There seem to be two types of restaurantgoers.
The first are the restless adventurers--diners who roam about the town prowling for hip new eating spots, in search of innovation, novelty and thrills.
The second are the I-know-what-I-like types. These predictable folks know exactly what they want to eat, and they usually keep returning to the same familiar haunts to get it.
I think I've found a couple of restaurants that will capture the hearts of both types: Old Town Tortilla Factory puts its own spin on north- and south-ofthe-border regional fare, while Los Sombreros puts out high-quality models of the usual Mexican suspects.
"Business is booming! Old Town Tortilla Factory is currently accepting applications for all positions. Tell a friend." So read a number of signs posted around Old Town Tortilla Factory. The proprietors here are so desperate to hire new help that they even use the rest room to get out their message. I half-expected to see people from personnel interviewing prospective employees by the washroom sink.
But the recruiting campaign is understandable. This bustling new restaurant, which has taken over the spot long occupied by the sedate French restaurant La Chaumiere, is quickly turning into a trendy Scottsdale hot spot.
Partly, it's because of the upscale Southwestern adobe setting. A bright mural depicting a Mexican village scene greets guests just inside the entrance. Next to it, a flesh-and-blood woman is fashioning fresh, warm tortillas, using the kind of cutting-edge tortilla machinery that Mexican villagers could only dream about. And even if they had this equipment, I doubt they'd think to infuse their tortillas with the heady scents of rosemary and fennel, or garlic and tarragon, as the tortilla maker here does.
Beyond the entrance, the restaurant is divided into several cozy dining areas. Striking photos of Mexico hang from the otherwise bare walls. The wood tables with scalloped edges are set with cloth napkins and gaily colored Fiesta ware.
Outside, the heated-patio setting is just as charming. A roaring fire cleverly set inside a jetting fountain is a real conversation starter. So is the "tequilarilla," a freestanding building that houses probably the largest tequila selection in town. It's a pleasure to find a tranquil outdoor spot in the Valley, one that doesn't overlook a busy street or a strip-mall parking lot.
But the setting explains only part of the restaurant's appeal. I'd say the designer Southwestern fare is what's mostly responsible for the "help wanted" signs.
Margarita fans should take advantage of Old Town Tortilla Factory's excellent tequila stock. (Try El Tesoro de Don Felipe Plata--$4.50.) And, for an extra buck, you can have your margarita blended with Grand Marnier andCointreau, an opulent and powerful touch. The on-the-rocks model comes in a shaker that will fill two small glasses, so it's perfect for sharing.
But don't expect to nibble on free chips while you sip your drinks--Old Town Tortilla Factory makes you pay for them. The tricolor chips are fresh and noticeably unsalty--remember, you're in sodium-conscious Scottsdale. Of the two dips they came with, I preferred the piquant house salsa; the black-bean hummus seemed more odd than inspired.
The chorizo chilada is a less filling way to edge into dinner. It's a small tortilla cup filled with a blend of mild chorizo, poblano chile, onions, olives and white Mexican cheese. But this appetizer's distinctive bite comes from the puddle of cascabel chile and blackberry sauce, which imparts a pleasing, fruity, spicy touch. (At $5.95, however, the proprietors aren't exactly giving this dish away.)
There's no shortage of imagination at work in the main dishes, which feature ample portions of quality ingredients and are priced between $11and $16.
The chef deftly manages to inject some life into a chicken entree, a rare skill. Baked chicken pueblo features sliced breast rolled with spinach, red pepper and white cheese, accompanied by cilantro fettuccine and calabacitas, a mix of squash, pepper and corn. But what really boosts the poultry is the eye-opening red-chile-pesto cream sauce--it would make just about anything taste good.
The green-chile halibut is an incredibly fussy arrangement, one of those "tall" entrees that a year ago were all the rage in our gastronomic capitals. Obviously, we're still novices at it here in the Valley, because, as the server placed it before me, the dish unceremoniously toppled over. She hauled it back to the kitchen, where the staff put Humpty Dumpty halibut back together again.
Still, once you sort out all the elements, you'll enjoy some first-rate eating. From the bottom up, it's a tortilla cup layered with calabacitas, luscious squid-ink-blackened linguini in a chipotle cream sauce, a zillion crunchy tortilla strips and an absolutely gorgeous hunk of fish grilled to flaky perfection. While the presentation may need a little work, the ingredients sure don't.