matter the time -- that's how well this kitchen knows its clientele -- but why risk missing the juiciest, most flavorful cut of rib in town?
The best cuts of meat are aged on premises, then slow-roasted to our order -- rare to medium-rare to showcase the quality of the beef. We've got our choice of sizes and savories, too. Usually the "small" 12-ounce is fine; other times we want the hungry man's large 16-ouncer. For beefier eats, get the prime rib bones, regular or barbecue style. Either way, tender meat melts in your mouth, dipped in rich jus and slathered with honest, zesty horseradish. And entrees come with complimentary chopped liver, an enormous breadbasket, a huge salad, and potato: au gratin, baked, double-baked or French fries.
So they're green beans. Soy what? That's just it. Edamame
are Japanese soy beans, and they're really good for you, packed with stuff that, among other things, is supposed to help prevent cancer. There's not much to edamame -- the pods are simply steamed and flecked with rock salt, then served hot. But this quiet presentation means no hiding faults, either. Pods must be pristinely fresh, and cooked just so, or else the skin slips slimy. Too much salt? Gak. Too little? Why bother? The wrong kind? That's just outrage: Real edamame are right only with rock salt. That's why we choose Zen 32, which gets its pods perfect every time. In a world of has-beans, these are our edamame dearest.
We never thought we'd pay $19 for a plate of old-fashioned spaghetti and meatballs and be happy about it. But that's before we discovered the soul-satisfying dish at Tarbell's. This is a full-flavored feast, starring a vibrant marinara made with organic tomatoes (yes, you can taste the difference) and hefty, beefy orbs. Plus, Tarbell's hip, beautiful-people atmosphere comes with the meal at no extra charge. When we've had a rough day, we like to snuggle up at the always happening bar and drown our sorrows in spaghetti. Works every time.
Albóndigas is fun to say. When prepared properly, it's even better to eat. The base is simple, really, just a long-simmered blend of beef stock, red pepper, tomatoes, chiles, and herbs like cilantro, basil and oregano. But at Via DeLosantos, this orange-colored soup is terrific -- light, clean and kicky with spice. It's crowded with all the right partners, too: chunks of sweet carrot, celery and onion, a smattering of rice, and, of course, meatballs. These meatballs aren't meager, either. Forget the stingy one, two, maybe three little balls served elsewhere. Here, they take center stage, the large herby orbs dotted with rice and soaking up broth like tasty sponges.
At Via DeLosantos, it's pronounced albóndigaaaahs.
Sometimes we imagine owning a pig, the kind that sniffs out fancy truffles, so we could train it to seek out fabulous fungi of the mushroom variety that we love so much. But after one day in Scottsdale, the pig would simply hand us our car keys, give us a map to Rustico, and spend the rest of its life in cool luxury watching TV on our couch.
At the charming brick and mural-adorned Rustico, we find joy as we bite into a mild-toned domestic mushroom, the fat cap exploding with juices and earthy nuance. What delight as we discover a secret chamber, bursting with fresh herbs and shrimp. And what pleasure as we scoop it all up with ladles of impossibly rich creamy garlic sauce. Bread! We need more bread right away -- to sop every last drip of this gilding.
Ah, Rustico. The only pig required for this marvelous mushroom dish is us.
Ave Maria. Or, more appropriately, what have you, Maria? Every day is a new bounty, ours for the finding as we step inside Maria's Italian eatery, with its huge antipasto misto table just inside the door. It's a cunning display; after we've seen the gorgeous presentation, we simply have to order it. Selections vary, but you can usually count on delicacies like fresh mozzarella, roasted peppers, artichoke hearts, grilled eggplant, marinated carrots and mushrooms, tomatoes, herbed green beans and grilled onions. Fancier treats include ocean-fresh mussels, prosciutto-wrapped melon, mortadella, caponata, and imported cheeses. It's an ample prelude to a sumptuous dinner, but somehow, we always manage to find stomach space. As Maria would say,
Mange! Mange!
It's high time to recognize that Chompie's offers way more than its beautiful bagels -- as in more than 60 types of sandwiches. Chompie's does all of its baking on the premises, with choices including kaiser roll, onion roll, challah knot roll, club roll, rye, whole wheat, sourdough, pumpernickel, marble rye, egg bread, bialys and, of course, 25 varieties of bagels. Then there are the cheeses -- nine types. Fair warning: These sandwiches aren't cheap ($7.50 to $12). But these double-fisters -- stacked a minimum of three inches high with top-quality meat, or five inches for a triple-decker -- can make a meal for two, especially since they're paired with fine steak fries, potato salad, coleslaw or pasta salad. And what wonderful combinations: the Penn Plaza, with pastrami, chopped liver, coleslaw and Thousand Island; the Mark's Monte Cristo, gorging deep fried challah with ham, turkey, bacon and Swiss; the meat lover's Brooklyner, uniting pastrami, corned beef and brisket. Chompie's: Come hungry, or don't come at all.
Capitol Coffee Co. may call our favorite sandwich the "MeanGirl," but we don't take it personally. Surely the chef is always in a good mood when she makes ours.
That's because this sandwich is always delicious, enjoyed in the cozy little refurbished home set with rummage-sale furniture, or taken to go, wrapped in foil to keep the meal hot. It helps that it's huge, layering thick slabs (really, not wimpy slices) of peppered turkey pastrami and provolone with romaine, tomato, German kraut and stone-ground mustard-horseradish sauce on springy focaccia. This meal subdues the meanest of appetites, presented with a choice of homemade soup, Poore Brothers' chips or fresh fruit.
For cranky comfort food, Capitol Coffee Co. is our choice. And we mean that.
We've met our meat maker. He's Jim Deligiannis, owner of Crazy Jim's, and he's the man behind the remarkable pressed, vertically broiled lamb and beef that is the backbone of our favorite gyro sandwich.
The gyro meat has a great supporting cast, too. Every fluffy, golden-toned round of Jim's pita bread is baked on-site, his tomatoes are fresh and ruby red, and his purple onion curls lend crunch under a cap of crumbly imported feta that literally melts on our tongues. We slather it all in homemade jajiki, a smooth, tangy cucumber yogurt sauce.
And when we're craving variety, Jim's got other gyro-style feasts, include the picado pita (gyro with grilled onion, green peppers and jalapeño), steak (extra lean NY with grilled onions, pepper and cheese), and chicken (charbroiled breast with Greek seasonings and served three ways).
Crazy Jim's has our vote. We'd be insane to go anywhere else.
Cave Creek Coffee Company has a simple mission statement: to roast the best damn beans available. We've got a mission of our own: to eat the best damn cheesecake available. Luckily for us, C.C.C.C. comes through on both counts.
We don't kid around with cheesecake. Our perfect piece has got to be huge, thick and creamy. It's got to be good enough to go naked, not hiding under heaps of syrupy cherries or chocolate. That's why we love the rich New York model served here. Sure, they've got some fancier cakes, like the mocha seduction, with fluffy mocha cheesecake plopped on a mouth-watering brownie bed, then topped with whipped cream and chocolate drizzles. Or the chocolate eruption, blending chocolate cake with cheesecake chunks and nuts. They've got cute, too, with little cheesecakes on a stick they call Teddy Bars. But in their hearts, they stay true to honest, cheesecake quality.
Cave Creek Coffee and cheesecake -- mission accomplished.
Like fine jewels, RoxSand's desserts are kept under glass, in a "dessert walk" display case. Unlike precious stones, the desserts are small touches of luxury that even we can afford.
The array, which changes daily, is dizzying. We can pretty much count on our most cherished creation, though: the B-52 torte, spanning three layers of rich truffle cream, one layer with Baileys Irish Cream, one with Grand Marnier, and one with Kahlúa, topped with crushed pistachios. The Adult Kit-Kat gives us sweet dreams with its crunchy hazelnut chocolate bottom and a lighter chocolate top dusted with dark French cocoa. And we swear by the Viennese walnut torte, splicing two layers of walnut frangipani with a layer of cheesecake in the middle, masked in a currant glaze and topped with fresh strawberries.
Partnered with glasses of fine dessert and port wines, RoxSand's desserts are the sweetest sensation we know.
There are triple scoops of ice cream. And then there's the three-foot-tall wonder served at Mary Coyle. "The Mountain" is a seven-pound Mount Everest of various flavors, sauces, nuts and toppings.
But Mary Coyle isn't all about excess, even though most of its ice creams carry a whopping 19 percent butterfat content. It's about quality. All flavors are made on the pink pastel premises, just as they have been for the last 50 years, from family heirloom recipes. We line up for sundaes, showboats and banana bowls.
What a scream.
