I have no political authority to do this, but I am hereby nominating the Wigwam Resort's Arizona Kitchen to be our official state restaurant. Here is an ultimate dining experience; one that unites authenticity with artistry, pride with imagination, style with comfort, and fabulous flavors with visual panache in a glorious gustatory rendering of the spirit of Arizona at its best. What a wonderful achievement!
The Arizona Kitchen is only a small, if fabulous, fraction of a recently completed and splendid $28 million renovation of the Wigwam Resort and Country Club, this year celebrating its sixtieth anniversary. Located way on the west side of the Valley, in Litchfield Park, this authentic Arizona treasure will never seem too close to Los Angeles again. The entire expense of the I-10 expansion is entirely validated by bringing east Valley residents closer to the Arizona Kitchen's appetizer menu.
All right, all right, I know. Too hyperbolic. But if you're a serious fan of Arizona, romance and dining excellence, you must invest in a couple of gallons of gasoline and go check this place out.
Not drenched in the misplaced and tiresome opulence of other southwestern-themed resort dining rooms, the intimate ninety-seat Arizona Kitchen looks like an idealized territorial home. There's a display kitchen with a wood-burning oven, an adobe fireplace and a brick floor. Arizona-themed artistic enhancements are understated, and the dress code is casual, so that a feeling of museum lifelessness is entirely avoided.
Furnishings and appointments run toward the masculine, with the room's prodigiously thick and stable parquet tables dominating the decor. I particularly love the restaurant's glassware, hand-blown Mexican blue bottle, hefty handfuls with no two pieces exactly alike. Similarly, the plates are oversize hand-painted Italian ceramics that are nearly as colorful and appealing as the food they embrace.
Nearly.
To be frank, this is a culinary effort that makes facile description impossible. It's so much more than the sum of its parts: Native American, Mexican, contemporary Californian and just the right touch of European continental. Ultimately, the menu is such a fascinating breakthrough amalgam of all these. In a single visit you will never be able to explore every temptation.
This becomes apparent as early in the meal as the bread service. How does one resist massive consumption of warm fry bread, blue cornmeal onion rolls and sourdough biscuits? As if these wouldn't do enough damage with butter alone, they're also presented with cruets of garlic olive oil and cardamom-flavored honey. Oh, my.
Regretfully, my guest and I pass over such appetizers as Scallop and Shrimp Ceviche in Relleno with Red Chili Vinaigrette, Pheasant Tamale with Citrus and Pine Nut Sauce, and Rattlesnake Fritters with Tomato Salsa. It makes me smile when our waiter describes the farm-raised rattlesnake as tasting "just like calamari." Prior to the late 1980's, of course, rattlesnake tasted "just like chicken."
We settle upon Pikki Pouches, which are chili- and corn-flavored Indian paper bread crepes stuffed with chicken mole and served with vanilla sauce. As wild as this sounds, it's just as wonderful. The pouches are like white paper roses singed at the tips of their petals, and the combination of vanilla, butter, vinegar and mole is fragrant, flavorful and entirely fascinating.
Our other appetizer, Smoked Corn Chowder, is fairly described by my dining companion as "the best corn chowder I have ever eaten." Ears of corn are smoke roasted in the wood-burning oven, and the kernels are then combined with whole hominy, carrots, potatoes, onions and green peppers in a cream and chicken stock base. At service the chowder is laced with hot pepper oil. Our waiter confesses that at the end of each evening the first thing he does is rush over to see if any of this soup is left in the warming kettle, and it's incredibly easy to understand why.
Again regretfully, because of the constraints of appetite, my guest and I pass over an appealing list of southwestern-themed pizzas that are baked in the wood-burning oven. We opt instead to split a grilled vegetable salad. This turns out to be a lovely combination of grilled tomato, baby corn, chayote and yellow squashes, jicama, zucchini and fresh greens wrapped in leek-tied tortillas and bedded down in a perfectly complimentary basil butter sauce.
Entree selection is another near-to-impossible task. My recommendation is that the first time you patronize the Arizona Kitchen you go with about a half-dozen hungry friends who share. That way you won't have to miss Grilled Jumbo Shrimp and Arizona Grapefruit, Lime and Orange Linguini with Jalapeno Vinegar Sauce, or Grilled Red Snapper with Tomatillo and Smoked Red Pepper Salsa, or Roast Loin of Venison and Braised Nopal Cactus with Black Muscat and Pink Peppercorn Sauce, et cetera.
In no way, however, am I sorry about ordering Jalapeno Honey Mustard Glazed Duck with Arizona Cabernet Sauvignon and Garlic Sauce. To discuss adequately this presentation might take an entire chapter in a gastronomic memoir. Suffice it to say that a creamy two-tone carrot and mushroom "kachina" mousse set in a corn husk, numerous zucchini and yellow squash fans and a generous portion of a deeply herbaceous wild rice form an incredibly lovely visual, textural and taste counterpoint to crispy-skin duck pieces laved with one of the world's most intense brown sauces. Whew!
Our other entree, Eggless Jalapen~~o Pasta tossed with Southwestern Vegetables, Olive Oil, and Herbs, is chosen from the menu's short list of spa cuisine dishes. After the richness and intensity of all that has preceded, it's hard for this dish to match up entirely. It is attractive, though, and the spicy acidity of tomatillos, the crunchy sweetness of jicama and the stinging resonance of fresh cilantro do make this an acceptably interesting choice for the health-conscious.
Fortunately, my guest and I agree to forgo any further dalliance in this last category as we greedily light upon our shared dessert, a Chocolate Kahlua Taco. This is a solid semisweet chocolate taco shell wrapped around Kahlua mousse and fresh strawberries, served on an Aztec-calendar pattern of fruit and chocolate sauces. "Oh, my" in spades.
I've not yet really mentioned the service effort, in which the only slight blemish is an excess of enthusiasm. Very bright and thoroughly knowledgeable about all facets of the operation, this young staff may well be forgiven the animated spirits that come with playing on a championship team. I just hope my waiter learns to describe food without waving his hands over it, and that someone teaches him how to make a less-than-laughable aluminum-foil swan.
Beyond these tiniest of quibbles I can only give the most glowing report of the Arizona Kitchen experience. Just make sure that when you call for reservations, you get good directions (the Dysart Road route is easiest), as there is no signage before reaching the resort. Even getting a little lost, though, is a small price to pay for the pleasures of this remarkable and reasonably priced--about $35 per person including one drink and tip--dining experience.
A trip to the Arizona Kitchen is a totally gratifying journey to the hearth of Arizona.
By all means, also treat yourself to a drive to the Boulders Resort in Carefree some warm, spring evening. The cool elevation, the starry-night sky and dinner in the resort's Palo Verde room make for very body- and soul-satisfying refreshment.
Five years into its existence, the lovely looking Boulders seems to have finally hit a superior culinary stride. While cognoscenti swear by the resort's Latilla room, an unabashedly elegant continental-style restaurant, there's much to recommend the Palo Verde. It's also continental but with an attractive southwestern accent. This dining room even looks a little like the Arizona Kitchen, thanks in large part to the employment of a working display kitchen.
Lest the ardent Arizonaphile be disappointed, it's worth emphasizing that there is no slavish devotion to a southwestern theme here, just a few nice touches. A dish that captures the best of the Palo Verde to a tee is Herb-Crusted Roast Capon with Creamy Polenta and Natural Juices. Here is beautifully tender, boned and sliced capon, white meat attractively layered over dark, set in a richly flavored and extremely creamy cornmeal pudding. A garnish of fresh sauteed green beans is a perfect finishing touch.
Another exceptional dish is Pacific Ahi Steak with Sauteed Shiitake Mushrooms and Sauce Provencal. In this dish, two firm-flesh fish steaks are topped with wonderfully contrasting garnishes--mushrooms with a slightly sweet flavor and an olive-rich provencal mixture that is slightly tart. These are accompanied with an excellent side of cheesy, oily fettucine, of which I guarantee, you'll wish there was more.
One of the best things about the Palo Verde, in addition to the fine cooking, is that it comes up with a lot of little special touches. Bread service includes not only a great crusty and moist cornbread but also the unexpected fillip of a jar of pickled Calamata olives; coffee service includes an extra individual sterling pot of hot coffee for easy seconds and warm-ups; the wine list is one of the Valley's best and includes such pleasant surprises as a listing of several rare, single-malt Scotches. In general, service is cordial without being overly familiar, attentive without being intrusive.
Two highlights of a recent visit reveal the delightful versatility of Palo Verde. In the one instance, the restaurant is offering fresh blueberries (in February!) for dessert. This turns out to be superbly sweet and succulent New Zealand fruit which, when served in a large crystal bowl with white chocolate sauce, prompts me uncharacteristically to intrude upon several other parties in the restaurant with my earnest recommendation to order same.
My other special moment is one that's actually available twice during any evening visit to the Boulders. At night, the resort always maintains a pinon pine fire in a pit near the front entrance, and the smell is one of the sweetest sensory experiences of an always pleasant trip. It's an eloquent and appropriate hello and good-by, sandwiched around a perfectly delightful dinner.
