It’s a fine Tuesday morning, and I’m seated at a table in Matt’s Big Breakfast, the new diner that opened a month ago on First Street and McKinley, next to the Coronado Hotel, in the same spot where the eatery Chez Bubba used to do business. The sun is shining,…
I’ve always loathed Thanksgiving, so don’t expect some column from me telling you how to cook a turkey with a beer can stuck up its butt, or where to snarf the best stuffing in the Valley. Everything about the holiday nauseates me: the enforced familial bonding; the orgy of unoriginal…
Folks call and write me with some amazing requests. Usually, I do my best to reply in a timely manner, but occasionally, the inquiries veer into the asinine zone, in which case, I may never respond. For example, if you’re a PR flack who wonders why I never called back…
I’ve been jonesing of late for some really excellent house-made pasta. No doubt what brought this on was my slightly disappointing visit a couple of weeks back to the James Hotel’s Fiamma Trattoria, where it seemed like everything but its house-made pasta was first-class. Since the James tirelessly trumpets the…
I am terribly pained that all the fuss concerning the Boston Red Sox, the World Series, and the Curse of the Bambino is finally over. Not that I cared a whit for a bunch of gum-chewing knuckle-draggers running around a diamond to the cheers of the hoi polloi. I prefer…
In my line of work, a double-wide backside seems to come with the territory. I’m sure there are certain female food critics in Arizona whose tailbones are as sharp as needles, but really, ladies and gents, should you trust a thin restaurant reviewer, someone more concerned with donning a size…
Whenever I wax homesick for La-la Land, I need only stop by Scottsdale’s James Hotel for a fix of that über-modern, über-sophisticated vibe that the City of Angels has in great store. Pass through the James’ lobby towards its J-bar, and you could just as well be at The Standard…
I recently read online that the ugliest man in Hollywood, and a piss-poor actor to boot, Billy Bob Thornton, badmouthed the immortal Bard, calling Shakespeare “bullshit,” and thereby confirming my opinion of Monsieur Sling Blade as one dumb redneck. I take comfort in the fact that BBT’s fame is short-lived,…
My initial experience dining at Flat Iron Rotisserie and Grill, the new, Southwestern-themed establishment on Indian School Road, can be compared to meeting a bewitchingly beautiful Monica Bellucci-esque femme fatale at a party. There’s an instant, smoldering attraction. Your eyes lock in a flirtatious dance, and you find yourself saying…
As you may have gleaned from perusing this space previously, I take a dim view of conventional wisdom and the morons who spout it. Al Pacino’s character Ricky Roma in the screen version of Glenglarry Glen Ross sums up my P.O.V. when he states that he subscribes to the law…
What would you eat if it were your last night on Earth, and you could have just about anything you wanted? That’s the hypothetical dilemma I’ve been mulling since a friend of mine gave me this odd little book titled Last Suppers (Loompanics Unlimited), which is all about the final…
, Redendos Pizzeria and Pasta
I’m no urban planner, and Lord knows I have no inclination to be one. But whenever I hear my fellow diehard metropolitans talking up the Holy Grail of downtown dwelling — something that seems to happen like clockwork every First Friday — I inevitably shake my head in disbelief. I’ll…
I’ve always wanted to summer in Baghdad, and now at last I can. No, silly, I’m not joining the Army National Guard. I may be the size of John Candy, but this is no rerun of Stripes on basic cable. Rather, my imaginary journey to the banks of the Tigris…
Nineteenth-century journalist, poet and author Charles Pierre Monselet once stated that “a true gastronome should always be ready to eat, just as a soldier should always be ready to fight.” How right you were, Chuckles, but of course, it doesn’t hurt if the cuisine in question happens to be the…
One dilemma I face as a restaurant reviewer is how long of a grace period I should allow an infant establishment before writing about its fare. Some of my pals in the eatin’ biz assert that a newbie grub shack should be ready from jump, while others say that the…
Having spent my formative years in the Land Time Forgot (i.e., the South), soul food is as dear to me as pasta is to the Italians. How fortuitous, then, is my current place of employment, which so happens to be smack dab in the soul food section of town. Right…
With roasting temperatures, food items containing chile peppers are usually a hard sell. But throw in some fresh fruit and a little ice, and people will beat a path to your door. At least that’s been the experience of Jaqueline and Alfonso Carrizosa, who opened Oasis Raspados in south Phoenix…
Before I dive into this week’s review, I should take a moment to reply to some of the correspondence I receive on a regular basis. To the female admirers who deluge me nonstop with perfumed hankies and declarations of undying love, please see my secretary for an application to my…
A colleague of mine left me a copy of a certain publication the other day with the attached note, “Well, I guess someone feels threatened.” The someone in this case was a fellow food scribbler whose surname rhymes with “Puke-cannon.” I’d never bothered to pick up the rag in question,…
Clad in a tight white tank top, his wiry body adorned with tattoos, Jesus “Chuy” Chavez looks every bit of the gangbanger he claims to be — except for the fresas con crema the 19-year-old Phoenician is spooning into his mouth. Even the Valley’s most hardened residents have a soft…
Burgs like Snottsdale and Parasite Valley may get all the kudos when it comes to living arrangements, but were I run out of central Phoenix on a rail and forced to choose, I’d take that toddlin’ town of Chandler over either one of those two swells-zones. Here, as in all…
