Once a party-school mecca, Mill Ave. wants to be your parents' dining destination

Michael Monti pretty much grew up on Mill Avenue, where his father opened the iconic steakhouse Monti’s La Casa Vieja on the corner of Mill and Rio Salado Parkway in 1956.

Monti graduated from Tempe High School and Arizona State University. He went on to run the family restaurant for 21 years and has lived through several iterations of downtown Tempe.

He doesn’t live far from the city’s most famous street. But these days, he rarely goes to Mill Avenue. The structure that was once home to his family's restaurant is big reason.

“It’s kind of hard for me to see the old place as it is now. There was a certain vitality. Its current use wasn’t what I envisioned,” says Monti, who hoped it would’ve remained a spot to grab a bite and drink. “I thought I’d be the charming old drunk at the bar who’d tell entertaining stories…”

Monti’s father, Leonard Monti Sr., opened his restaurant in the historic 1873 home where Arizona politician Carl Hayden was born. The steakhouse became a go-to for celebrations, casual family dinners and business lunch meetings for generations of customers. Regulars flocked here for the prime rib, signature Monti Burger and the rosemary focaccia known as Roman Bread.

In 1993, Monti took over the restaurant across the street from Tempe Town Lake. In 2014, he closed it and sold the building that bore his family name for nearly 60 years to developers. Around the same time, the surrounding land was sold and today supports a high-rise office building.

A few years later, the city of Tempe purchased the restaurant's historic home, known as Hayden House, and preserved it, offering tours of downtown’s oldest building. Today, Hayden House is home to the Downtown Tempe Authority, a non-profit that works with the city to promote the Mill Avenue District.

When Monti’s La Casa Vieja opened, downtown was sleepy and dormant. The restaurant was the only reason to head down there, Monti recalls. But he knows a traditional, generational, unchanging steakhouse would not thrive in most 21st-century cities.

“There aren’t many places like that anymore,” Monti says. “It’s part of the churn.”

Beyond ASU, Monti points out other factors that have shaped downtown’s identity over the years. The Loop 202 added access to Rural Road in 1995, which sits less than 3 miles from the north end of Mill Avenue. Tempe Town Lake opened to the public in 1999. Light rail started chugging along in 2008. High-rise apartment buildings emerged on the scene with West 6th in 2011. And three major luxury hotels opened their revolving doors between 2020 and 2023.

Mill Avenue has long been the cultural heartbeat of student life at ASU. Just steps from the Tempe campus, the tree-lined north-south stretch from Rio Salado Parkway to University Drive has for decades teemed with students lugging backpacks to and from their studies and parties.

Businesses along the stretch catered to students' paltry budgets with no-frills pizza and cheap beer. But in the avenue's latest iteration, the audience is shifting. High-end restaurants, luxury hotels and even a senior living facility have moved in. It's enough to wonder: Is Mill Avenue the core of campus life anymore? And if it isn't, what is Tempe losing in this bargain?

Evolving for survival

Restaurateur and ASU alum Julian Wright says Mill Avenue seems to reinvent itself every 10 or 15 years. And it’s always the reaction to what’s happening around it. Trends and increasing rents play a part, too.

Wright has operated bars and restaurants on Mill Avenue since 2000. He's part of the current reinvention that features a new wave of food and drink establishments alongside — and in some cases replacing — divey bars with sticky floors, shots specials and cheap wings that gave downtown an endearing sophomoric kitsch.

Mill Avenue is trying to outgrow its chug-and-puke college town rep. The Mill Avenue of tomorrow wants to sell you a sophisticated image backed by rooftop bars, swanky cocktails and high-end restaurants.

It's happening during an uncertain economy that keeps breaking small businesses. The closure of longtime favorites, such as Rula Bula, the Irish pub that shuttered in 2021 after 20 years, proves that margins are thin. Meanwhile, years-long construction projects have not made it easy to navigate or park in downtown, further pinching shops. Long-time residents long for the older, easygoing Mill Avenue. That character, they say, is being sacrificed for a trendy persona. Wright is along for the ride.

“Downtown Tempe is going through its possibly biggest renaissance in the last 25 years I’ve been here, which is why I invest in the area,” Wright says. “This is the great shedding of the skin.”

If you've had a drink or bite in downtown Tempe since the turn of the century, chances are you've been to one of Wright’s establishments. His Fork & Dagger Hospitality group also includes concepts in downtown Phoenix and Mesa.

Starting in 2000 with Jax Thai Bar, Wright has helmed 10 bars or restaurants along Mill. These include a pizza joint, a tequila bar, cocktail lounges, a good ol’ American rock 'n' roll party bar and Pedal Haus Brewery, his most successful and famous brand. This fall, Wright will debut Carmen, a Mexican restaurant with Asian-fusion tacos.

Wright’s history with downtown Tempe began in 1991 as an ASU student. He graduated from Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication when it was still at the Tempe campus. He recalls the grimy years when Mill Avenue was still seedy enough that the idea of a high-rise hotel would’ve been met with gut-busting laughter.

Paul Marquardt remembers those days, too. A Tempe resident since he was 8 years old, Marquardt lists downtown businesses he was raised around: a car dealership, a sporting goods store where he bought his school P.E. uniforms, and the Q and Brew pool hall where Fat Tuesday sits today. There was also the Tempe Daily News and Rundle’s Market, where you could buy booze and used porno mags.

While attending Tempe High School in 1973, Marquardt started working for a new burger joint called The Chuckbox on University Drive about a half-mile east of Mill. He never left.

The burger spot hasn't changed much over the decades. The sign is made out of wood planks, straight out of an old western. A steady wisp of smoke escapes through the chimney attached to the distinct A-frame roof. The aroma of beef cooked over coals greets pedestrians and drivers alike, in the shadow of gleaming new skyscrapers.

Marquardt is often asked how the cash-only Chuckbox survives. He credits generations of customers who keep coming back.

“We’re here for the long haul,” Marquardt says. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Marquardt lives in a condo on Tempe Town Lake. He walks Mill Avenue a few times a week, passing new and old businesses, like Italian restaurant Caffe Boa, which opened in 1994, as well as vacant storefronts.

The empty shells of the Mellow Mushroom, Fuzzy’s Taco Shop, Illegal Pete’s and even seemingly ironclad Pita Jungle testify to the churn. Over the years, shuttered outposts of Gordon Biersch, Starbucks, Islands, Hooters and McDonald’s — yes, even the Golden Arches closed in the mid-'90s after a short stint — have shown that huge national chains also come and go.

Yet the empty storefronts along Mill obscure the fact that while a dozen venues have closed during the past 12 months, another 11 have opened, says Downtown Tempe Authority CEO Lori Foster. And since 2014, the number of hotels downtown has doubled to eight. Lakeside condos, high-rise apartment complexes and the Mirabella at ASU retirement community point to a durable shift in the character of the strip.

“Change is hard," says Foster, whose office is in the Hayden House, formerly Monti's La Casa Vieja. "But we are evolving, and if we didn’t change, then perhaps we wouldn’t be as competitive.”

The need to compete against Old Town Scottsdale and downtown Gilbert also drives change, says Josh Rutherford, an economic development special project administrator for the city of Tempe.

Until a few years ago, Tempe relied on student spending and went into hibernation when classes let out for the summer. Sun Devil Nation is still a power player, no doubt — downtown businesses' revenue balloons by 30 to 70% during football season, according to Downtown Tempe Authority. But Mill Avenue is no longer just for students.

“If you are not evolving with that, you're failing,” Rutherford says. “We have a college town. But you’re going to see a different but grown-up version of Mill Avenue that will set us apart from other downtowns.”

Mall mentality, 'coopertition' and COVID

Downtown Tempe has long been a bellwether of the economy and the tastes of the moment. For a decade or so, it went through a distinctive outdoor-mall phase.

In the early '90s, Mill Avenue's concentration of bars and party spots made it the only real entertainment district in the Valley. This was when Old Town Scottsdale was sleepy, downtown Phoenix went home at sunset, and downtown Gilbert was known for haymaking rather than hipness.

The steady buzz of free-spending young customers led developers to see dollar signs. Boxy national heavyweights popped up along Mill Avenue: Abercrombie & Fitch, Bath & Body Works and Z Gallerie. A Borders bookstore was a massive presence for a decade, starting in 2001.

The mall vibe enticed chains like Hooters, Islands and Gordon Biersch to open up shop as well. Colorado-headquartered Illegal Pete’s and Fuzzy’s Taco Shop, which is based in Texas, followed suit.

Around 2000, though, Old Town Scottsdale started to pick up. The DJ scene exploded, liquor flowed, the clubs grew and the music got louder. Scottsdale became a magnet — even for students in Tempe. Then, in 2002, Tempe voters approved a smoking ban that scared bar owners.

By the mid-2000s, Mill Avenue hit a dry spell. New food and drink spots were few. Those that did open didn't have the traffic of their flashier counterparts six miles north, where cigarettes were still welcome.

Gradually, the nightclub scene on Mill adjusted. Bars and restaurants stepped up their game. Other Valley cities emulated the smoking ban. And tastes shifted away from the mall mentality as shoppers and diners sought out unique experiences. The corporate presence gradually yielded. The big boxes folded.

“There was a time where Tempe tried too hard to attract corporate tenants, but that's not what is wanted down there,” Monti says. “Cookie-cutter, repetitive (businesses) is not what downtown Tempe needs.”

By 2010, smaller downtown restaurants and bars were back and thriving with what Wright calls “coopertition" — competing, but in a cooperative way. They'd collaborate on events or send patrons to nearby spots. Wright’s former watering holes The Handlebar and Canteen Modern Tequila Bar had partnerships with Fat Tuesday, which was sandwiched between them. Revelers flowed easily among the patios.

Around 2013, hospitality groups started to hone in and capitalize on the changing tides. They brought the second or third locations of concepts that had a presence in Old Town or other parts of the Valley. Once again, downtown Tempe struggled to define itself.

“They operated with good intentions but had zero connection to Tempe,” Wright says. “How is that benefiting Tempe when they can get those experiences in other places?”

The coopertition faded. It was every man for himself. Then, in 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic culled any business hanging on by a thread, chain or not.

Independent spots like Pedal Haus, C.A.S.A. and Shady Park worked to keep people coming to the area. But as the world emerged to a new normal, rents skyrocketed. Current asking rates in downtown are about $35 per square foot. The rates on Mill Avenue's major corners range from $55 to $70 per square foot.

As mom-and-pops got priced out, developers swooped in to purchase property once occupied by longtime favorites.

But what also made a comeback was a longing for something unique. Foster says the demand for live music that once shaped Mill Avenue's personality is strong, and diners are looking for new restaurants to visit.

City's role in the 'food revolution'

As a veteran restaurateur, Wright is familiar with red tape. Over the years, he has voiced frustrations about how the city’s daunting permit gauntlet stifles small independents or first-time entrepreneurs.

Rutherford says that in recent years, the city has taken steps to help facilitate the process. This includes making traction with both new and existing landlords.

Of the downtown Tempe district’s roughly 400,000 square feet of retail space, Tempe owns about 30,000 square feet, or 7.5%, according to city data.

This includes the Gov. Benjamin B. Moeur House and Hatton Hall, which next year will become a new restaurant from the owners of beloved Thai eatery Glai Baan. Rutherford says the city can be flexible in offering rents at the lower end of the market for city-owned buildings, including the former Illegal Pete's space.

Rutherford sees people who have returned to downtown for the first time in 10 years, curious to see how their old stomping grounds have changed. The same goes for restaurateurs, Foster says.

“Interest here is high,” she says. “And that is through the sheer force of Mayor Woods.”

Corey Woods, an enthusiastic foodie, was elected as Tempe's mayor in 2020. He made updating the downtown Tempe dining experience a priority and did so by visiting restaurants around the Valley and approaching the owners. Colleagues also pointed out establishments that would fit.

“We are bringing in restaurants that we are personally huge fans of,” Woods says. “It is not an accident.”

These include the new Glai Baan concept, plus the Valley's latest location of Proof Bread, slated to open this fall. Woods says chefs and restaurateurs are also reaching out to him, asking to get in on the action.

“So many people are living, working and visiting downtown, so the clientele is built-in if you're a restaurateur on Mill,” Woods says. “There’s a food revolution going on in the city of Tempe.”

But that influx of out-of-town visitors and restaurants coming in from other parts of the Valley has spelled bad news for some longtime locals.

Construction, pandemic take a toll

For 13 years, Leslie Robin operated her vegan restaurant Desert Roots Kitchen in a shaded courtyard space along Mill Avenue. An unexpected and significant rent increase forced her to close it in April.

Other factors took their toll as well. Streetcar construction discouraged patrons from the area. Business lunch crowds never fully rebounded from the pandemic. And a sidewalk project wreaked havoc.

The current Downtown Tempe Refresh Project will bring brick sidewalks with mosaic designs and other amenities to Mill. Rutherford says the city accelerated the project. It's due to finish by February, a year ahead of the original schedule. But for some small businesses, the damage was already done.
“We thought it would pick up again, but it never did. It just got worse,” says Robin, who was able to relocate Desert Roots to a Sprouts-anchored plaza inside Rainbow Bliss Botanicals on Southern Avenue and McClintock Drive. “People complained about Mill and how hard it was to get down there.”

Robin has called Tempe home for 25 years and lives near downtown. She often finds herself in conversations about how Mill Avenue isn’t the same as it used to be. She recalls past attempts by Downtown Tempe Authority to revive the area through programs designed to get more people downtown. Those efforts were either short-lived or missed the mark.

A 2016 sidewalk-sitting ordinance, for instance, prohibited sitting or lying on public sidewalks or on blankets or chairs. It smothered the once-lively street artist and musician scene.
“Mill used to be the cool place to go,” Robin says. “Vendors and artists on the street gave it a city feel. And that went away.”

When people long for how downtown was, Robin believes it has little to do with vacant spaces or higher-dollar eateries.

“It’s not about the empty storefronts or the new restaurants coming in,” Robin says. “It’s the vibe, or lack thereof, that people are talking about when they miss the old Mill.”

She's hopeful the new restaurants will bring new life.

“You walk by these places that are closed," she says. "But maybe this is the shift. If vacancies are filled, they will bring it back.”

Pretty Decent Concepts to test book-end theory

Michael Monti recalls decades of watching downtown’s reinventions. Through the years, the southern or northern end of Mill Avenue would take turns thriving. Monti long thought that if both ends could get cranking at the same time, the area would become a super-charged destination.

“It's a dilemma we struggled with all the time,” Monti says.

Pretty Decent Concepts, the creator of several Phoenix hotspots, including Wren & Wolf, is investing in this theory. The company has one restaurant off and running and a second slated to open in early 2026.

Woods, a fan of Wren & Wolf, asked Pretty Decent Concepts owners Thor Nguyen and Teddy Myers if they would consider bringing a second location into the former P.F. Chang’s space on the northwest corner of University Drive and Mill Avenue.

But Myers, an ASU alum, says the team declined the mayor's suggestion. They felt Tempe deserved its own concept.

“It’s such a great corner," Nguyen says. "It’s iconic — the entrance to Mill Ave.”

In April, Filthy Animal's sprawling patio, with sumptuous seating, broad awnings and umbrellas that beckon passersby to enter the dark restaurant, opened at that corner. Adjacent sleek speakeasy Drop Dead Gorgeous also debuted, welcoming customers into an even lower-lit space with the atmosphere of a '70s disco lounge.

Around the same time, the Hayden Ferry Lakeside development team approached Nguyen and Myers, wanting them to open a restaurant there, on the northeast corner of Mill Avenue and Rio Salado. The result, come February, will be Roman God of Fire — or Roman for short.

Pretty Decent Concepts will then have dining destinations on both ends of Mill Avenue, less than a mile apart, bookending downtown.

The aim is to “invigorate downtown Tempe the way Wren & Wolf invigorated downtown Phoenix,” Nguyen says. “Tempe is deserving of a great entertainment district."

When word got out about their first Mill Avenue concept, investors presumed it would be geared toward the college crowd. Nguyen and Myers were quick to correct them.

“A lot of people who have not been to Mill recently have that opinion. But there’s more to Tempe,” Nguyen says. “There’s an adult demographic of professionals that is underserved and should not have to go to Scottsdale or Gilbert for dinner.”

Missing the vibe

Seeing Filthy Animal’s patio packed even on the hottest summer evenings makes Wright happy.

“They are drawing people to Mill that probably wouldn't go to Mill Ave. otherwise,” Wright says. “But more importantly, they are getting the attention of those who have written off downtown Tempe. It’s getting them to take a second look.”

When people tell Wright they miss the downtown Tempe of their youth, he understands. It’s easy to romanticize an identity chiseled from decades of cheap beer, bar food and broke-but-happy vibes.

“I was around then, too. I get it," Wright says. "But at the end of the day, do you want a bunch of closed storefronts or open, vibrant places?”

He faced some backlash after opening bars Devil’s Hideaway and Idle Hands in the 1888 historic former home to Rula Bula.

“My hunch is that five years from now, Mill is going to be one of the more vibrant food and beverage destinations in Arizona," he says. To anyone feeling discouraged, he offers: "They just gotta hang in there."

Like it or not, the evolution of the Mill Avenue dining scene is a fast-moving train that invites business owners and patrons to hop on.

“Downtown has changed," Foster says. "We evolved. And I would encourage people to be part of the change. If you like the businesses that are here, support them and come often.”

Wright’s call to action suggests going further.

“If you really want to support downtown, don’t sit on the sidelines," he says. "Open a business, get involved. Put your balls on the line like the rest of us. We’re fighting to get Mill Avenue back to a new glory. And I believe it will happen.”

Michael Monti sees friends' social media posts from Filthy Animal. His interest is piqued. Upon hearing Roman will be kitty-corner from where his family’s restaurant once stood, he hinted that, even with the emotions and memories associated with Mill Avenue, he may head downtown to see his longtime bookend theory in action.

Perhaps here, he'll find a seat at the bar where he can share stories about this special section of his hometown.

“Change is inevitable,” Monti says. After a pause, he adds: “I’m nostalgic for downtown Tempe. But you can’t stop the flow of time.”