Quick — cue the menacing B-movie horror soundtrack so I can tear at my hair and shriek, “It’s everywhere! Everywhere!” That’s how I feel when I’m behind the wheel, heading into yet another construction zone in some random part of town. I thought bumpy, torn-up roads, pylon obstacle courses, and…
Damn that Tony Bourdain. Whenever I watch No Reservations, his jet-setting culinary Travel Channel show, I end up with unbearable cravings for foreign food that I stand no chance of finding in this country. At least, not in Arizona. It’s often a dish I never knew existed, but after hearing…
This summer, I saw an amazing performance of the national anthem before a D-Backs game. The singer was a young boy with a graceful voice that made me think, “This kid’s gonna be the next Luther Vandross.” When he hit the highest note, I know I wasn’t the only baseball…
“Urban. Latin. Sexy. Chill.” That caught my eye when I checked out the online menu for Ticoz, a self-described “resto-bar” that opened last month on Seventh Street, just north of Camelback, in the same strip that houses tiki treasure trove Go-Kat-Go. I’m not sure if those four words qualify as…
Chandler used to strike me as a mild-mannered commuter ‘burb that wasn’t so different from other booming parts of the Valley — a young population like Tempe, a historic downtown area like sprawling Mesa, and the upscale aspirations of a junior Scottsdale. But over the past several years, I’ve found…
If middle-school kids work at all, they might mow lawns or deliver papers to earn a few bucks. My first job was a little more unusual. Almost 20 years ago, I worked at my parents’ seafood shop, spending hours picking shell from piles of crabmeat for my mom’s homemade crab…
“This is cooool!” I almost blurted that out loud the first time I visited Tradiciones, a new Mexican restaurant at the Phoenix Ranch Market. From the parking lot, it doesn’t look like much, but soon I found myself in a Mexican courtyard with benches, a fountain, and a stage where…
If you can’t make something from scratch, customizing it is the next best thing. When I bought a new car, I could hardly stand to drive it until I got some new rims. If I get bored with my wardrobe, I start doing wacky things with accessories, or even (in…
It’s not hard to figure out why college students and ethnic restaurants go hand in hand. One demands food that’s a cheap, quick, and tasty alternative to instant ramen, and the other is happy to accommodate. So the pickings near the ASU campus are predictably diverse: Mexican, Indian, Ethiopian, and…
Multitasking is nothing new to downtown businesses, especially when it comes to nightlife. Think of Modified Arts (an art gallery/music venue), the OnePlace (an alternative church/music venue), or the Paper Heart (an art gallery/bar/performance space), places that successfully switch gears when the sun goes down. So I wasn’t entirely surprised…
Going out to dinner with my Uncle Jim feels like performance art. Uncle Jim’s encyclopedic knowledge of food comes from years spent paying his dues — as garde-manger, sous chef, kitchen manager — at a variety of upscale eateries. He hasn’t worked as a chef for a long time, but…
A few years ago, I moved to a historic district near downtown Phoenix, figuring that the best way to support the city’s renaissance was to live here, shop here, and eat here, frequenting the small, locally owned joints that dot the landscape. But the dots were few and far between,…
When I was a kid, I could not wait to become an adult, and my grandparents’ themed cocktail parties fueled my imagination. Not that my memories are based on actual experiences, mind you. These glitzy poolside affairs never included children. Instead, I got a vicarious thrill from the old Polaroids…
The expectations game can be as dangerous for restaurant owners as playing mumblety-peg with a 10-inch, razor-sharp Bowie knife. If you roll into town telling all and sundry you’re the bee’s knees, pour $1 million into your eatery, and brag that your venture is going to be the only “authentic”…
Pink Taco is to Mexican grub what the House of Blues is to soul food, or P.F. Chang’s is to Chinese. Each of these spots doles out eats for yupper middle-class, gringo palates. So if you’re expecting either a gourmet meal or an authentic ethnic dining experience when you go…
The late ’70s. California. Macrobiotic cooking. Wacky New Age cults. Jogging. Yoga. Tibetan Buddhism. Jerry Brown and Linda Ronstadt. Uri Geller. Wheat germ. Meditation. The Esalen Institute. UFOs. Patty Hearst. Est. And my own personal fashion icon, the Reverend Jim Jones, the man who made guayaberas and dark sunglasses look…
I wonder if Damon Brasch could do for veganism what American Apparel founder Dov Charney has done for generic clothing: make it sexy as all get-out. Brasch is the owner of Green, New American Vegetarian, a purveyor of vegan comfort food on Scottsdale Road in Tempe, not far from the…
There’s been no love lost between myself and those belonging to the Valley’s veg-head clan. And I’m a big enough man — literally as well as figuratively — to admit that certain prejudiced perceptions of the vegan/vegetarian tribe have heretofore inhibited my gustatory outings. Generally, when someone says the words…
Why have I been skipping around the office, of late, humming Iron Butterfly’s heavy metal classic “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” as I go? Have I been doing peyote again? Swallowed a bag of ‘shrooms, followed by a tab or three of X? Yahweh, no. My drug of choice is made evident by the…
A humongous Pop-Tart. That’s what this marionberry cobbler — named for a type of blackberry, not the erstwhile mayor of D.C. — reminds me of, from its gooey, purplish guts, to its crust, which, like Kellogg’s toaster pastry, turns soft after a little time in the microwave. As with the…
There are a barrel of jackasses out there in foodie land who insist I’m never supposed to visit a fresh grubbateria until it’s survived six months or so, and to these jackasses, I say: Eat my ragged Speedo! My five-year mission as your Captain Kirk of comestibles is to explore…
I used to loathe doggie bags, mainly the way they stink up the sedan as you’re motoring home with half a curry fermenting in the back seat. But I’ve learned the trick of rolling down all four windows on the trek home so that the breeze blows back any odious…
