When it comes to dining, or any other aspect of existence worth writing about, I consider myself simpatico with Ray Milland’s quip in Billy Wilder’s The Lost Weekend, where he riffs off a line from Thoreau, stating, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation: I can’t take quiet desperation!” Transcendence…
What am I to do with a restaurant so studiously unambitious as the still-neonatal Fenix Eatery and Bar, ensconced in the small, dowdy “Arcadia Village” shopping center at 40th Street and Camelback Road? I hear the rabble crying to me like they did to Pontius Pilate millennia ago, urging that…
The ghost of Bob Crane led me to Bobby-Q, though the star of the ’60s sitcom Hogan’s Heroes didn’t stick around to help me eat my ribs. I should explain that Crane’s brutal, 1978 homicide in a Scottsdale apartment complex has always been a subject of fascination for me, long…
Cave Creek might as well be the dark side of the moon as far as this city mouse is concerned. I know, I know. It’s scenic and all that crap, but in my book, any area so lacking in streetlights is the sticks. And as I wend my way up…
According to the Egyptian Book of the Dead, Anubis, the jackal-headed judge of the underworld, weighs the hearts of men against the feather of truth and justice. As long as the organ does not tip the scale, the deceased is granted immortality. But if the heart is too heavy with…
For some, the word “fez” might conjure up romantic images of the ancient Moroccan city of Fez with its walled medina and medieval mosques, the setting for Paul Bowles’ brilliant, intricate novel The Spider’s House. Others might picture my hero Sydney Greenstreet as Signor Ferrari, wearing a fez and swatting…
Regarding the fleeting nature of human achievement, I’m reminded of the words of that controversial icon of early cinema, director D.W. Griffith, who once stated, “Movies are written in sand: applauded today, forgotten tomorrow.” Some movies more than others, I reckon. Griffith’s sentiment also applies to great and not-so-great meals…
I’ve had it up to here with work, so I’ve decided to phone in my column from the thriving Mexican city in which I’m vacationing. I’m seated on a long, brown and green picnic table with clusters of Hispanic families and couples, all speaking so fast in Spanish that about…
If Gotham is the city that never sleeps, then culinarily speaking, Phoenix gets all its beauty rest and then some. The primary complaint I hear from freshly unpacked twenty- and thirtysomething transplants concerns the lack of late-night nosheries. And indeed, the pickings are slim here past 9 or 10 p.m.,…
Super Dragon, I know, sounds like one of those fantastic drawings Jon Heder does while portraying ultra-nerd Napoleon Dynamite in the flick of the same name. You know, like Napoleon’s “liger,” a cross between a male lion and a female tiger that, according to Wikipedia.org, actually does exist in the…
I have been to the mountaintop, and, yes, I’ve eaten it, because that’s just the kind of guy I am. The edible pinnacle of which I speak is as formidable as Mexico’s Popocatepetl volcano, and while devouring it, I felt like the food-critic equivalent of some intrepid mountaineer determined to…
Unless you have a tongue made of cast iron and a mouth lined with ceramic tiles, the clear noodle salad at Sala Thai Restaurant on 32nd Street, a quarter-mile north of Shea Boulevard, should set your gob ablaze like Los Angeles during the riots, and that’s at the “medium” level…
Are all restaurant chains doomed to suck eggs like Old Yeller? Not necessarily. It’s hard to find fault with a Chambord margarita from Z’Tejas, for instance. And I do occasionally get a craving for an In-N-Out burger or a roast beef sammy from Arby’s. Don’t even get me started on…
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory: That’s what — poof — appears in my cranium like a two-bit magician behind a puff of smoke as I walk back to my car from Vu, chef William Bradley’s chichi, yearling eatery over at the Hyatt Regency Scottsdale at Gainey Ranch. There’s one…
My nostrils are so filled with the stink of keister-kissing by the other restaurant critics in this city that I long for nothing more than the hide of an overrated grub purveyor. Throughout greater Phoenix, there are plenty of culinary dinosaurs, as well as new bistros, in need of a…
The most superlative pizza I’ve ever scarfed was from storefront pizzerias in Manhattan and Brooklyn, usually after stumbling out of some tavern. But even when I was sober as the dreaded parson, pizza was the grub that kept me going in Gotham. And nothing that I’ve tasted outside the Five…
The only deity I’ve ever had a personal affinity for is that corpulent, jolly “buddha” with a small “b” known as Jin Foo, Bu Dai, or Hotei, depending on whom you ask. Personally, Gautama Buddha, he of the Bodhi tree fame, always struck me as a bit too severe, like…
Flan is one of those desserts people pooh-pooh, as if its production seems too simple, or its presence in a Southwestern town like ours too prevalent. But take it from a flan-obsessed gourmand like myself: Good flan ain’t easy to find. Like tiramisu in Italian eateries, flan is often written…
I’m at a sushi bar the other day, waiting for the chef to finish up some toro nigiri for me, when I decide to pay the raw-fish maestro a compliment. I praise the swank new restaurant he works in, and comment that the sushi has improved since it first opened…
No slight intended to that toddlin’ town of Mesa, but few are the delectations that would motivate me to drive down to that burg in 110-degree-plus heat, with the monsoon on my tail. Exceptional barbecue is one, and exceptional barbecue Mesa now has with the opening of a Big City…
If I were not duty-bound to visit a restaurant more than once before reviewing it, I never would have returned to Scottsdale’s Tapas after my initial, disastrous visit. There were even a couple of points during the evening when my companion and I seriously discussed walking out. Mostly, this occurred…
Does anyone else cringe when they hear of Mayor Phil Gordon’s front porch benches and how they’re now greeting visitors at Sky Harbor Airport? The mayor’s Mayberry aesthetic may have a noble intent; it’s supposed to bring us all together, and in doing so, help fight crime. But can’t we…
