Pomo Pizzeria – Scottsdale, Arizona

When you visit the Valley of the Sun, the very last thing you expect is a record-setting, all-day rain that keeps you indoors most of the day.    An all-day rain in December, however, is infinitely preferable to an all-day rain during monsoon season when the occasional deluge in 100-degree weather is exacerbated by humidity equalled only in a steam bath.  Staying indoors isn’t a bad thing.  It gave us the opportunity to study where we should enjoy dinner on Christmas Eve 2021.  My sister Anita, the only other gourmand in the family, had some recommendations which will have to wait for another day.  If drivers in Arizona are anything like drivers in New Mexico we didn’t want to drive as far as the restaurants she recommended. By the time we decided to head out, we had whittled our list down to restaurants meeting three criterion.  It would have to be Dude-friendly.  Our debonair dachshund wanted to celebrate Christmas Eve, too.  It would have to serve great food; that goes without saying.  It wouldn’t require us to drive halfway across the state in the downpour.  We should have added a fourth criterion.  The restaurant must be open (how obvious is…

Little Miss BBQ – Phoenix, Arizona

If you grew up in New Mexico, you’ve likely heard some variation of that tired old epigram “The reason New Mexico is so windy is because it’s bordered by Arizona which sucks and Texas which blows.”   If any truth whatsoever can be ascribed to that witticism, New Mexico should have fabulous barbecue because it’s bordered by Arizona which has great barbecue and Texas which has the best barbecue in the universe.  Alas, virtually every barbecue aficionado I know agrees that the Land of Enchantment’s barbecue has a lot to be desired.  It’s “good” most will agree, “better than it used to be,” others will tell you.  Still many of them will tell you the only barbecue restaurant in New Mexico worth a lengthy  pilgrimage is Mad Jack’s Mountaintop Barbecue which has its genesis in Lockhart, Texas, the barbecue capital of the world.  For better than good barbecue, savvy barbecue fanatics make a run for the border–either to Arizona or to Texas. Mastering the precise science and culinary art of the low-and-slow process of smoking of meats is not for the faint of heart or for couch potatoes like me.  It requires the patience of Job, the persistence of Hercules and…

Tapas Papa Frita – Scottsdale, Arizona

While dining at a restaurant in Phoenix, our stomachs roiled a bit as a pesky fly took a nosedive into my glass of Mexican Coca Cola.  By the time our server returned, the acid in the Coke had completely dissolved the fly.  There was no evidence remaining that a fly had drowned in the carbonated water.  If anything, that little escapade gave credence to one of two stories that explain the origin of Spanish tapas.  In this particular origin story, the genesis of tapas was in the working class taverns of Andalusia where field workers used slices of bread and meat to keep dust and insects out of their sherry glasses.  That story made me wish I had placed a piece of bread to keep that one fly away from my drink. There are similar origin stories, most involving covering beer or sherry with a saucer to keep flies out.  Bartenders eventually figured they could use the saucer to serve a little ham, some cheese and olives.  This clever move proved very popular among customers who appreciated the bar’s apparent generosity.  In one version of this origin story, devious innkeepers figured out they could serve cheap wine with a plate…

Barrio Cafe – Phoenix, Arizona (CLOSED)

A neighborhood should never be defined solely by grids and lines on a map or by a physical area where people live.  Nor should a neighborhood be defined by areas made homogeneous by restrictive covenants.  Neither should it be defined by brick-and-mortar landmarks.  What truly makes a neighborhood is its diverse and unique characters. Some are quirky and eccentric, some are brash and loud, others are indistinct and don’t stand out, but all are essential in weaving that beautiful neighborhood tapestry, that compendium of personalities that make up a community. The 16th Street “Barrio” neighborhood in Phoenix, Arizona is rich in both characters and character.  The latter is evident in the color wheel of unabashedly audacious and brash murals festooning the walls along the street.  It’s art with an attitude, art that inspires double-takes.  Who needs a gallery when you can drive up and down 16th Street and see better-than-museum-quality art depicting the culture and personality of the barrio: the iconic imagery of Dia De Los Muertos figures, low riders, masked luchadores, Mayan deities and so much more.  One of the most vivid threads in the rich and diverse tapestry that is the Phoenix’s 16th Street “barrio” neighborhood is Chef Silvana…

Haus Murphy’s – Glendale, Arizona

To some of us of a certain age and generation, the term “grandma’s food” evokes emotionally-arousing childhood memories of the foods our grandmothers would prepare. That’s especially true for those of us who no longer have those heaven-sent treasures.  Food was just one of the many ways grandma showed how much she loved her family.  Memories of grandma’s cooking sustain us and bring a flood of warm, fuzzy, happy memories to us–powerful memories that touch our senses of taste, touch, smell.  For the sentimental among us, “grandma’s food” summons the sense of love and happy familiarity in our hearts.   For restaurateur Thomas Hauck, the term “grandma’s food” also represents how German food is perceived by an American dining public more inclined to chase the shiny new culinary trend.  In a 2018 interview with the Washington Post for an an article titled “How Changing Tastes are Killing German Restaurants,” Hauck lamented the closure of his venerable German restaurant in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  “It’s a German restaurant that’s 114 years old,” Hauck said. “It’s not what the trend is; it’s just not.” Despite ranking “high” in familiarity by respondents to Yelp polls, Yelp’s research indicated German food ranked 83rd among 100 restaurant categories…

Richardson’s Cuisine of New Mexico – Phoenix, Arizona

My friend and former Intel colleague Steve Caine will forever rue the day he asked me to help him with an expense report for a business trip he made to Portland, Oregon. His itemized expense report indicated he had dined twice at Chevy’s, a middling quality Americanized Mexican restaurant which wouldn’t survive in the tough Albuquerque market.   I teased him mercilessly. Worse, when my boss saw what the commotion was all about, he immediately put Steve on double-secret probation. Steve has never lived down visiting a Chevy’s in Portland where he could have had some of the country’s freshest and best seafood. When the din died down, Steve admitted somewhat sheepishly that after two days in Portland, he was missing New Mexican food so desperately that he visited the closed facsimile he could find. It was either Chevy’s or a restaurant named Machissimo Mouse (seriously).  In truth, I’ve been there, too…well, not to Chevy’s and definitely not to Machissimo Mouse, but at a point in my business travels where the craving for New Mexico’s inimitable cuisine strikes like an addict’s need for a fix. We New Mexicans are understandably proud, maybe even haughty about our cuisine. We don’t think…

Fat Ox – Scottsdale, Arizona

In the Alpine village of Carrù in the Piedmont region of Italy stands the “Monumento al Bue Grasso” (monument to a fat ox).  Depicting two fat oxen under yoke, the monument celebrates the beast of burden so important to the region.  December’s ‘Fiera del Bue Grasso’ (festival of the fat ox) brings together tens of thousands of visitors who come to gaze at the oxen and eat copious amounts of deliciously warming tripe soup and boiled beef, washed down with a milled wine.   Farmers from throughout the region truck their oxen into town to show them off and vie for the chance to win the honored title of the “fattest ox.” Onlookers gather well before dawn to admire these enormous Piedmontese cattle. During our December, 2020 visit to the Phoenix area, we decided to celebrate another December holiday at a restaurant named for the Bue Grasso.  Indeed, Scottsdale’s Fat Ox is inspired by the rich culinary history of the Festival of the Fat Ox in Carrù.  An image of a fat ox precedes the restaurant’s name by the entrance to the spectacular edifice.  On Christmas night, the lavish dining room with its contemporary glass and wood appointments was dimly…

DeFalco’s Deli: Italian Eatery & Grocery – Scottsdale, Arizona

My Kim usually leaves the recitation of movie or television quotes to me (apparently it’s a guy thing), but every once in a while she’ll surprise me with an utterance or exclamation she could have picked up only from the big screen or idiot box.  When we strode into DeFalco’s Italian Eatery & Grocery, she approached an employee and–doing her best to channel New Jersey mobster Tony Soprano–asked “where’s da gabagool?”.  She had no intention of buying gabagool and doesn’t even like the stuff much.  The moment just seemed appropriate.   Here we were in an Italian grocery brimming with comestibles you’d find at the best East Coast Italian delis and my Kim followed up her question with “gabagool is nothing but fat and nitrates ,” a line uttered by Meadow Soprano.  The Dude and I were looking for a hole to crawl into.  Fortunately the employee was also a fan of The Sopranos and had undoubtedly been asked about gabagool before, albeit probably not with a slight Chicago accent trying to sound like a New Jersey mobster.    If you’re not a fan of The Sopranos or may have missed a 2009 episode of The Office in which Michael tried…

Cornish Pasty Company – Scottsdale, Arizona

There’s a European joke that uses stereotypes to deride British cooking, among the most maligned cuisines in the world culinary stage. As the joke goes, in the European conception of heaven, the French are the chefs, the British are the police, the Germans are the engineers, and so forth, while in the European conception of Hell, the Germans are the police, the French are the engineers and the British are the chefs. Rodney Dangerfield got more respect than British cuisine. While fish and chips are probably what most Americans would answer if asked what constitutes traditional British food, the truth is British food is as diverse as its many regions. During the three plus years we lived in England, we made the most of our opportunities to explore the mystical land of mystery and lore.  We experienced not only much of its renown pub grub, but classic high-end cuisine that is as good as any in America. At the pubs, we consumed many a ploughman’s lunch (consisting of crusty bread, various pickles, a wedge or two of local cheese and sometimes salad) and ate steak and kidney pudding (with a suet crust) like locally indigenous personnel (a MASH term that…

Portillo’s Hot Dogs – Tempe, Arizona

Portillo’s story is the story of the American dream, a rags to riches saga that began with a single hot dog stand opening in 1963. That single investment has blossomed into a multi-million per year chain with six different concepts and more than 40 restaurants in the Chicago area alone. The Portillo’s Restaurant Group has become, in fact, the largest privately-owned restaurant company in the Midwest. Among Chicagoland expatriates with whom I’ve worked (and one whom I married) Portillos is consistently named as one of the things they miss most about living in the Windy City. Expatriates like my Kim know there isn’t anything like Portillo’s anywhere else in America.  Other than frequent trips to the Chicago area, their only recourse has been ordering hot dogs online through Tastes of Chicago which offers nationwide delivery of all your Windy City favorites.  In October, 2005, Portillo’s launched its first location outside of Illinois, the lucky (hot) dog being Buena Park, California.  Since then, multiple locations have been launched in several metropolitan areas including three in Phoenix.  During winter break 2020, the Portillos in Tempe was the first restaurant we visited in Arizona.   There’s no way you could ever mistake Portillo’s…

Butters Pancakes & Cafe – Scottsdale, Arizona

“Spread your tiny wings and fly away And take the snow back with you Where it came from on that day So, little snowbird take me with you when you go To the land of gentle breezes where the peaceful waters flow.” ~ Anne Murray Every autumn, gaggles of geese, flocks of ducks, kettles of hawks and constructions of cranes begin their long, arduous migration from the continent’s northern regions to warmer climes in the South. They fly in formation to more idyllic and much warmer locales such as the Bosque del Apache in New Mexico. Similarly, large numbers of pasty-skinned human migrants from Canada and the northern tier of the fruited plains leave behind the rigors of snow shoveling, sub-zero temperatures, dark winter nights and bitterly disappointing fall television schedules. They journey by every motorized conveyance known to man to the southern United States and Mexico, toting their golf clubs, swimming trunks, SPF-400 suntan oil and bags of money. In polite company, we call these heat-seeking seasonal migrants “snowbirds.” Many of them, especially the blonde ones of the XX chromosome pairing, seem to favor Scottsdale, Arizona. We had thought the concept of snowbirds applied solely to migratory avian and…