Resturants: Ethnic and Specialty

Chef Stacy Phipps is the man when it comes to soul food in this town. Sure, there are a number of purveyors of Southern home cookin' in the PHX, but Phipps is the King of Collards, the Grand Pooh-Bah of Gizzards, the Prince of Pulled Pork, and the Supreme Sultan of Smothered Fried Chicken. Now, you could spend hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars on a culinary tour of the former Confederacy, but why waste the time and ducats when Stacy's on East Jefferson serves up a mess of vittles that'd put Andy Griffith's Aunt Bea to shame? Erstwhile Southerners can attest to the fact that Stacy's fried okra, frogs' legs, chicken fried steak and cornbread are the bomb, as is Stacy's sweet tea, which is so sweet it might double for Mrs. Butterworth's syrup on your pancakes. When it comes to deep-fried poultry, even Colonel Sanders would have to kowtow were he alive to sample Stacy's bird. And how can we forget Stacy's barbecue, catfish and peach cobbler? Why, if those folks at the Food Network had any brains, Stacy'd have his own TV show. But maybe that's not such a good idea. Then who'd fry us up a basket of chicken gizzards when we're hungry? Readers' Choice: Mrs. White's Golden Rule Cafe

If that ultimate stoner character Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High ever springs to life from your television set while you're peeping the DVD for the umpteenth time and asks you for directions to "some awesome sushi, mon," draw that young man a map to the Valley's Best New Restaurant, Blue Wasabi Sushi and Martini Bar, way up at DC Ranch. Not only does Blue Wasabi have blue wasabi (the miracle of food coloring, folks), and splendid signature martinis, like the lip-puckering, blueberry-flavored Berry White, or the Chocolate Twist, which tastes like a vodka-cr'me de cacao milk shake, there's also the sushi -- better than anything you'll get outside of Japan. Among Blue Wasabi's rolls of renown: the Surf and Turf, lobster and cucumber topped with seared beef tenderloin; the Killer Bee, a California roll topped with eel and mango; and our fave, the Spicoli, spicy octopus and barbecue Fritos topped with avocado. That Spicoli's so tasty, why, even Mr. Hand would enjoy noshing it. And what will Spicoli say? Probably, "bitchin' sushi, dude." Readers' Choice: Zoë's Kitchen

Dinner at Baby Kay's Cajun Kitchen makes us wanna bitch-slap Emeril Lagasse, it's so good. Of course, we never were crazy about that lame-ass honky and his brainwashed studio audience, which cheers every time the New Orleans-based chef yells "Bam!" and adds salt to a pot roast. Why, the guy's actually from MASSACHUSETTS, people! And he must shave between his eyebrows to keep them from growing together. Anyway, when we want real Cajun cuisine, we don't watch the frickin' Food Network; we mosey on down to Baby Kay's Cajun Kitchen, where we can eat the real deal: shrimp rmoulade, Louisiana crab cakes, red beans and rice, jambalaya with andouille sausage, and our fave, the spicy-as-all-get-out boudin, a fried Cajun sausage stuffed with pork and rice that's served with Baby Kay's apricot-pepper jelly. Baby Kay's got po'boys, too, as well as bowls of gumbo, catfish with crawfish sauce, and some of the best garlic bread we've ever tasted. But that boudin is what we dream about at night. Well, that and Emeril choking on his own touffe.

You can hardly throw a rock without hitting an Eye-tie eatery in the Valley. But very few have what it takes to earn our loyalty. This is especially true of upscale Italian places where you might have to part with your Roth IRA to pay for some watered-down minestrone, a bowl of calamari, and a plate of pasta with a meat sauce that Ragú could beat. That's not the case at one of the few upscale Italian restaurants that enjoys our regular patronage, Daniel's. Of course, you might have to hock your Rolex to eat here, even if you get to keep your IRA. But believe us, Daniel's is worth every penny. The menu is exquisite, with such saliva-inducing offerings as wild mushroom ravioli in a butter-herb sauce with fresh blueberries, and oven-braised Long Island duck, served with a rice/black-truffle croquette that'll curl your toes with ecstasy. Why, if we had enough dolo, we'd eat here every night. Maybe we'll cash out that IRA after all, eh? Readers' Choice: Tomaso's

Do not fear the tomato. The tomato is your friend. That's what we'd like to tell most Italian joints in Greater P-town. See, for their chefs, spaghetti and meatballs has become one of those quaint dishes of yesteryear, like baked Alaska and beef Wellington, that they've completely forgotten how to make. Judge them by what they serve up, when they bother to serve it up: chewy pasta, a meager amount of marinara, and meatballs like rocks. In fact, this situation is so bad in town that we have to hightail it to Fountain Hills for the best neighborhood Italian food in Maricopa County. At least Redendo's Pizzeria and Pasta makes it worth the drive. This spot serves Brooklyn-quality pizza and pasta in an environment that makes you feel like you dropped through the proverbial rabbit hole into 1940s America, with reproductions of anti-Hitler propaganda, World Series posters, and black-and-white photos of WWII fighter planes. But the best thing about Redendo's is the spaghetti and meatballs, with plenty of great-tasting marinara and pasta, and fat, tender meatballs that are unmatched in the Valley. For those whose neighborhood includes Redendo's, lucky you. Readers' Choice: Oregano's Pizza Bistro

Yes, there are other German pubs in the Valley, but none matches the cuckoo-clock-like quaintness of Haus Murphy's interior, with its German banners, portraits of King Ludwig II, embroidered tablecloths, lederhosen hung from the rafters, and that bewitching, mirror-backed bar from the set of the 1985 James Garner-Sally Field film Murphy's Romance. Barmaids in dirndls bring you 32-ounce schooners of dark, German dunkel, and some old dude who looks like an extra from The Sound of Music plays oompah classics on his accordion. The cuisine is equal to the environs, with every sort of schnitzel under the sun, including Wiener schnitzel, jager schnitzel, Balkan schnitzel, and so on. And the sausages? Wunderbar, liebling. Knackwurst, bratwurst and krakauer wurst, to name a few. In the back are two huge biergartens, and yes, there are a number of German brews on tap. Altogether, it's a tall order for any other German eatery to beat, but until one does, or until HM falls off its game, it owns this spot, pops. Readers' Choice: German Corner

Was it the pan-seared foie gras that won our hearts? The pâtè du chef infused with Madeira, cognac and essence of white truffle? Or those divine lamb chops with the pistachio-sage crust? Sure, Sophie's has ambiance aplenty, set as it is in a cozy little cottage, with hardwood floors, roughhewn wooden beams holding up the ceiling, and tasteful abstract prints hung on the cream-colored walls. And, of course, the service is nonpareil. But it's owner Serge Boukatch's classic French bistro cuisine that makes us swoon: duck breast sauted with Kirschwasser, salmon roasted in Cointreau and topped with grapefruit, escargot prepared traditionally in a bath of garlic butter, and so on. Jazz piano provides the soundtrack to our love affair with Boukatch's menu. And afterward, despite the thousands of calories inhaled, we'll sing, like Edith Piaf did in her day, Non, je ne regrette rien . . . Readers' Choice: Vincent on Camelback

Slow foodies go gaga over this Martha Stewart-esque eatery with its reliance on mostly organic produce and meat, its soft, fruity bread baked every day on the premises, and a menu that changes with the seasons. They swoon over the fried, panko-breaded olives stuffed with feta, or the warm peach and prosciutto salad tossed with baby arugula. And they're practically willing to give up their wallets for a bowl of house-made pasta or a pork chop from a pig lovingly raised in organic mud and spoon-fed heirloom veggies until it croaks from overindulgence. Okay, we admit, that part about the porker is a bit of an exaggeration, but Ruby Beet is the real deal when it comes to new American cuisine and slow food, which is why it wins kudos from us. All praise is due chef proprietor Karen Dawson, who's turned the elegant, picturesque Silva House in Heritage Square into ground zero for some innovative culinary fireworks. Now if we could only convince Ruby Beet to take in boarders, our retirement plans would be set.

Don't forget your bankroll when you waltz into Drinkwater's City Hall. This plush, ritzy chophouse/nightclub caters to Scottsdale's nouveau riche and those just passing through, like professional athletes and celebs for whom dropping $39 on a steak is nothing. Thing is, like the man said, you get what you pay for, and consequently the rich really do eat better than the rest of us. At Drinkwater's, the beef is thicker and tastier, the shrimp in the shrimp cocktail could choke a stallion, ditto on the size of the desserts, and the service will make you feel like the Shah of Iran in his heyday. All this in a red, black and gray dining room with stylish sheets of swirled glass paneling hanging from the ceiling, and a sound system so crystal-clear you'll swear the music's live, even when it's not. It's almost enough to make us consider voting Republican, as long as we get to dine like the fat cats at City Hall on a regular basis. Readers' Choice: Ruth's Chris Steak House

Color scheme is not the Gourmet House of Hong Kong's strong suit: The exterior is the color of aqua-blue taffy; the interior, a sickly Pepto-Bismol pink with a dismal, though clean, gray tile flooring. The furnishings? Round tables and plain, armless chairs, with the occasional generic Chinese-style painting of a pool of fish. The ceiling is best left unremarked upon, save to say that looking at it will do nothing for your appetite. And yet, if you are familiar with Chinatowns in NYC and elsewhere, you'll know that the best Cantonese food in the world comes from just such eateries with hundreds of items on their menus -- pagodas of gastronomic greatness that operate in Cantonese and English, with the day's specials inevitably posted on the walls. Gourmet House of Hong Kong is one of these, albeit near 16th Street and McDowell here in P-town, rather than near Gotham's Mott and Canal. You can get everything from shark-fin soup and Peking duck with pancakes to five-flavor frogs' legs and soup with chunks of thousand-year-old egg. The bill of fare's nearly as lengthy as the Great Wall! PHX may lack a true Chinatown, but as long as chef/proprietor Michael Leung's GHHK is open for business, we've got the next best thing. Readers' Choice: P.F. Chang's China Bistro

This may be terrible to say, but now that Dr. Atkins is fertilizer, we can finally eat like human beings again, and that means the regular consumption of starch, especially as prepared by Cherryblossom Noodle Cafe. Of course, Cherryblossom does serve some items the late diet maven might have allowed, such as whole baby calamari in anchovy tomato sauce, crunchy Cajun shrimp with the heads intact, and sushi or sashimi as appetizers. But ol' Atkins' version of hell is heaven for the rest of us: spicy curry beef linguini; fresh squid and spicy cod roe atop spaghetti; Korean sirloin slices stir-fried with egg-white noodles with enough chile paste to fuel a Hummer for a month; and various types of yaki udon (thick fried noodles) and yakisoba (thinner, fried noodles). When you wipe your lips, wish Atkins well in the afterlife, 'cause it's a sure bet he'll be jealous as heck of your visit to Cherryblossom. Readers' Choice: RA Sushi Bar Restaurant

With Pho Bang being a perennial winner in this category, you might get the impression that there are no other Vietnamese joints in the Valley. Wrong again, beef-ball breath! There are actually Viet eats aplenty to be found throughout greater PHX, but Pho Bang overwhelms the competition with a massive menu and the most consistent and authentic Southeast Asian foodstuffs on offer. Let's be honest, though. Folks ain't going there for the interior decoration, which could easily double for a Vietnamese bingo hall: plain tables and chairs, beer ad posters, and the occasional, extra-crusty Best Of award from years past. It's the cheap, kick-ass bowls of pho, the jumbo shrimp spring rolls, and the crisp, crunchy egg rolls that draw diners like paparazzi to a Michael Jackson court appearance. And as far as celeb endorsements go, there's William Hung, who, unbeknownst to the judges on American Idol, was actually singing "She Pho Bang" during his tryout. Great product placement, guys! Readers' Choice: Cyclo

Okay, so maybe it's not the most healthful food on the face of the planet, we think as we espy the opened can of Crisco sitting in the Fry Bread House's kitchen, but then it's not exactly as if Popeye's or Taco Bell serves diet food. Anyway, we'll put FBH's palate-pleasing puffs of flour, salt and shortening up against any fast food, anywhere, any time. Not only is FBH's fry bread outstanding when topped with honey and powdered sugar, but it can make for a hearty, rib-sticking meal when paired with beef stew or when used as a taco with chorizo, beans and lettuce. So why aren't there scores of Fry Bread Houses across the Southwest, and perhaps, even, the nation or beyond? If there are any aspiring Donald Trumps out there with the means to make it happen, what are you waiting for? Get on the stick so that by this time next year, Tokyo will be opening its own FBH and the Japanese can at last enjoy the culinary delights of fried dough. Then after Japan, it's on to China, India, and finally, world domination . . .

For Thai purists, there's no better place for Siamese cuisine than Thai Rama, which has resisted the mainstreaming of Thai food that some places have championed. Nothing wrong with experimentation, of course, but we like our Thai restaurants to be an echo of old Bangkok, with Thai embroidery on the walls and classic dishes that taste the way Thai Rama makes them, such as pad Thai, chicken satay, and red, green or yellow curry. The Thai iced tea with cream is exquisite, and while you sip it, you can peruse an extensive menu of entrees and appetizers unrivaled in the Valley. The angel wings -- chicken wings stuffed with pork and slathered with chili sauce -- are as good as anything you'll be served in L.A., the cashew duck will have you quacking with delight, and the kaeng kung, or shrimp curry with coconut milk and bamboo shoots, will have you singing "I'm the King of Siam," ˆ la Yul Brynner. As for Thai Rama's coconut ice cream, it's thicker and sweeter than Hollywood cutie Lindsay Lohan in a tank top, albeit with slightly smaller scoops. Readers' Choice: Malee's on Main

Psst. Hey, buddy, smell our hands. No, it's nothing gross, we promise. Just take a whiff. Know what that tantalizing fragrance is? That's the smell of Korean barbecue, and if there was a way to bottle it, we'd rub ourselves down in it from head to toe, but Chanel is still working out the kinks in its Eau de Beef cologne. So until they get that down pat, we'll just stick to our favorite Korean barbecue restaurant, Tempe's Seoul Garden. Seoul Garden was formerly known as Korean Garden, an establishment that had been in business for more than a decade. Then owner Sarah Kang came along and, with the help of her sis Missy, revitalized the food and the service to such a degree that it's now our favorite place to partake of Korean barbecue. That's where you grill a big platter of marinated meat, whether it be bulgogi beef, chicken, pork, or something slightly more exotic, like pork tongue. Once the animal flesh of your choice is properly grilled, you wrap it in a lettuce leaf, add some rice, kimchee, or any of eight or nine pickled sides, pop it in your kisser and wash it down with generous amounts of Korean OB beer. There are lots of other items on the menu: savory Korean seafood pancakes; dumplings, steamed or fried; or bi-bim-bap, veggies, rice, beef and eggs in a bowl. But only with the barbecue do you get your hands to smell like freshly seared beef. That's our idea of heaven. Readers' Choice: Seoul Garden Korean BBQ Restaurant

Longtime fixtures on the Phoenix culinary scene, Tom and Chrysa Kaufman have created a low-key restaurant that winks at Western kitsch. From the Mexican kitchen altar to the Lon Megargee prints on the wall, the art is nearly as sly as the gourmet dishes posing as comfort food.

So just what the hell is "authentic Arizona" cuisine? Roasted javelina with a prickly pear salad and a side of chopped roadrunner liver? Hmm, come to think of it, that doesn't sound half bad. But until some gifted chef realizes our twisted culinary vision, we'll stick to Scottsdale's Pinnacle Peak Patio, which serves porterhouse steaks you can use as doorstops and bowls of cowboy beans that call to mind that infamous campfire scene from Mel Brooks' Blazing Saddles. (For those of you who haven't seen it, think "musical fruit.") The remainder of the menu you could fit on a napkin: burgers, ribs, corn on the cob, and a slice of apple pie á la mode for dessert. The ambiance is, well, rustic, with sawdust on the floor, red-and-white-checked cloths on the picnic tables, wooden benches instead of chairs, and old-fashioned kerosene lamps made of pewter. The only modern decor hangs from the roof beams -- a field of neckties cut from the collars of any who dare defy the management's long-standing No Necktie Policy. Since it opened in 1957, the Triple-P has hosted stars such as Joan Crawford, Jane Russell, Paul Newman, George C. Scott, and our favorite, Wayne Newton, as well as tons of ordinary folks hungry for a taste of the Old West. But would it kill 'em to put a little javelina jerky on the menu? Sheesh.

Would you like to be under the sea, in an octopus' garden, in the shade? All apologies to Ringo, but that's the first thing that comes to mind upon descending two floors into the ground to the nautical-themed, wood-paneled dining rooms of Scottsdale's renowned Salt Cellar Restaurant. Well, it's either that, or the last time we watched Sealab 2021. There's something about taking a meal in this odd, partly subterranean structure that's akin to supping with Doc and Captain Stubing on the Love Boat. But the Salt Cellar isn't all atmosphere. Au contraire, this is the premier seafood spot in the Valley, with everything from Alaskan king crab and turtle soup to Maine lobster and blue marlin, all flown in daily from around the world and so fresh you can almost smell the spray of salt air as your waiter brings you your order. Moreover, the interior is elegance defined, with white linen, candlelit tables and spotless silverware, and the service is superb. What else could you ask for in a seafood place? Well, a half-hour back rub from the manager would be nice, but we're not holding our breath. Readers' Choice: Salt Cellar Restaurant

The Welcome Diner is such a quaint little place, painted white with red trim on the outside, that it looks like Matchbox made it and you could pretty much pick it up and stick it in your pocket if you wanted. The interior is essentially a short-order kitchenette and a red counter surrounded by nine -- count 'em, nine -- blue stools in a space that's so tiny we have to grease our love handles with lard to get to the stool in the far back. Well, people were a lot thinner back when this lovingly restored 1930s eatery was in use. (They didn't call it the Great Depression for nothing, boyo.) And it's worth greasing our pear-shaped hips for one of chef Peter Deyo's egg sandwiches, hot dogs, burgers or BLTs. For dessert, his deep-fried fritters are a must, but with all that powdered sugar on top of them, just how the heck do you expect us to squeeze out of that dainty diner? Pork fat can only do so much, people. Guess that's why the W.D. has a to-go window, huh?

When we're not at home watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force with a bong full of Humboldt County's finest, you'll find us in Tempe enjoying a chronic blunt at Cheba Hut Toasted Subs. See, Cheba Hut calls its sub sizes nugs (4-inch), pinners (8-inch) and blunts (12-inch), and "chronic" is the name for a barbecued-beef sub. Thus to the staff of Cheba Hut, a "chronic blunt" is something you masticate rather than inhale. Other smokin' sandwiches include Jamaican red (spicy grilled chicken), magic mushrooms (portabella mushrooms with Monterey Jack cheese), and Dr. Dre's fave, the Endo (essentially, a classic Reuben). A case of the munchies can also be addressed with Cheba Hut's homemade Rice Krispies bars, or the deliciously moist hemp brownies, the hemp part essentially consisting of seeds sprinkled on top. Cheba's motto is, "Where the only thing fried is the occasional customer." So, not surprisingly, the walls are decorated with plenty of pothead memorabilia such as giant (and, alas, fake) spliffs, Grateful Dead posters and the like. One wonders who Cheba Hut's celebrity spokesperson should be. Woody Harrelson? Whitney Houston? Snoop Dogg? Our pick: Towelie from South Park, who's always saying, "Anybody wanna get high?"

Though there are a number of great Mediterranean restaurants in the Valley, sometimes you have to give it up for the newbie, and that's the way we feel about Efes Turkish Cuisine in Tempe, which has been open for less than a year. Efes is Turkish for Ephesus, that ancient city of Roman ruins and Christian shrines, and the name evokes the mystery of foreign lands, as does Efes' traditional Turkish decor, its colorful rugs and pillows, and its good-luck charms to ward off evil, shaped like large, blue eyes. The menu is equally enchanting, with spiced and marinated chicken and lamb kebabs that are juicy and savory, and stuffed grape leaves that are as plump as Cuban cigars.

True to the Turkish palate, Efes offers about a half-dozen ways of eating eggplant, perhaps the most delightful being the imam bayildi, or baby eggplants filled with tomato, onion and peppers. The arnavut ciger, a dish of seasoned, fried cubes of calf liver, is outstanding, as is the very non-Turkish cheesecake, made extra-fluffy by the addition of ricotta, and flavored with a touch of lemon, orange and vanilla.

If we never make it to Istanbul, at the very least, we'll always have Efes. Readers' Choice: Taste of Mediterranean Restaurant

The best Indian restaurants not only serve fantastic Indian cuisine, but they transport you for an hour or two to some mythical Delhi or Bombay that you may otherwise only experience in films or picture books. Royal Taj facilitates this flight of fancy for us with its elegant furnishings, its tchotchkes from the Subcontinent, and its Saturday nights featuring live Indian music and dance. Indian patrons often arrive in colorful saris, adding an additional touch of authenticity. And then there's the food itself, which is nothing less than excellent: crispy samosas filled with veggies or meat; mulligatawny soup, that fave of the Anglo-Indian upper class; a tandoori mixed grill, or any number of curries and masalas available; spicy kormas and vindaloos with lamb, chicken or both; and those splendid biryanis, the Indian equivalent of fried rice, with a mixture of lamb, chicken, nuts and raisins. Royal Taj offers a full bar, and doting service from its personnel. It's been in that same far corner of that same little shopping center since 1992, but new ownership has reinvigorated this establishment and made it shine like a pearl from the Bay of Bengal. Readers' Choice: Indian Delhi Palace