Most people think my ever-faithful dining accomplice Goat earned his nickname because he will eat anything. This is not true. For instance, on a recent pre-Fourth of July expedition in search of cowboy steak, Goat scorns the endorsements of James Garner, Cybill Shepherd, and Michael Cooper, and orders chicken. How,…
I’ve always liked East Indian food. The spiciest I’ve ever eaten was on a hiking trip through the British Isles. My boyfriend and I were in London and decided to forgo fish and chips for Indian food one night. Both of us were pretty macho about spicy food, whatever its…
It could be any Saturday night. The maitre d’ at Trader Vic’s leads us to a small table near the restaurant’s fire doors. It is a miserable location, one I would like to change. “Is this the nonsmoking section?” I query. Wordlessly, our host swoops our menus off the rejected…
It’s prom night. We are witnessing a spontaneous fashion show as seventeen-year-old girls in strapless gowns glide through Remington’s in the Sheraton Scottsdale Resort. We hear the rustle of taffeta and the slink of satin as they pass our table. It is a very pleasant sound. Seeing them dredges up…
Admit it. Are you one of those people who equates dining on McDowell with free lunch at the Show Club? Is your McDowell eating experience confined to hot dogs at the coliseum during Suns games? Do you suffer from Fear of McDowell? If you said “yes~” to any of these…
I’m no stranger to Sun City. The two people responsible for bringing me into this world have lived there for most of the last decade. So when it came time to gather information for this story, I simply called Mom. As always, she had plenty of suggestions. In fact, to…
Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes. Dill, dill, dill. My faithful dining accomplice Goat and I are eating dinner at the White Nights Russian Restaurant and Deli on Phoenix’s north side. Located in Kino Plaza at 32nd Street and Thunderbird, this very building use to house Phoenix’s premier thrash-metal venue. Five years later,…
Future Super Bowls and past papal visits aside, we probably couldn’t have picked a busier night to visit Frascati Ristorante at Centerpoint in Tempe. That’s right, faithful dining accomplice Goat and I visit Frascati on the evening of the Paul McCartney concert at Sun Devil Stadium. It is a night…
The glossy travel poster on the wall boasts tropical forest, sandy beach and blue ocean. “El Salvador–en el corazon de America” it announces. Below the poster is a 1989 calendar illustrated with a map of Central America. We are not visiting some covert CIA recruitment office. It is a Saturday,…
Consider it a dress rehearsal. On the night a dining accomplice and I check out the Theater Terrace Cafe in the Hyatt Regency Hotel Phoenix, we are neither going to nor coming from a play at the Herberger Theater. No, it is early evening and we are cultural lowbrows. All…
Think a couple of waiters singing “Happy Birthday to You” is effusive? This is only the beginning at Greektown. On the night we stop in for observation, there is singing; there is the presentation of the traditional lit dessert; there is even a personal serenade by Greektown’s owner, Gregory Vassiliov…
I don’t own fur and I don’t use aerosol. Why, then, would I ever eat alligator fajitas? This is the question I ask myself when the waiter at Los Mayas announces today’s luncheon special. “Alligator?” I query tentatively. “Like, real alligator?” “Yes, ma’am,” our waiter replies solemnly. “It’s real.” Alligator…
Here’s a little anecdote about tapas: A few years ago I attended a writing conference in Santa Fe. One morning two women acquaintances announced–I thought–that they’d gone to a topless bar the previous night. I couldn’t believe my ears. A topless bar? These women were cultured Ivy Leaguers from Manhattan…
With this issue, Penelope Corcoran joins the staff of New Times as restaurant critic. Penelope has eaten all over the world from western Europe to the Caribbean and Mexico, and specializes in finding restaurants off the beaten track. A former advertising account executive, she worked with General Foods, M&M/Mars, and…
Kowabunga! (or Big 4 Goes to the Beach) must have been an awful lot of fun to dream up. Following on the heels of the group’s other high-concept restaurants, like Ed Debevic’s pseudo-Fifties diner and Steamers’ display-kitchen fish cookery, this restaurant is a send-up of the beach culture of California…
“Darling,” whispers my companion. Alas, the endearment is intended not for me but for the restaurant in which we are dining, Annie’s Steak & Pasta Company. This pretty little place looks a bit like a country-lodge sitting room and serves a cuisine reminiscent of the old-fashioned steak-and-spaghetti houses of Omaha,…
I’m with a friend in the new Hollywood Deli & Bar and our sandwich platters are brought to the table. As promised–both by the friend and several other informants who have recommended this place–the sandwiches are deli-Goliaths, each a mouth-wide mound of meaty magnificence. I’m enjoying the sight when I…
Well-meaning people sometimes open rotten restaurants. Addressing here a specific instance of this phenomenon fills me with angst, because I am well- aware of the financial exposure of the people involved. Restaurants demand top-heavy capital expenditure. You have to buy all the stoves and all the tables and all the…
Prior to the Eighties, the desert dining scene might best be characterized by its cheap (but delectable) chimichanga chow and its pretty (but indigestible) resort restaurant ambiance. Even as late as 1979-1/2, high-tone Valley victualizing often meant the likes of generic Veal Oscar and canned vegetables, albeit served in beautiful…
Although various people have encouraged me to partake of Japanese fast food, a real ambivalence about raw fish, skepticism about fast food in general and, yes, perhaps a little jingoistic jaundice have conspired to keep me away from speedy sushi at low, low prices. Now I must admit that I’ve…
A deceptively pretty red relish, it bears a resemblance to Mexican salsa. The waiter calls it chile paste, but that’s like using the word warm to describe a conflagration. One meltdown mouthful and you’re reaching for the pickled jalapenos for relief. Even as your saliva turns to napalm, however, secondary…
Of all the places I’ve yet reviewed for New Times, today’s establishment is the one that least requires the quibbles and qualifications inherent in the nature of criticism. Quite simply, the Arizona Biltmore’s Orangerie is a wonderful restaurant. Okay, okay, okay. I can’t yet vouch for its consistency. And a…
