I’ve always wanted to summer in Baghdad, and now at last I can. No, silly, I’m not joining the Army National Guard. I may be the size of John Candy, but this is no rerun of Stripes on basic cable. Rather, my imaginary journey to the banks of the Tigris…
Nineteenth-century journalist, poet and author Charles Pierre Monselet once stated that “a true gastronome should always be ready to eat, just as a soldier should always be ready to fight.” How right you were, Chuckles, but of course, it doesn’t hurt if the cuisine in question happens to be the…
One dilemma I face as a restaurant reviewer is how long of a grace period I should allow an infant establishment before writing about its fare. Some of my pals in the eatin’ biz assert that a newbie grub shack should be ready from jump, while others say that the…
Having spent my formative years in the Land Time Forgot (i.e., the South), soul food is as dear to me as pasta is to the Italians. How fortuitous, then, is my current place of employment, which so happens to be smack dab in the soul food section of town. Right…
Before I dive into this week’s review, I should take a moment to reply to some of the correspondence I receive on a regular basis. To the female admirers who deluge me nonstop with perfumed hankies and declarations of undying love, please see my secretary for an application to my…
A colleague of mine left me a copy of a certain publication the other day with the attached note, “Well, I guess someone feels threatened.” The someone in this case was a fellow food scribbler whose surname rhymes with “Puke-cannon.” I’d never bothered to pick up the rag in question,…
Burgs like Snottsdale and Parasite Valley may get all the kudos when it comes to living arrangements, but were I run out of central Phoenix on a rail and forced to choose, I’d take that toddlin’ town of Chandler over either one of those two swells-zones. Here, as in all…
Descending from Pinnacle Peak the other day, after a repast at Sassi, the new, resort-like restaurant fashioned to resemble an Italian villa, the initial stanza of Coleridge’s Kubla Khan rang in my noggin. You know the lines, “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/a stately pleasure dome decree . . . “…
Those of you old enough to have lived through any part of the Cold War — or to have suffered through a political conversation with a devout Libertarian — will be familiar with the oft-repeated mantra that capitalism is the most efficient system on earth, unlike communism, which is grossly…
I was in Tempe last week, sitting in a cafe and flipping through my recent purchase from a nearby bookshop of a rare copy of Valentine Penrose’s The Bloody Countess: The Atrocities of Erzsebet Bathory, when a bizarre desire took hold of me. Those of you familiar with this 16th-century…
So I was over at Mikey’s the other day, doing bong hits and watching episode after episode of Cartoon Network’s Aqua Teen Hunger Force, which makes a lot more sense once the sinsemilla turns the reasoning center of your brain to oatmeal. Mikey had Tivo’d a mess of them, and…
One of the joys of writing a weekly column for New Times is that I’m pretty much given carte blanche to cut through the ca-ca that other news outlets lay on with a trowel. Take, for example, the current coverage of former president Ronald Reagan’s demise: the tearful remembrances, the…
I suppose most folks have their own, somewhat flattering image of themselves, and I am no different in this regard. In my mind’s eye, I’m a cross between Sydney Greenstreet’s character Signor Ferrari in Casablanca and the so-called “wickedest man in the world” Aleister Crowley, though I lean more toward…
Occasionally, I feel like the Ted Bundy of food critics, trawling sundry restaurant rows here in Phoenix, looking for my next victim. It has something to do with exorcising my inner Jack the Ripper, albeit with the written word as my butcher knife. Unlike Bundy, et al., my “victims” are…
Last week, I was perusing this book Bizarrism, a compilation of “Strange Lives, Cults and Celebrated Lunacy” by Aussie author Chris Mikul, when I was overcome by an irresistible yearning to taste the treasures of the briny deep. Or, to state it more plainly, I was bloody hungry for seafood…
I have been very, very spoiled in the past when it comes to churrascaria, or Brazilian barbecue. I didn’t realize how spoiled until I visited the new Brazeiro Steakhouse in Scottsdale’s Fashion Square. But more on that place in a moment. You see, fortune has heretofore led my belly to…
Los Angeles may have the ocean, a temperate climate, Hollywood starlets and the Lakers, but the Valley cleans La-La Land’s proverbial clock when it comes to pizza. Perhaps Angelenos are too busy eating tofu and primping for their close-ups, but for whatever reason, in El Lay, it’s either Wolfgang Puck…
I’d been sitting on the fence for the past week about Rokerij, Richardson Browne’s classy new chop shop, when I happened to take a look at the fine print on the menu of this stone-and-wood surf-and-turf joint, which reads: “Sorry, we do not provide highchairs or booster seats.” In other…
One of the bonuses of dwelling in a real metropolis is having a reputable Indian eatery within reasonable distance of one’s digs. When I resided in New York, I was the luckiest I’ve ever been in this regard. My building was near 23rd Street and Lexington Avenue, and just a…
Death and taxes. The two unavoidables of human existence had me knee-deep in the dumps. It happened after I visited my local H&R Block on Camelback to see how much I didn’t get back from the supposedly massive Bush tax cut. Okay, I admit, I did qualify for a piddling…
Let me share a little secret with you: Journalists love to eat and eat well, but we’re also notoriously cheap. In part, this has to do with the fact that almost no one gets rich off scribbling for a living. And probably, deservedly so, if you judge by what’s sometimes…
Allow me to address a theme that runs through a number of missives I’ve received from my detractors, most of whom have this ass-backwards notion that restaurant reviews should be as chipper as the banter of those coifed nimrods over at Good Morning Arizona. That is, when somebody deigns to…
