I’ll be honest with you. Normally, I don’t eat breakfast. I get up, drink something hot, and when my stomach starts interfering with my work or fun, I give it something just large enough to keep it quiet until its next meal. Sometimes that’s lunch. Sometimes that’s dinner. This is…
When I walk into the elegant new Ruth’s Chris Steak House in Scottsdale, I am struck by a singular thought: Scotch. An obvious case of stimulus-response, if there ever was one, for Ruth’s Chris takes me back to the late Seventies, when I lived in New York and worked in…
I’ve been thinking about Perry Como lately. Specifically, I’ve been thinking about his song “Catch a Falling Star.” If you’re unaware of Como’s scintillating 1958 hit, the idea conveyed in the song is “Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket” . . . something, something . …
Summer is busting out all over. And in Tempe, Japanese restaurants are sprouting up like mung beans! In the last few months, two new restaurant-sushi bars have opened within mere blocks of each other. And, while both offer fine Japanese dining, neither is truly authentic–or truly wonderful. In the case…
Roaming tourists with minicams. Well-preserved older women resembling TV psychiatrists. Tables of young, upwardly mobile people dressed in suits and ties, cocktail sheaths, gold jewelry and French braids. Out-of-town businessmen relaxing in plaid shirts and Levi’s Dockers after a hard day of conferencing in Phoenix. As evening falls, these are…
A guest from Minneapolis stayed with me recently. We went out to eat a few times. Over dinner, she told me she distrusts restaurant critics. “I almost always assume they’re on the take,” she said. “Or else, if they rave about some place, it’s because that restaurant is an advertiser.”…
Hunks of yellow margarine sizzle madly on a tabletop grill. Thin slices of red, rare beef stick to its surface and darken dramatically. From beneath the gas burner, smoke begins to billow. This potential 911 scene takes place at my table in #1 Restaurant, a new Vietnamese place in a…
My editor likes me to start this column with a bang. A funny anecdote, a clever sentence. This week, I am so unmoved by my eating experiences at Tempe’s new Acapulco Bay Beach Club and Cantina del Pedregal at the Boulders in Carefree, she’s lucky to have even this dull…
Once upon a time, in a very rich country, the people elected a president who helped them become even richer. Soon, there was so much money to spend, the people didn’t know what to do with it all. They bought big boats and big TVs and fancy watches and called…
Power lunch conjures up a distinct image, doesn’t it? Briefcase-wielding men in dark suits and red ties. American Express card-carrying women wearing just the right amount of real gold jewelry, and with hair and nails that take time and money to achieve. It evokes the sound of conversations conducted sotto…
You don’t have to be a genius to figure out the genesis of Hooters. You don’t even have to read Hooters’ press release or back-of-the-menu description to make an educated guess. The name pretty much says it all, doesn’t it? And no, we’re not talking about owls. Hooters, the restaurant,…
Welcome to the last installment of our continuing series Penelope Does Brunch. Today’s episode is subtitled “Far Out,” in which Penelope travels to such remote locations as Carefree, Litchfield Park, and an equestrian theme park in north Scottsdale. In addition to racking up mileage, Penelope finds good food and has…
Ever find yourself waxing nostalgic for that neighborhood spaghetti joint back wherever you came from? The one where you didn’t have to worry about how you were dressed? Where they served all your favorites, like baked ziti, stuffed shells, manicotti, lasagna? Where service was casual but good, and melting candles…
How I arrive at La Mexicana in El Mirage is an imprecise process. “It’s behind the Circle K,” my tipster has told me. This is my only clue. I do not know the address. Fortunately, El Mirage is not a big place. Fortunately, I know where the town is, having…
The sun shines bright on Black Canyon City. I am waiting in line at a rather unusual barbecue. The young girl behind the outdoor counter waves metal tongs at me. I point to the four bins of fried food in front of her. “What is what here?” I ask. Her…
Cooking-school restaurants probably oughtn’t to be reviewed by critics. The servers and chefs are students–who find out quite literally if their performances are passable. They receive scorecards at the end of each meal, grades at the end of the term, certificates of completion at the end of the line. Even…
To bistro or not to bistro? That is the question for many French restaurants these days. Understandably, the current urge to create an unpretentious environment for the consumption of bonne cuisine francaise coincides with the downturn of the American economy. The bistro, like its brother the brasserie, connotes a less-expensive…
I grew up believing brunch was yet another clever innovation of the 1960s. I was mistaken. According to etymologists, “brunch” the word came into existence in 1896 to describe a meal combining breakfast and lunch, taken late in the morning. Well, I don’t know about you, but for me, brunch…
Ah, sushi! Our passionate romance cooled in 1979 following a raconteur’s tale of extended illness caused by the consumption of raw fish in a Japanese restaurant. Yet I harbor no resentments. I still recount with pleasure all those lunch hours I spent absorbed in your company at Hatsuhana on East…
Like most of you, I’ve never been to Cuba. I fell in love with black beans and Caribbean-style Spanish cuisine nearly twenty years ago during a monthlong stay in Puerto Rico. Family friends drove us all over the island–from Santurce through the mountains to Ponce–to taste the best it had…
It’s January 2. Your clothes feel tight. You’re afraid to step on the scale. You’re trying hard to obliterate all memory of your holiday excesses: the buttery Christmas cookies . . . the Chex party mix . . . the eggnog and rum . . . the box of See’s…
I get paid to eat, not drink. But the holiday season is full of such pressures. Deck the halls. Be jolly. Be naughty. Be nice. It’s enough to drive anyone to the nearest microbrewery to quaff a few. Wait a minute. Did I say “microbrewery”? Somebody, please, call William Safire…
