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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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?
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.
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.
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 jalapeo 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.
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?