Heather Hoch

The epicenter of fair eats has a delighful view of the ferris wheel.

​
The Arizona State Fair always seems to attract some rather eccentric food vendors. There are a few running themes in fair fare this year, though. First, if you can batter something like a corn dog, it can be deep-fried and subsequently sold at a booth. Second, food is better sold with qualifiers like jumbo, super, or brick. (That's right, a brick of cheese fries.) Third, bugs are food. So many of the treats are so unique they deserve a little recognition. More >>

 

My significant other is a notorious grump -- which has never been more evident than in his initial response to Hanny's, Karl Kopp's new downtown Phoenix hotspot. Here we have a gorgeous old building transformed into a stylin' new space, courtesy of the same people behind Scottsdale's AZ88. Here was a D.J. spinning some real great tunes. And here was a bartender eager to make us martinis.

Significant Other was having none of it. "I thought you said this was a restaurant," he growled. "This is a couple of sandwiches and salads. I want real food."

So that's my warning to any would-be hipsters with cranky boyfriends: This is not the place to get a sit-down dinner. The compact menu has a few appetizers, a few sammys, and a couple of small pizzas. Our waitress promised that there's going to be more to come, but for now, it's pretty slim pickings.

More >>

 

My new favorite at Sam's Cafe.

Loyalty is not my strong suit. I like to try new places and new things; ask me what my favorite restaurant is, and it's probably one that opened last week.

But with the economy collapsing, the newspaper industry in a particularly awful place, and a cold front (for Phoenix, at least) chilling the air, I've found myself turning more regularly to oldies-but goodies. McDonald's french fries. A petit filet at Durant's, washed down with an ice-cold martini. Just about anything at Tandoori Times in Scottsdale.

And, of course, Sam's Cafe. 

More >>

 

Four of us -- my sister-in-law and my brother and my dad -- had just decided on pizza for lunch when another brother piped up.

"Pizza?? I have a sore throat! I can't eat pizza."

This is life in the Fenske family. There is never consensus. Nothing can ever be simple. We might spend 40 minutes deciding which restaurant to go to -- and then a full hour afterwards, second-guessing our choice (and heaping ridicule on whichever moron had been stupid enough to recommend it.)

It's kind of charming, really. Until you're stuck there, standing in a crowded mall one day after Thanksgiving, arguing about lunch.

Yes, I went home to Cleveland. And of course the best thing to do when you're thousands of miles from your home is to go a chain restaurant, right? Umm, right?

It wasn't my fault we ended up there. We were desperate. The Italian place we like was closed for lunch. Adam didn't think he could swallow pizza. None of us were willing to deal with Mom's pick; it's despressingly filled with bluehaired old ladies. Dad was pushing for Red Robin, but it was the day after Thanksgiving, and we were already stuffed to the gills. (Plus, I noted helpfully, "it's a chain. I like to eat local." In typical fashion, everyone just ignored me.)

Rachel thought a deli might be nice -- but did we know of any nearby? It was Abby who had the answer: a nice locally owned place, just around the corner, big enough to seat all ten of us. Score! Half the party started to move toward the exits.

Then my mom made the fatal mistake. "Amy, what do you think about the Stonefield Grill? Abby's recomending it."

"What if they don't have a children's menu?" Amy asked. She is a first-time mother and (like most first-time mothers) completely preoccupied with motherhood.

"They'll have a children's menu," Abby said. "Everybody does."

"What if they don't?" Amy persisted.

"I'm sure they have a children's menu!" I will admit to shouting. We were starting to get glares from other shoppers.

"We don't know that ..." my mother said.

 "I've never been there," my father said. "What if I don't like it?"

In most families, this question would be easily answered. So what if you don't like it? It's one meal. You give it a go.

Mine family, suffice to say, is not like most families.

More >>

A true feast ...

If there is anything worse than moving -- and I'm not certain there is -- it may well be attempting to move in that frantic time between Thanksgiving and Christmas. But I'm nothing if not stupid, so my movers are scheduled to arrive bright and early December 3. In the mean time, I am trying to squeeze a full work schedule, a high-maitenance dog, holiday travel, and packing up four years' worth of junk into one seven-day period. Needless to say, I'm a mess.

Enter Kiri, Jill, Kendall, and Jen. Unbelievably, when I started musing aloud about "wouldn't it be sooo much fun to have a packing party, wherein you guys help me box up my crap," these four wonderful women did not go screaming for the hills. Instead, they asked when they should show up. (Is it any wonder they are my four favorite people in the entire Valley??)

When they arrived last night, however, I had a surprise for them. For once, I would not be serving liquor, hold the food. Nope, I intended to treat them to a full meal from my favorite neighborhood spot: QuikTrip.

Suffice to say I never quite bonded with this particular 'hood. When I moved in, I'd had visions of walking to Safeway for groceries, stumbling home from the funky bar on the corner, zipping over to Indian School Park. But it never quite materialized. Whenever I'd walk anywhere, I'd be followed by one of the neighborhood's overfriendly schizophrenics. The funky bar closed, replaced by yet another chain grocery. Meanwhile, light rail construction made it impossible to get to the park without walking blocks out of the way -- and dodging construction-angry motorists. So much for my urban adventure.

But I did find true love with something in walking distance ... that oh-so-cheerful gas station/convenience store at 3rd Avenue and Indian School.  

More >>

Cyclo is so freakin' cheery -- doesn't this wall just make you grin?

By Sarah Fenske

I have these fabulously cool neighbors. I know, I know, it's Phoenix, and no one is supposed to know their neighbors. But Daniel and Bobby both moved here from farflung places (Argentina for Daniel, Calfornia for Bobby), so maybe they didn't get the memo. Suffice to say, these two know everyone in the neighborhood who's worth knowing -- when Significant Other and I started to get to know them, it was kind of like being let into the cool kids' clique. They are funny guys who live very graciously.

So when Daniel decided that we needed to make a pilgrimage to Cyclo , the highly acclaimed Vietnamese restaurant in Chandler, who was I to say no? I mean, yeah, my usual weeknight dinner doesn't require an hour-long roundtrip drive featuring miles of the 202. And, alcoholic that I am, I also tend to prefer places with a fully stocked bar. BYOB? Does that mean there are no martinis?

But ... Daniel and Bobby adore this place. And did I mention I really like these guys?

So they rounded up two of their equally cool friends, Jonathan and Nicky, and the six of us made the sojourn from Central Phoenix to the heart of Chandler. Yes, it felt like we were halfway to New Mexico.

But it was sooo worth it.

The best thing about experiencing a new restaurant with its most regular regulars is that you can mooch off their menu choices. They've tried everything; they can tell you what works. And, of course, Daniel knew exactly how to get things started: the cha gio, better known as egg rolls.

Daniel's favorite...

I've done rolls both Chinese style (deep fried) and the lighter, crisper Vietnamese style, where veggies are wrapped in chilled rice paper. But I'd never done them Cyclo style -- which basically means they are fried, twice, and then at the table, you wrap them with fresh mint and a big lettuce leaf. It's a startlingly good combo: The heat and moistness of an egg roll, plus the crisp lightness of a lettuce wrap.

The final product, just before it got scarfed up.

We ended up ordering three plates of this appetizer. Cyclo's owner, the fabulous Justina, is teaching Jonathan some Vietnamese words, and of course he had just the word for this undertaking: Pig. Hey, if the shoe fits ...

More >>

Three hundred and fifty calories ...

By Sarah Fenske

This morning, some time after breakfast but before lunch, I ate 54 percent of my daily allotment of saturated fat. Fifty-four percent! Do you know how little that leaves for french fries at lunch, for butter at dinner, for any sort of dessert?

What happened was this: I ventured into the new Krispy Kreme at 7th Street and Roosevelt, and I ate a doughnut -- one freakin' donut. As it turns out, I stupidly chose one of the very fattiest on the menu (who knew that a Chocolate Iced/Kreme Filled doughnut is literally twice as bad for you as an Original Glazed?) and then I ate the whole thing. As a result, I'm now roughly the size of a McMansion. Ick.

I had been warned about Krispy Kremes. When I lived in Texas, the doughnut chain had storefronts on seemingly every corner -- and people just raved about the product. But for a Yankee experiencing the wonders of Houston cuisine for the first time, a doughnut seemed like a terrible waste of calories. In the neighborhood I worked in, you could get super cheap Vietnamese sandwiches, red beans and rice with gumbo, cheesey Tex Mex, barbeque, or chicken fried steak -- all in a matter of blocks. What use did I have for fried dough?

Then I moved to the Valley, and soon after, the Krispy Kremes here closed their doors. It wasn't until recently that the company was again open for business in Phoenix.

More >>

My favorite place, but not my favorite dish...

By Sarah Fenske

I have been in the worst mood lately. For some reason, fall always makes me depressed, in a "Remembrance of Things Past" kind of way. Like I can't stop thinking about past autumns -- better autumns -- and my present state of mind always suffers as a result.

And that's what I found myself thinking about at Rokerij on Monday. Normally I love, love, love this place -- generally, I'm never happier than when I'm sitting at the copper-covered basement bar, drinking a martini and basking in the fireplace's warm glow. As of last year, they have this wonderful menu of small plates, so you can sit there with your drink and nosh on a really nice steak tartare or even some blue crab tostadas. It feels great.

But in the spirit of getting out of my autumnal blues and into a better mood, I decided to eschew my usual tartare-and-salad combo and try the calamari. And I was reminded, sadlly, of why sometimes it's better to stick to one's hitlist: The calamari at Rokerij simply isn't very good.

More >>

A happy experience at the lounge at the new downtown Phoenix Sheraton ... who would have thunk it?

By Sarah Fenske

I totally wanted to hate District: American Kitchen and Wine Bar, the brand-spankin'-new restaurant at the brand-spankin'-new downtown Sheraton.

In my other life, the non-food-blogger one, I am a crusty old hard news reporter. I am also, coincidentally, a libertarian. And that combination means I spend most of my time inveighing against government waste. Which means I was not one bit in favor of the city of Phoenix subsidizing a new Sheraton hotel to the tune of 350 million frickin' dollars. If this was a good business venture, can't we all agree that the private sector would have stepped up?

For another, I am an ornery bitch, and I get sick of the Arizona Republic trying to tell me that the big ugly boxes downtown signify something "new" and "hip" and "classy." Reading reporter Dawn Gilbertson's piece last week about staying overnight in the Sheraton, I almost lost my lunch. "The Sheraton has been derided for its bland exterior. But there's nothing bland about the interior," Gilbertson wrote -- just before calling the rooms "Pottery Barn meets Sheraton purchasing." Frankly, I've never read a better description of "bland."

So I went into the place on Monday with guns blazing, figuring I'd write something nasty -- or, at minimum, a parody of Gilbertson's prose. I figured I'd sit at the bar, order something to eat, and then write up a first-person account of government excess and boring chain hotel eats. (See what I mean about being a bitch?)

The problem is, I really loved the place.

More >>

The perfect comfort food.

By Sarah Fenske

Every time I go to Cheese 'n Stuff, the remarkable little deli/food shop on Central, I order the same thing.

This is not the fault of the owners. They have an amazing variety of food here, from sandwiches made with Boar's Head meats and exotic cheeses to Nordic delicacies. Where else in town can you get Swedish pancake mix? Or Lutefisk? When I popped by this morning, I was amused to see a sign at the counter proclaiming that they now had "German Limburger." No offense to Limburger, but you simply won't see that one being advertised in many other delis.

No, the reason I keep ordering the same thing is that I'm in love. The very first time I placed an order here, I hit the jackpot, and I just don't see any reason to give another sandwich a chance: The Doughboy is comfort food perfected.

It's pretty simple, really. Deli turkey, bacon, advocado, and mayo on sourdough bread, served warm. But there is something wonderful about the way they make it here. They never give you tasteless spears of still-hard advocado, for one thing: at Cheese 'n Stuff, it's creamy and ripe. The bread is so wonderfully soft, too. And the mayo -- I swear, they must slather it on, because the overriding impression you get is the creamy saltiness of mayo-and-bacon. Yum.

More >>