It’s hard for me to look at a restaurant and evaluate it purely based on the food.  So many variables factor into the equation: service, value, atmosphere, and location.  It’s easy to forget that, at the end of the day, a restaurant is a business that is designed to make money, although smuggling drugs across the border might be a less risky way to do so.  These days, wouldn’t it make sense for a new restaurant to keep its overhead as low as possible in the interest of trying to squeak out a profit? 

It is with that question in mind that I approached Athena Greek Cuisine, located near Scottsdale Road and the Loop 101.  You might as well forget that you’re in a restaurant, because the place looks like the Greek section of “It’s a Small World” at Disneyland.  Every stereotypical Grecian styling cue is present: ornate columns framing a centrally located bar, Zeus-inspired lions at the entrance, statues, etched glass.  It’s not my taste, per se, and it feels much more “corporate ethnic” than “authentically ethnic.”  Athena Greek Cuisine is something of an anachronism; isn’t this how restaurants used to look, before the market tanked? 

Décor aside, I give the owners credit for having the balls to launch such a capital intensive beast.  With the exception of gyros or the dolmas at Trader Joe’s, Greek restaurants haven’t permeated the mainstream American dining scene.  How many times have you said to yourself, “I’m really craving Greek food tonight?”  And that’s really a shame, because Greek food prepared well is worth exploring.  Based on my initial visit, Athena gets it mostly right, with some caveats. 

Only a week into its existence, Athena was fairly empty when I visited for a weekday lunch but the place is so cavernous that there could be 100 people inside and it would still feel empty.  Add the expansive patio, replete with flat screen televisions, and the place is certifiably gigantic.  I found it odd that there are very few two-top tables; in fact, the hostess try to seat my party of two at a round table set for five, which would have been quite odd.  She gladly moved us to a booth when we asked, but they’ll need to add some tables for two if they want to serve the local business lunch crowd. 

Service was efficient, without feeling rushed.  The servers have clearly been well trained but I noticed, after we had already ordered, that the table behind us was read a lengthy list of specials that we never heard about.  Oh well, too late.  The menu is varied, with nearly 30 different hot and cold appetizers.  The staff is clearly pushing the Saganaki, a piece of Kefalograviera cheese doused with brandy that is then lit on fire, tableside, complete with a tacky “Opa!” yelled by the server.  I’m more intrigued by the Greek Sausage, Marinated Octopus, and Fried Smelts.  It’s hard to evaluate the authenticity of the menu, as so many of the appetizers are designed to appeal to the masses, but some are more unique.  Still, there is something for everyone and the restaurant was only one week old, so there is still plenty of time for refinement of the menu. 

In the interest of tasting as much as possible in one sitting, I went with the Athena Combination Plate, consisting of Pastitsio, Moussaka, Roasted Leg of Lamb, Dolmadas and vegetables.  The first thing I noticed is that the food was barely room temperature.  Many of these items are clearly pre-prepared in large portions, which is fine, but they should still be served steaming hot.  When I got beyond the temperature, the flavors were actually quite good.  The Pastitsio is very hearty dish, and the nutmeg in the béchamel sauce added a nice dimension.  The Moussaka (“Greek Lasagna” in my vernacular) was also solid, if not a tad greasy.  Dolmadas were notably more sophisticated in flavor than the simple rice-filled grape leaves you’ll find at Trader Joe’s.  These would make a great appetizer.  

Lamb is synonymous with Greek food, and the Roast Leg of Lamb was full of flavor but terribly overcooked.  I know it’s a matter of personal preference, but shouldn’t they have asked how I like it cooked instead of assuming that well-done would suffice?  Given that every one of the daily specials includes lamb, the kitchen should be nailing this one. 

Though I did not try it, I am intrigued by the Whole Fish of the Day.  Also, I noticed several orders of Beef Souvlaki being brought out, and it looked like a great lunch choice priced at just eight dollars including salad or fries.  Continuing on the “something for everyone” theme, there is an extensive selection of chicken, steaks, chops, and seafood entrée selections. 

It’s hard to make a judgment call on Athena.  The food has potential, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that the menu is dumbed-down for mainstream palates as it needs to be, because the small percentage of diners that appreciate authenticity isn’t enough to fill the restaurant.  At the same time, Athena is an example of a locally-owned restaurant that feels distinctly like a chain.  I’m not opposed to chains, as so many others are, but in general the chains that I like (such as Houston’s) don’t really feel like chains.  Despite the lavish décor, Athena felt cold, almost clinical.  I felt like I was in a Hollywood façade, not a local restaurant.  It will be interesting to see if the vibe changes on a Saturday night, when the restaurant and bar are bustling. I liked the fact that the the owner was in the dining room, talking to customers and taking a hands-on approach.  That's a very good sign.

In Greek mythology, Scylla and Charybdis were two sea monsters that made it impossible for sailors to escape their grasp alive.  Only time will tell if the staggering overhead of Athena Greek Cuisine will seal its fate. 

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Athena Greek Cuisine

7000 East Mayo Blvd

Phoenix, AZ 85054

480-502-4466

www.athenagreekcuisine.com

One hundred dollars doesn’t buy very much these days; bad seats and some snacks at an NBA game, a one-way fare to Barstow, or maybe a tank of gas for my behemoth SUV.  At Guy Savoy, in Las Vegas, one hundred dollars might buy you an appetizer and an entrée, if you err on the cheap side and go easy on the truffles.  When you think of “omakase,” the Japanese concept of entrusting your menu to the Chef, you’re usually signing-up for a lot more than one hundred dollars.  Masa, Megu, Yamashiro….enough said.  Bring your Amex Centurion card, get a letter of credit from your bank, or go elsewhere. 

Which brings me to Scottsdale’s Roka Akor, an audacious restaurant loosely linked to Roka, its London-based namesake.  (Allegedly, the “Akor” was added to avoid confusion with Sushi Roku, which opened around the same time.)  In many ways, Roka Akor is the perfect punch-line to every joke made about Scottsdale.  Valet parking full of expensive cars, an emphasis on aesthetics, stylized food, and a bar that carves the ice by hand.  The patrons seem fit, sparkly and, often, generously enhanced.  If you’re predisposed to despise Scottsdale, Roka Akor is your rallying cry.  Sadly, if the same meal had been served at the same price in a gritty warehouse district, the hipsters would be selling their skinny jeans to get a table.  

And that’s really a shame because, regardless of locale, Roka Akor’s omakase menu (priced at $95 per person) is an amazing bargain that will dazzle you with variety, quality ingredients, skillful preparations and a high level of engagement with the kitchen and serving team.  Moments after ordering the Chef came to our table to inquire about likes, dislikes, and food allergies.  With only a few restrictions from our table, he returned to the kitchen to get started.  The sheer volume of food – combined with the quality of what was served – makes the price of entry a relative bargain.  Masa it is not, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worthwhile. 

Consider the Butterfish Tataki with White Asparagus; subtly flavored and sublimely tender.  Or, a bountiful serving of Toro, fatty like foie gras from the sea.  Bring on the Robata Grilled Black Cod with Yuzu and Pickled Onions.  And these dishes didn’t even make a dent in the 13 courses that we were served. 

Lamb chops, a favorite dish of mine but one that is often gristly and poorly prepared, were juicy, tender and bursting with smoky flavor from the grill.  Shishito peppers (which were unknown two years ago but now seem to be just about everywhere) were served en-masse with blistered skin, like miniature hatch chiles. Bonito flakes, delicately sprinkled on top, added a perfect saltiness.  An interesting inclusion was Robata Sweet Corn and Broccolini; non-traditional yet perfectly executed.  I love when a restaurant can get me to enjoy the vegetables as much as the protein. 

Prime Beef with Truffled Rice and Four Mushrooms was a decadent end to the meal.  Despite the kitchen’s assault on our stomachs, I never felt over-stuffed and I sank into my chair as the richness of this dish dealt a final blow to my appetite…in the best possible way.

I would be remiss if I failed to comment about the drink selections, which are extensive and varied.  There are no fewer than 13 different Shochu Infusions and cocktails.  If you have never tried it, the Shochu Sampler is a good selection to explore this distilled beverage, whose flavor can be similar to vodka, gin or whiskey depending on the ingredients that are distilled.  Mock it as you may, but the crystal clear ice, chipped by hand at the bar from a giant block, is a nice touch and it just feels good clinking in your glass.  There are also 11 different sake and wine flights.  And dessert?  I'm not much of a dessert guy, but I'll let the photo speak for itself.

I understand that these are lean times; every dollar counts.  Value is in, decadence is out.  But if one hundred dollars for a 13 course omakase experience is wrong, then I don’t want to be right. 

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Roka Akor

7299 North Scottsdale Road

Scottsdale, AZ 85253

480-306-8800

www.rokaakor.com

Twitter: rokaakor

There are only a handful of things in this world that I believe with absolute certainty.  Treat people the same way you wish to be treated.  Do what you say you’re going to do.  What goes around comes around.  O.J. was guilty. Hard work and good character should be rewarded.  Root for the good guys. 

Robert McGrath is one of the good guys in the restaurants business.  He has been the recipient of nearly every prestigious accolade - including a James Beard award - yet maintains a down-home sensibility that is evident in his food and his demeanor.  I distinctly remember an incredible meal that I had at The Roaring Fork in the late 90’s (before he sold his interest); unlike everything else that was Southwestern, Asian, or French, McGrath’s food was hard to classify.  His menu conveyed the ruggedness of the American West with seasonal ingredients, long before the term “seasonal” became mandatory for any new restaurant.  In the back of my mind, I always thought that McGrath was the kind of guy that I’d like to be if I was in the restaurant business.  The Roaring Fork declined once Robert left, and his brief stint as the owner of Pischke’s was a flop.  I think he even consulted on the menu at Christie’s Cabaret. 

And then the shit really hit the fan. 

McGrath sought to renovate the building that housed The Other Place and turn it into “REM,” a lofty concept of traditional continental cuisine with several distinct dining areas, each with a different emphasis.  After sinking huge amounts of his savings into the venture, the economy tanked, investors got nervous and the project was shuttered.  Just when it looked like things couldn’t get any worse, his daughter was involved in a terrible car accident.  Had McGrath chosen to check-out, I would have understood.  Why was the good guy, who had worked so hard, being dealt such a bad hand?  It didn’t seem fair to me. 

But adversity often brings out the best in people, and Robert McGrath has re-emerged as the chef – not owner – of the recently opened Renegade Canteen.  Ironically, Renegade Canteen occupies the space that previously housed South Beach, an awful homage to everything that’s wrong about Scottsdale.  (It was the subject of the first “review” I ever wrote on Chowhound.)  I was more than just a little bit excited to see what had been done with the space, which is now rich, warm, open, and comfortable.  

It is also staffed with a surprisingly adept cast of characters.  The young hostesses had unexpected level of professionalism; they quickly brought me a glass of water while I waited for my guest in the reception area, and deftly handled several walk-ins when tables weren’t going to be available for a few hours.  The bar is run by an industry veteran, and the management and servers seemed thrilled to be there. All the right pieces are in place. 

And the food rocks.  In fact, McGrath may very well be back and better than ever. 

It’s a huge menu, and I had a hard time choosing what to order because so many things sounded good to me and, let’s face it, I don’t have Adam Richman’s stomach capacity.  We settled on Rock Lobster Grits with Broccoli Rabe and a Quail Egg on top, along with the Cocktail of Smoked Shrimp and Chilled Crabmeat & Cabbage Enchiladas, the last of which was highly recommended by both the manager and our server.  Ironically, it was the least favorite of the trio that we ordered, although it still had a fresh taste and nice mix of textures resulting from the crisp cabbage “tortilla.”  It was too cold, and simply failed to excite. 

The Rock Lobster Grits was the real star.  Served in a mini cast iron vessel, perfectly cooked chunks of sweet rock lobster melded with the quail egg yolk.  My only suggestion would be that the presentation could be enhanced by the server breaking the yolk tableside.  The Smoked Shrimp were equally delicious; we were told that they were cooked purely by smoke and they had a strong, but not overwhelming, “shrimpy” flavor.  It is worth noting that some of the highlights of this “western” menu were seafood dishes, the likes of which probably aren’t found out on the range. 

Although several corn-fed steaks are found on the menu (at reasonable prices, especially since they included two sides), we elected to go with Blackened Catfish with Blue Crabmeat and Shrimp “Fondeaux” and the Brick Roasted Little Chicken with Desert Sage Pesto and Cheese Grits.  I believe that the sign of a good cook is his/her ability to take something simple, like roast chicken, and prepare it well.  I’ve never understood why so many restaurants manage to screw-up something as simple as roasted chicken but, time and time again, they do.  Not McGrath.  The smell of desert sage perfumed the air as the chicken arrived, with crispy skin and juicy meat.  Even the white meat was moist, although I’m still working on engineering a dark-meat-only breed of chicken.  

I’m not usually a catfish guy, but the southern-inspired preparation sounded appealing to me and did not disappoint.  Again, the shrimp on top was perfectly cooked and the flavor of the fish worked well in conjunction with the blackened seasoning.  Does anyone remember a restaurant called The American Grill, which occupied the space presently used by Houston’s on Scottsdale Road? They turned me on to blackened fish but, decades later, Renegade Canteen does a good job of bringing this dish back to the market. 

The staff made a big deal out of their “Oregon trained pastry chef with dreadlocks down to his waist” so I felt compelled to give dessert a try, although I stayed away from some of the more interesting offerings like Candy Cap Mushroom Bread Pudding and Red Beet Root Cake.  Instead, I went for the Chocolate Toffee Pecan Pie with house-made Bourbon Spiked Ice Cream.  Unlike most pecan pies, this one wasn’t cloyingly sweet and was the perfect way to end what amounted to be an outrageously good meal. 

If you think that I must be on Renegade Canteen’s payroll to rave so thoroughly, you’re wrong.  It’s just that they got so many things right and have done so very early on.  Things can only get better.  There is even a Little Renegades menu, which is a very nice welcome touch to parents like me, and I noticed a number of families with young kids in the dining room.  Each night there is a different “Weekly Classic” including choices such as Pork Osso Bucco, Roast Rack of Lamb (which looked fantastic), and “Smelly Old Fish from Last Week.”  There is even a Whole Fried Chicken for $20 (including sides), which is enough to serve a small family.  That should appease even the most value-conscious diners.  (As well as a certain not-worth-mentioning, self-proclaimed, food “man-about-town.”)  

The second coming of Robert McGrath has been worth the wait.  Renegade Canteen strikes just the right balance between sophistication and value, creativity and approachability, and the cuisine is crafted in a way that lets McGrath’s culinary talents shine.  Although he doesn’t know it, I’ve met McGrath several times and I’ve truly missed him while he has been away.  It is nice to see hard work and good character rewarded, for a change. 

This time, it looks like the good guy is going to win. 

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Renegade Canteen

9343 East Shea Blvd.

Scottsdale, AZ

480-614-9400

www.renegadecanteen.com

At what point in time does the chef become synonymous with the restaurant?  In The Reach of a Chef, author Michael Ruhlman explores the phenomenon of “celebrity chefs” and focuses on two chefs renowned for their excellence: Thomas Keller and Grant Achatz.  Both of these chefs’ names are virtually interchangeable with their restaurants, The French Laundry and Alinea.  Clearly, in these cases the chef is the restaurant, and the restaurant is the chef.  

But what about the restaurant that has stood the test of time, yet seeks a re-birth of its cuisine by hiring a new “name brand” chef?  Such is the case of Tempe’s Caffe Boa.  Open since 1994, Caffe Boa has been a mainstay in the Tempe (and metro Phoenix) dining scene.  Candidly, I had never been before.  But the hiring of Chef Payton Curry ignited my interest in checking it out.  I had been a fan of Curry’s cooking at Digestif and liked his irreverent, creative approach.  Being a new restaurant, Curry had the unique opportunity to cast Digestif with his own identity.  Charcuterie was house made, the menu deviated from the norm by offering rabbit and other game, and the room was hip without being too self-conscious. Payton’s youth (and naïveté) were supplanted with owner Peter Kasperski’s backing and veteran Pavle Milic’s smooth oversight.  Ultimately it failed, not because the food was bad, but because of economic factors beyond the chef’s reach.  

Regardless, Curry’s cooking made an impression on me.  Surely he was young and often inconsistent, but his enthusiasm compensated for his age.  So I set out to discover if, based on what I saw at Digestif, Payton Curry had made Caffe Boa his own. 

The first thing I noticed was that Pavle Milic’s slick grasp of the front-of-house operations was sorely missed.  Of course, this is Caffe Boa – not Digestif – but someone should hire Milic as a consultant to do a boot camp for the management.  The hostesses seemed frantic and unsure; they told us that our party had already checked-in and was waiting for us, even though we were a party of two. (And both of us were there!)  We arrived early and told her that we’d have a drink at the bar, but no one ever came to get us at the time of our reservation.  In fact, throughout the meal there was so much graceless running back-and-forth from the hostesses that it became a distraction.  My wife wanted to teach her how to walk in high heels. 

The second thing I noticed was the hostesses’ right breast.  Her dress was very low cut on the sides and, sans support, her right breast slipped out to greet me as she bent down to check the reservations list.  I can tell you that it appeared natural, and that she had no idea.  I’m not sure whether to put this in the “positive” or “negative” column, but it happened.  It reminded me of when Elaine’s nipple made an appearance in her holiday card on Seinfeld.  I guess it’s never a bad night when you see some boobs, especially when they are nice boobs and you aren’t paying for the privilege. 

But boobs and clueless hostesses are not what this review is about and, quite frankly, I just wish the food was as exciting as the unannounced boob appearance.  Instead, I found it uninspired, lacking discipline, and well below the expectation that Payton Curry had set for me at Digestif.  It didn’t surprise me to learn that he wasn’t in the kitchen that night; he was working at the new location, called Boa Bistro, in Mesa. 

Our server advised us that the kitchen was running slowly because of the pre-theater crowd, which was fine by us since we were really in no hurry at all.  We started with Pulled-to-Order Warm Mozzarella, followed by Foie Gras Torchon Brulee and Washington Mussels.  I’m not sure if it was the actual preparation of this dish, or an ill-conceived recipe, but the Mozzarella failed to excite me and, frankly, I have a hard time believing it was pulled-to-order as claimed.  It was melted as if it had once been warm, but it was barely warm by the time it reached our table and had already started to harden, rendering it rubbery and flavorless.  The crostini beneath it was soggy, having absorbed much of the Banyuls vinegar on the plate.  At this point, the boob-sighting made up for the weak entrée; we’ll call it a draw. 

Joshua Hebert, owner/chef at Posh and one of the nicest guys in the local food scene, once referred to foie gras as “meat flavored butter” and Caffe Boa’s Foie Gras Torchon Brulee was a pure expression of that concept.  Rich and velvety, it was everything foie gras should be.  (That's a picture of it at the top of this review, replete with my wife giving the camera that universal sign for "rock on.")  My wife felt that it paired better with the ciabatta brought to our table than with the crostini accompaniment, but that is a matter of personal preference.  They could have served it on Wonder Bread and it would have tasted good to me.  Regrettably, I should have known better than to order the Washington Mussels.  There was nothing wrong with them, per se, but the mussels at Zinc Bistro are so good that everything else pales in comparison.  This wasn’t a case of a poorly prepared dish, just a bad choice on my behalf.  They were fine, but forgettable.  Zinc Bistro has basically ruined mussels for me; I only want them there! 

Three glasses of wine into dinner, the hostesses’ breast was a distant memory and it was time for our entrees.  Hand-made pastas outnumber the “Mains” by a significant margin, so wife and I took the cue; Linguini for her, Tajarin for me.  With the exception of Marcellino and Noca, it is rare that I order pasta at a restaurant and I was pretty excited about my choice.  Tajarin is an egg-yolk heavy pasta, similar to tagliatelle, from the Piedmont region of Italy.  Caffe Boa’s preparation was somewhat non-traditional, with escargot, Madeira, fennel and a garlic butter sauce.  The pasta itself was delicious, but it was swimming in such a deep puddle of butter that I could hardly discern the flavors.  The garlic butter “sauce” was starting to break (and continued to do so, until it finally did), because the entrée turned into a tangled mess of greasy noodles.  I detected no trace of Madeira or fennel, and the sauce was so heavily laden with shallots that there was really no other flavor.  On paper this dish was something that I should have loved, but reality was something entirely different.  Although the quality of the pasta itself was excellent, this execution could have come from The Cheesecake Factory, sans snails. 

My wife’s linguini was less of a flop, but hardly exciting.  Hearty linguini was fortified with duck confit, mushrooms and grilled asparagus.  Other than the asparagus being overcooked and limp, there was not much to fault here but not much to rave about either.  It was good, but not memorable and nothing that we were served made me crave a return visit. 

I felt disappointed and underwhelmed, and had more questions than answers.  Why wasn’t the menu as creative as the wine list, which emphasizes a number of unique Eastern European offerings?  Where was the charcuterie, a great vehicle for Curry’s talents?  Is he overextended, spending his time in Tempe and Mesa, or is Boa Bistro his canvas for creativity and Caffe Boa is relegated to more predictable fare? Is this food that Curry feels passionate and excited about? 

I’ve met Payton; he’s a smart ass, and I mean that as the highest compliment.  His irreverent charm was expressed through the cuisine at Digestif and made it fun; sadly, this charm is absent at Caffe Boa.  It’s going to take more than a rabbit dinner for Easter to give Caffe Boa some personality.  Why hire a new chef if you aren’t going to give him the freedom to shine?  All I can think is that Caffe Boa isn't as good as Payton is capable of being.

Can the real Payton Curry please stand up?  

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Caffe Boa

398 South Mill Avenue

Tempe, AZ 85281

480-968-9112

www.cafeboa.com

Resort restaurants face a difficult conundrum: serve innovative cuisine and risk ostracizing hotel guests, or perpetuate predictability and appeal to the lowest-common-denominator. It’s ironic; hotel restaurants have financial resources not imaginable to small, local proprietors.  Yet, more often than not, they go the route of playing it painfully safe.  Case in point: the bevy of high-end steakhouses that have proliferated at some of the Valley’s higher-end resorts.  Further case in point: Prado at the Montelucia resort recently changed its focus from an eclectic Spanish-influenced menu to a much safer Italian theme.   Apparently, people buy spaghetti, not paella.  

Talavera, at the Four Seasons Scottsdale at Troon North, is doing something a bit different, and I like what I see.  Consistent with the Four Seasons brand, Talavera delivers quiet elegance in an understated yet spectacular setting accompanied by service so pleasant that you may want to beg your server to come home with you.  There are plenty of “safe” options on the menu, but the kitchen also flexes its creative muscle by producing regionally-inspired food using top-quality, locally sourced products. 

Previously known as “Acacia,” the restaurant was rebranded as “Talavera” following an extensive remodel that opened-up the space to one of the most breathtaking night-time views of the Valley.  Seated on the patio during an unseasonably cool night, I couldn’t take my eyes off the lights in the distance.  (Hint: Look for the alternating white and green light beacon in the distance; it’s the Scottsdale Airport, and a good indicator of how much higher in elevation the Four Seasons is from the rest of the Valley.)  Even though I was a mere 10 minutes from my house, I felt like I was on vacation.  

With Executive Chef Mel Mecinas at the helm, the kitchen at Talavera is delivering food with surprising promise, and some signs of greatness.  As a starter, the Lamb Carpaccio was full of flavor (lambiness?) and served at the appropriate temperature; not frozen, as carpaccio often is.  Commensurate with the welcome trend of house-made fresh pasta, Oxtail Ravioli with Spot Prawns and Lobster was flawlessly al-dente and exploded with contrasting flavors and textures.  But the evening’s true star was the King Crab and Beef Roulade with Wasabi Root and Ponzu.  Described to us as one of the Chef’s signature items, this unlikely combination of seafood and beef – served cool – reflected the kitchen’s skillful technical skills and solid understanding of flavor profiles.  This is a “must order” item at Talavera. 

Main courses were also well prepared, but with slightly less consistency that the starters.  My 20-oz Prime Bone-In Ribeye was certainly not avant-garde, but it was well-seasoned, tender and flavorful.  Accompanied by perfectly caramelized cipollini onions and hollandaise, this hunk of meat is second only to the Spice-Rubbed Cowboy Ribeye at BLT Steak.  It’s a solid choice for any carnivore. 

My dining companion’s Duck Breast with figs, fennel and peach was less successful.  Although properly prepared, he felt that the use of seasonal ingredients seemed “forced;” maybe it would have been better to stick with a more traditional approaching from the saucier. 

Entrees are a la carte, and additions are a hefty $9 per item…but you’ll hardly notice the price when you’re gazing out at the Valley below, watching hawks circle in the moonlight above you.  I had a tough time resisting the Crab Mac & Cheese which, admittedly, is tough to mess-up if you’re using good cheese and crab.  The Charred Corn was also good, simultaneously sweet and smoky.  

Yet, oddly enough, it was the Zucchini with Mint and Lemon that “wowed” me more than anything else during the meal.  Just as the Braised Leeks have defined Charlene Badman’s cuisine at FnB, the Zucchini with Mint and Lemon has the power to do the same at Talavera.  It’s that good; good enough, in fact, that my dining companion tried to make it at home the next day. 

Good food is made better by polished service.  As one would expect of a Four Seasons property, the service is impeccable.  Penny, our server, could teach a lot of pros in this town a few things about being friendly and approachable, yet smart and professional.  The al fresco dining experience at Talavera is the quintessential expression of the casual elegance that defines the Four Seasons. 

What struck me the most about Talavera, and the resort as a whole, was its modesty.    I’ve always maintained that the person with $5 million has a much bigger ego than the one with $100 million, and the same analogy can be applied here.  Although much has been written about the celebrity chefs behind Bourbon Steak, BLT Steak and – to a lesser extent – Elements (although I really don’t think that Beau MacMillan has reached celebrity status), Talavera achieves a level of excellence without the glitz, glam and pretense.  

Simply, Talavera is luxuriously humble.  

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Talavera at The Four Seasons Scottsdale at Troon North

10600 East Crescent Moon Drive

Scottsdale, AZ 85262

480-515-5700

www.fourseasons.com/scottsdale

Twitter: @FSScottsdale 

Disclosure:

This is the first review I have ever written in which I did not pay for my own meal.  I enjoyed a “stay-cation” at the resort which I paid for, but dinner was complimentary.  It is tough to say if this had a bearing on my sentiments about the restaurant.  Everything tastes better when it’s free (especially when it doesn’t suck…) but pointing-out any shortcomings would not have had a bearing on me, as the vacation is over and paid-for by the time this review was posted.  Simply put: I had nothing to gain by being nice, and nothing to lose if I had declared it unfit for human consumption.

When I’m not blogging, I work in the Scottsdale Airpark and Habanero’s has been a favorite lunchtime destination of mine almost since the day they opened.  Despite a gaggle of other “fresh mex” concepts run by committee at big corporations, Habanero’s is a mom and pop restaurant where the owner is working the counter every day. Although the carne asada is excellent, it’s the carnitas that keeps me coming back. 

A good paella (which I’ve yet to find in Arizona) is defined not just by the rice and seafood, but by the socarrat – the crusty brown bits that caramelize at the bottom of the paella dish while it’s cooking.  For me, good carnitas has a similar dimension.  The tender braised pork should also have some crusty bits from where the meat hits the cooking vessel.  Habanero’s nails this and, in my opinion, makes the best carnitas in town.  It’s a case where texture and flavor work symbiotically. 

You can order the carnitas in a taco, quesadilla or as a stand-alone plate, but I suggest the burrito which is generously filled with freshly made guacamole and pico de gallo.  That’s it.  Why the chain “fresh mex” concepts fill their burritos with rice and beans is beyond me, unless it’s to keep food costs down and hide the poor quality of the meat.  At Habanero’s you can actually taste the meat, which is the whole fucking point, isn’t it? 

So there you go.  I’ve taken my first step towards digging myself out of this rut and I’m headed to Habanero’s for lunch today.  Who’s in? 

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Habanero’s Mexican Grill

14870 North Northsight Blvd.

Scottsdale, AZ 85260

480-991-2997

www.habaneros.mx

Before we go any further, let’s just get one thing out of the way.  The newly renovated and re-tooled El Chorro Lodge is a beautiful restaurant.  The interior design is a tasteful update of a venerable classic, and the setting is spectacular.  It exudes an “old Arizona” charm without being kitschy, and I wouldn’t mind passing considerable amounts of time sipping a drink outside at El Chorro while watching the sun set behind the hills of Paradise Valley. 

I just wish I hadn’t stayed for dinner.

If this review was just about the architecture and interior design, I’d stop here and say “It’s really beautiful, take the architectural tour.”  But El Chorro Lodge is a restaurant, and instead of serving food that befits the setting, the kitchen is doling out lackluster renditions of boring classics with such an amazing lack of pride that it might as well be banquet food at a substandard resort.  It’s not just bad, it’s embarrassing and I know they can do better.  But banquet food is often bad because they're putting out huge quantities of food and lack the time for detail, which is exactly what's going on here.

But, really, I should have known.  All the recent publicity surrounding the re-opening has been about the appearance.  People knock Scottsdale for being about style over substance, but El Chorro Lodge wins the award and it's in Paradise Valley.  Nary a word has been mentioned about the food which is actually quite surprising considering that several industry friends of mine have had very positive things to say about Chef Charles Kassels’ abilities.  But so much is wrong with the food that it’s hard not to think that someone was too busy at design meetings to spend time thinking about food and service.  Or, even worse, did they think that the setting, alone, would be enough to keep the tables full?  Maybe.  The photo below, by the way, is a set of 75 year old thighs in short-shorts.  Nice!

Sadly, it appears that El Chorro’s culture of mediocrity is doing nothing to deter throngs of gray-haired diners from bringing-in their three generations of offspring for a celebratory dinner.  Seriously, the place is like God’s Waiting Room.  Each serving area ought to be fitted with an automated defibrillator, and they should offer colostomy bag changing stations instead of diaper changing tables in the restrooms.  Get your walker tuned-up while you eat.  The customer profile at El Chorro Lodge is about as vivacious as the nursing home intake office, with a similar menu to boot.  I expected to see guys in leisure suits prowling the parking area, covertly dealing doses of Viagra, Lipitor, and liver spot creams.  Jack Kevorkian would have a fucking heyday here.  Okay, I’m being ridiculous and excessive.  But, seriously, the age difference between me and the next youngest diner was so wide that I almost felt like some sort of pervert...and I’m pushing the big four-oh.

Trust me – I appreciate a classic.  I absolutely loved The Other Place which was way over-the-hill and reeked of mothballs, but still served awesome king crab legs, a delicious old-school table-side salad presentation, and a killer prime rib. (No pun intended, as a server at The Other Place once told me that she had seen several patrons die in the restaurant over the years.) And I dig the Rat Pack vibe at Durant’s, which has also stood the test of time and several different owners.   But being “classic” doesn’t give you carte-blanche to skimp on the important things like food quality, technique, presentation and service. 

Case in point: my Prime Rib served with creamed spinach and au gratin potatoes, one of the night’s specials.  Instead of medium-rare, as I requested, this flavorless hunk of beef was three different shades of gray inside but, oddly, pink on the outside.  In my rudimentary understanding of physics, this feat actually defies the laws of thermodynamics.  The horseradish cream, plopped on the same plate as my spinach and potatoes, clearly came straight from the jar and had zero punch whatsoever, not to mention a thick “skin” on top that came from sitting pre-prepared in a refrigerator prior to serving.  The spinach and potatoes were commendable only in that they didn’t suck.  At nearly $40 this entrée was downright insulting.  If you want good prime rib, go to Don & Charlie’s. 

Yes, as bad as it was, I think I had the best entree of our group.  Two people ordered the Pan Seared Duck, consisting of a confit leg and pan-seared breast.  Instead of a crispy exterior, the breast was greasy and the skin was soggy and it appeared to have been prepared earlier and simply re-heated prior to serving.  The Forest Mushroom Ravioli in a mushroom broth was described as “bland,” and I think she was just trying to be polite.

Although pricey, all the entrees at El Chorro Lodge come with a basket of Sticky Buns, a relish tray (think buffalo wings with carrots and celery, minus the buffalo wings), and your choice of soup (in this case, Steak and Onion or Gazpacho) or salad.  I opted for a Caesar Salad which was probably the highlight of the whole night for me.  Whole leaves were lightly dressed, and had a lemon tanginess that was nicely offset in flavor and texture by the coarsely ground black pepper. 

Dessert was a yawn, consisting of predictable offerings like Crème Brulee, Sticky Bun Bread Pudding, Chocolate Cake and Gelato.  Somehow, our server had to ask what flavors of gelato were available that night, as they change daily.  Maybe the other nights are more exciting, but on this night we had a choice of chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and orange.  Orange Gelato was about as unconventional as the night got, and ordering it would probably have turned just as many heads as arriving at the El Chorro Lodge valet parking stand with an Obama sticker on your Prius, instead of a “Drill Baby Drill” sticker on your Bentley.  You get the picture.  The chocolate cake was good but otherwise unremarkable.  It’s hard to suck when Valrhona chocolate is involved.

The list of other failures is long and undignified.  My Sauvignon Blanc was served at red wine temperatures, and my Merlot was ice cold.  Managers and bussers circled our table after we finished dessert like sharks in a feeding frenzy and I felt pressure, whether perceived or real, to give up our table as quickly as possible.  No one thanked us on the way out.  If the teenagers working at Chili’s can get these details right, so can the sizable management team at El Chorro Lodge.  These kinds of failures simply aren’t excusable at this price point. 

If it sounds like El Chorro Lodge left a bad taste in my mouth, then you read correctly.  Despite a knockout setting that makes me want to move in, the food is a complete afterthought.  Although progressive food isn’t going to fly with the El Chorro Lodge demographic (can you just see the looks on their faces if they were served foams, dusts and gelees that weren’t aspic?), it doesn’t mean that the classics can’t be prepared well. Every restaurant deserves a second chance; everyone has an "off night."  My first experience at Modern Steak was dreadful, but many of my complaints had been addressed on my second visit and it's someplace that I would definitely return to.  I just hope that someone else is paying when I return to El Chorro Lodge.

So, my recommendation is this: go to El Chorro Lodge for a sunset cocktail and some sticky buns, but until they work out the kinks go somewhere else for dinner.

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El Chorro Lodge

5550 East Lincoln Drive

Paradise Valley, AZ 85253

480-948-5170

www.elchorrolodge.com

Sometimes I feel sorry for my wife.  Not because I snore, neglect my “honey do” projects, or make fun of her yoga, but because I’m probably not that much fun to eat with any more.  None of our friends want to eat with us; they know I’m too opinionated.  Despite the fact that my blog readership is miniscule compared to professional food critics, I’m still on the “wanted list” of several local restaurateurs.  I sure as hell can’t make reservations via OpenTable under my own name. This food hobby of mine has gotten way out of hand. 

So imagine my shock when we sat down for dinner at Takamatsu, in west Phoenix over 25 miles from our house, and our server instantly recognized my wife as “Myulchi Girl.”  That’s right, folks, my wife is a celebrity in her own right.  She is the celebrity named for tiny dried anchovies, a common side dish in Korean food. Finally, the spotlight was on someone other than me.  I relished the anonymity.  I love being married to Dried Anchovy Girl. 

Our mutual love of food and adventurous eating has been a common thread in our relationship.  It was on our second date that my wife ordered Ama Ebi at Hiro Sushi merely to see if I was man enough to eat the shrimp heads.  Who was she kidding?  I crunched those crustacean cabezas with reckless abandon, and the rest was history.  Raised in a New Jersey suburb of Manhattan, my wife grew up with Korean food being as common to her as Chinese food was to me.  Her childhood friends’ homes smelled of exotic foods that were so different from her Jewish upbringing.  Whereas her Korean friends craved the “normality” of a cheeseburger, she wanted Kalbi, Bul Go Ki, and uber-spicy Kimchee. Her favorite, as a young kid, was dried cuttlefish.  Clearly, I married a weirdo.

My first introduction to Korean food wasn’t so successful.  Paranoid that I would be eating Poodle or Dachsund, I whined the whole way to a New Jersey Korean restaurant, which shall remain nameless.  I would not let go of the “dog thing.”  I know it’s immature, naïve and ethnocentric, but I couldn’t even get past the smell of the place.  

And, then, I saw it.  There on the corner of the sushi bar were two shiny cans of Alpo dog food, glistening in the incandescent light.  It was the proverbial Smoking Gun.  “There,” I said, “don’t you know the Alpo is there to fatten up our dinner?” 

Needless to say, a considerable period of time passed before I tried Korean food again.  Thanks to Takamatsu, I’m now a huge fan.  I can’t vouch for its authenticity except to say that we’re usually the only white people there, and most of the conversation is in Korean.  Set in a modest strip center comprised mostly of Asian businesses, the walls of Takamatsu are mostly adorned with photos and jerseys of Korean sports stars, most of whom have the last name “Park” or “Kim.” 

On our last visit, the server arrived at our table, turned to my wife, and said “You look familiar. I know you…you’re Myulchi Girl.”  My wife is the white girl that eats the stuff that they don’t bring to the white people unless we ask for it.  It’s one of the many things I love about her.  And I love that they think we’re too timid to eat the good stuff.  Once they know the truth about my wife’s taste for Korean food, the floodgates open.  The service suddenly gets better, the servers get chatty, and you can see the joy on their faces as they share their culture with you.  It’s like my own little “No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain.” 

At Takamatsu, you can order from the menu and have the kitchen prepare your food for you, or you can sit at a tableside Korean BBQ table and cook it yourself.  We prefer to cook it ourselves, and our last visit included an order of Bul Go Ki, which is marinated beef tenderloin, and Sang Saewoo Gui, jump shrimp.  All of it is grilled, by you, at the table along with a healthy side of lettuce (to use as a wrap), garlic and onions.  Caution: you WILL leave smelling like a Korean restaurant.  In fact, it’s so strong that we usually disrobe in the laundry room so as to not perfume our house with the smell of Korean food. (Not that this is a bad thing.) 

Korean food is served with a huge spread of side dishes, ranging from spicy kimchee to tofu, and many others.  You’ll likely receive six or eight different sides to munch on but unless you look Korean, I doubt you’ll get myulchi.  Ask for it by name, pronounced “meh-oh-jee.”  If you’re white, they’ll probably think you’re related to my wife. 

My experience with non-grilled items is somewhat limited, but we have always enjoyed the Haemul Pa Jun, a seafood and vegetable “pancake,” similar to what you may find on some Chinese menus.  We also like the Haemul Jajang Dolsot Bibim Bap, a mix of meat, rice, seafood and black bean sauce served in a hot stone bowl that will be too hot to touch even after sitting on the table for 30 minutes.  I have yet to try the unfortunately-named “Gop Chang Jun Gold – Hot & Spicy Intestine Casserole,” but I will.  If you’re less adventurous, there is a full sushi bar and many Japanese-style entrees but, really, what’s the point?  

Just tell them that you know Myulchi Girl and let them do the ordering for you.

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Restaurant Takamatsu

4214 West Dunalp Ave.

Phoenix, AZ 85051

623-842-0400

www.takamatsurestaurant.com

Well, it’s time for another wine review.  Although I am an avid fan of red wines and rarely go for whites, I felt with the change in weather and things starting to heat up a bit, I’d go for a light, crisp and refreshing white.  I ultimately chose a Pinot Blanc because the grape itself is close to Chardonnay, but generally produces flavors without the oak texture associated with Chardonnay.  Additionally, it’s an off the beaten path type of wine that is generally dry, not too sweet, and very expressive of various summer fruits. 

I have had several different Pinot Noir’s from Byron, and they’ve all been approachable and tasty.  While perusing the different Pinot Grigio’s, Pinot Gris and Pinot Blanc’s in a local wine shop, I came across this bottling from Byron and figured I would give it a whirl ($19.99).  Not having ever tasted this selection before, I elected to go with a somewhat safer pairing of food.  The dinner tonight: panko breaded and pan seared turkey breast, pan cooked vegetables consisting of mixed peppers, broccoli and zucchini squash, and a generic salad with feta cheese and a mild, but sweet, vinaigrette.  The appetizer was hollowed out French bread with melted brie, fig spread and almonds.  Served with the bread were fresh strawberries, blueberries and dried cranberries. 

As usual, I cheated a bit and popped the bottle before dinner was ready.  I had been keeping it in the fridge, so the wine was a bit tight when I first tasted it.  The nose was fairly restricted and timid, with apricots and honey up front.  The first sip was the same.  The finish was extremely limited, with me forgetting the flavors shortly after I had sipped it.  (This may have something to do with me getting older, too.)  My parents again had joined me, and they each indulged in a first sip as well.  Not surprisingly, they enjoyed the wine and found it approachable.  While working on dinner, I poured each of them a glass, then filled my glass and put it aside, waiting for it to warm up a bit before I tried it again. 

Once dinner was served, I sat down and really jammed my nose into the glass.  The wine was about 10 degrees or so warmer, and I could already smell a difference.  Instead of being timid, the bouquet had opened up nicely.  I could smell the apricot still, but white peach, honey, melon and a hint of citrus were all lively in the glass.  I swirled the glass and took another sip.  I was very impressed at how the wine had unwound!  While not being as passionate about white wines as I am with reds, I found that this glass was very nice, light and approachable.  The texture had become smoother, the flavors more tangible. Rolling in my mouth was a swirling mix of peaches, apricot and honey, with subtle mineral notes that added structure as well.  I did find that the acidity, though mild, picked up just a touch with the vegetables at dinner.  Aside from that slight change in acidity, the wine meshed very nicely with the food, even cooperating with butter cookies afterwards! 

Byron’s 2007 Pinot Blanc from the Santa Maria Valley is a crisp, smooth and refreshing glass of wine.  As the weather heats up in the valley, this is a perfect choice (and a great alternative to Chardonnay) for a late afternoon glass of wine with the family by the pool.  I recommend pairing it with any mildly seasoned poultry, cheeses, or light, cold pasta dishes.  I prefer my white wines to be served a bit cooler than room temperature (around 70 degrees or so).  If served at refrigerator temperatures, you will limit the flavor and texture of this wine.  Enjoy!

I love the story of Passover.  I’m not a religious guy, but I can’t help but revel in the cinematic drama and hyperbole of the story.  It has it all – bondage, oppression, lice, boils, death…it’s all there.  And many of those same plagues were present when I first reviewed Eddie’s House back in November, 2008.  It was an awful meal, plagued by abysmal service, weak food, and smoke pouring out of the kitchen.  There were moments during that meal where I, like the ancient Jews, was looking for the Red Sea to part so I could get the hell out.

Fast forward about 18 months and I found myself, my family and my father seated at a table in Eddie’s House for our Passover Seder.  Although I was the one that picked the restaurant, I did so with admittedly low expectations.  Cooking seemed too much of an effort this year, with two little kids running around the house, so we opted to let Mr. Matney and crew do the work this year.  And in case you don’t want to sit for the whole Haggadah of a review, it was a damn fine meal.  Eddie and his wife pulled out all the stops.

We arrived to a comfortable table set with the traditional Seder plate, well adorned with all the requisite items.  At each place setting was a Haggadah, the traditional book that tells the story of Passover.  And for each adult was a glass of 2010 vintage Manischewitz Concord Grape wine.  If you haven’t had this stuff, you should.  It’s like Welch’s Grape Juice with a buzz. (All Jewish kids learn to love this stuff and drink as much of it as possible at Temple events.  Parents turn a blind eye, knowing that their kids will sleep late the next day.)

The menu was divided into First Tastes, Second Tastes, Features, and a Dessert option.  For each course, we had a choice of a traditional item (like gefilte fish), or something more contemporary, like a tomato and mozzarella salad.  Just as many people adore the foods of their people that “outsiders” find repugnant (Menudo, anyone?), I absolutely LOVE gefilte fish.  Although my aunt’s homemade gefilte fish is the best, I’ll gladly settle for the stuff from a jar replete with globs of congealed broth on top.  I don’t think Eddie’s gefilte fish was homemade, but it wasn’t bad and the horseradish that accompanied it was brutally powerful.  I loved it.  My wife refuses to eat gefilte fish until she actually witnesses a gefilte swimming in the sea, so I gladly ate her serving as well.  I think we once had a gefilte fish eating contest in my Jewish college fraternity. I won, and my friend Howie slurped up the congealed broth with glee.  (These are the things us crazy Jews do as frat boys.)

Round two was a choice of either “Grandma Carmen’s Chicken Matzo Ball Soup” or “Mazza plate with Hummous, olives, herb mascarpone and veggies.”  I’m all for being progressive, but no self-respecting Jew will resist the opportunity to compare someone else’s matzo ball soup with his mother’s.  And no Jew is dumb enough to say that ANYONE’S soup is better than his mother’s, but Grandma Carmen did a damn good job.  The broth was relatively dark in color and very rich, with a nice onion flavor.  It almost had the richness of French onion soup, but lighter.  It’s not my mom’s, but it made me happy.

Ancient wars have been fought over what constitutes the “perfect” matzo ball.  Should they be fluffy, or doughy?  Floaters or sinkers?  Large or small?  My mom’s were always nearly baseball sized and fluffy as can be.  She has always prided herself on her matzo ball perfection, and I grew up loving them.  But, secretly, I always seemed to enjoy the “doughy” ones.  But just as you grow up knowing that it is “wrong” to lust after the shiksa girl that sits next to you in school, I always found greater pleasure in the heavy matzo balls, the ones that sunk to the bottom and were almost hard inside.  I’m certain that many kvetchy diners felt that Grandma Carmen’s matzo balls were too small, or too heavy, or too hard, but in my mind they were perfect.  Just don’t tell my mom.

As the guilt of my lust for someone else’s matzo balls sunk in, I began to notice the festive atmosphere around me.  There were large families celebrating Passover, singing the traditional songs, and enjoying the night.  There were kids everywhere, some laughing, some wanting to go home, and some sneaking some Manischewitz under the table.  It really did feel like we were in Eddie’s house, not Eddie’s House.

The main course arrived just as my kids, ages 2 and 4, were starting to get cranky.  I had the Roasted Half Chicken with Yukon Gold Potatoes and Brussels Sprouts, and my wife had the Braised Beef Brisket with Potato Pancakes, apple sauce and Broccolini.  Both of my kids opted for the Onion Encrusted Salmon with Forest Mushroom Quinoa and Asparagus.  My daughter immediately grabbed a stalk of asparagus and devoured it, and my wife gave the brisket the greatest compliment of all: “it tastes like brisket should taste.  Not fancy brisket, not deconstructed brisket…just brisket.  The kind you would make at home.”  And therein lays the beauty of the night.

As if the Seder couldn’t have gotten better, the final chapter was the best.  A gigantic, gooey, sweet and perfect Coconut Almond Macaroon.  There was no guilty pleasure in this; it was pure delight.

I don’t know Eddie Matney, but I’ve heard that he is Lebanese and married a Jewish woman.  I love the irony of it all: two cultures that have been at odds for what seems like eternity, united through marriage, producing Jewish soul food with a Lebanese twist.  Eddie’s House did a huge service to the Jewish community, and to itself.  Eddie’s wife was working the room, Eddie was barking out orders from the kitchen and the room was boisterous, festive and warm.  It was like being with my in-laws from New Jersey…loud.

Next year, at Eddie’s House….

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Eddie’s House

7042 East Indian School Road

Scottsdale, AZ 85251

480-946-1622

www.eddieshouseaz.com