El Guero Canelo

I love the food at this place. Breakfast, lunch or dinner. It's all, and I mean all, good.

Lately though, it's become obvious that the Oracle Road location has become little more than a shrine to the restaurant's owner.

First, we have the truck and taco stand outside, complete with informative signs, arranged like retired airplanes out at the Air Force Boneyard.

Inside, lately, the place is eerily devoid of conversation. Why? Well, first, like any modern church, there ain't anybody in there that doesn't work there. Second, the TVs are on at an absolutely absurd volume. And what are they currently playing? Scenes from the life of the prophet. Here's some footage of some guy at the grill, bashing away at a giant pile of meat. And then, for no particular reason, here's our founder, shouting furiously in Spanish.

I have no idea what he's talking about. Largely because of the echo in the place. I'm assuming its some sort of sermon involving the sacrament of grilled skirt steak. Or hot dogs maybe.

There are other signs of an ego completely out of control. The giant baby pictures. Et cetera. The most telling sign, however, might be the utter absence of customers at eight am on a Monday morning. Like church, most people ain't coming to pray unless they need something. And rare indeed, at least in this town, are the moments I need a Guero Canelo burrito when the Chapel of All Things BK's is one street over.

Take note my friend.

Sam Fox Pt. Un--Zin Burger

I like Zin Burger. And you should too.

Zin Burger is the perfect example of something Sam Fox got exactly right. And why? Because the concept is focused. Hip joint, simple menu.

Seared meat. Milkshakes. A salad or two. Beer and wine if you want it.

And what meat! Perfectly done, juicy patties, topped with premium ingredients.

So why isn't Zin Burger Fuddrucker's?

Great question. I mean, it's basically the same concept right? Right. Almost to a T. But what Zin Burger does is a bit of conceptual trickery. It gives you ingredients that sound premium, even if they're really not. Carmelized onions? Please. Sure they're good. Even at TGI Friday's.

But that's not all of it. Because what Sam's peddling here isn't just food. It's a concept. He makes you feel like you're part of something bigger than you are. That's why servers in ties bring you the food. It makes what is, in essence, a burger and fries, feel like something special. And that's not a bad thing. It works. Ambience and atmosphere are as much a part of dining as the food. That's why nothing, nothing, no matter what it is, tastes good in Furr's. Could be gold on a stick. But it's still going to taste like crap. Cause you're in Furr's and it's goddamned depressing. Or you're in Fuddruckers and you can't wait to get out of the place because it's too freaking fake-happy. Note to Fuddruckers: What's with the windows where you butcher the meat? You really think we want to see that? "That's right Jimmy. That's a real honest to goodness, tailend of an abbatoir In other words, this is a midpoint in a cow's life between playing in a field and becoming a good solid bowel movement." Sheesh.

But you could eat anything in Zin Burger, like a burger, fries and milkshake, and believe you're having an extraordinary meal. Which, at base, it isn't. It's just a very good meal. And I have those at Fuddruckers all the time. (Almost all the time.)

That being said, I love Zin Burger. It's where my wife and I go when we're having date night. It makes us feel hip and adult. (And geez, those banana milkshakes are good.) And that's a great thing. And that's what Sam Fox delivers when he's firing on all cylinders. And Zin Burger fies on all eight. Maybe nine.

On another note, what he also delivers, in all of his restaurants, is absolutely smothering service. There is a happy medium between abandonment and intrusiveness. Fox Restaurant Concepts needs to find the middle ground between the two. Jesus. I feel like I've gained a cousin, maybe two cousins I've never met when I go there. And they want money. So they keep complimenting my shoes and asking me if I've lost weight, even though they've never met me. Please. Take it down a couple of notches.

Sam Fox-Prince of the City or Public Enemy?

People in Tucson have strong feelings about Sam Fox. I've never met the guy, but I admire anybody who can get by with just six letters. Christ, that's a dynamic name. Say it with me.

Sam.

Fox.

Sam Fox.

Gives me goosebumps. I expect him to shoot rays of light from his eyes or be ten feet tall or something. Of course, he's nothing like that. Not really. What Sam is, is a restauranteur. And a very successful one.

From North to Sauce, to Montana Avenue, to Zin Burger, Sam has made an indelible impression on Tucson's dining scene. Some love his restaurants and appreciate the fact that a Fox Restaurant Concept is truly a total dining experience. For better (usually), for worse (occasionally). Some hate the restaurants and find them contrived and pretentious.

Me? I care about one thing really. Food.

Through the next few weeks, I'll be reviewing some of Sam's restaurants. Why?

Just because I love you. And also, because I think Sam has brought some truly wonderful eateries to the Old Pueblo. And because I appreciate anyone who at least tries to do something. That's not to say that I'm fond of all his restaurants. I'm certainly not. But I find the enterprise interesting.

El Charro Update

I know, I know, I promised this forever.

Anyway, not a whole lot to report. Ray Flores and I have become casual friends. We run into each other in downtown Tucson a lot.

They still serve the best carne seca in the city. The service, lunch service at least, continues to be somewhat spotty, but I don't see any particular motive to that.

I will say this though. Ahem.

Mexican food is a magnificent cuisine. And a complex one. Just as complex as French or Chinese cooking. Try making a mole poblano if you don't believe me.

Why is it then that every Mexican joint in this city (sixty miles from the border as we are) is serving almost exactly the same menu, regardless of price, atmosphere and aspiration?

Here's your page of burritos and chimis. Here's your page of tacos. Here are your combos. Here's your carne asada plate. How about a plate of enchiladas? Would you like chicken, cheese or ground beef? Or, if you're particularly adventurous, why not mix and match? Oooooo... adventure!

This would make some sense to me if we were in Utica or Boise. But in Tucson? Really??

Why is it that the best Mexican restaurant in the country is in Chicago? (Frontera Grill or Topolobompo, take your pick) It honestly puzzles me.

Obviously, this is a blanket generalization. Yes, I know that La Parilla Suiza pumps out pretty good Mexico City food. I know that El Charro (believe me I know Ray) takes a mild chance here and there. But Christ, even Phoenicians have Asi Es La Vida and Dick's Hideaway (technically New Mexican cooking). Me? I have the choice of having the conchinita pibil at either El Parador or la Fresita. At one place it'll run me five bucks. At the other, twelve dollars. other than geography, there really isn't a substantive difference in the food. Isn't there something wrong with that? Don't we, as greedy hoarding grasping gluttons deserve better?

La Fresita Review

Yes, I'm back. I was busy. Really busy. I have a job, three daughters and a pregnant wife. So get off my back.

To kick things off again, I thought I'd opine about La Fresita, a chain of two or three taquerias scattered about Tucson. La Fresita, of course, literally translated, means "The Strawberry." What that has to do with Mexican food, I'm unsure. But the food is great, so who cares?

We haunt the location on St. Mary's Road. Sweetie works near there and it's convenient. It's also damn tasty. (That's right. I swore. It's really that good.)

This is straightforward Sonoran food. Tortas, tacos, burritos. But everything is fresh and actually tastes as it should. If it says it comes with avacado, it comes with slices of actual avacodo, not bright green spackle. After ordering, they bring the food to your table along with two squirt bottles of salsa, one green, one red. Good stuff.

They also serve liquados, sort of a Mexican milk, fruit and ice drink. They're tasty and filling. Highly recommended. Bottom line, if it's simple, its done well here. Great carnitas, crunchy and smooth, just the way its supposed to be. Carne asada is terrific. Torta a milanese, which involves a breaded, fried cutlet, not so great. Stick with the carne asada.

This is a great place to stare into a mirror handpainted with a huge strawberry and wonder. Wonder why you pay twelve dollars for the same torta in a different restaurant. Do yourself a favor. Hustle down to La Fresita.

Stuff I miss, Part 2, Dole Fruit n' Juice bars, peach

Dole Fruit n' Juice bars are pretty amazing in general. They're one of those incredible commodities, a relatively healthy dessert that's unbelievably tasty. The strawberry is good. The raspberry is good. Even the coconut is pretty tasty.

But the best by far was the peach.

You know those peaches in light syrup you ate as a kid? How sweet and utterly delicious they were? How even the very texture was an almost erotic pleasure? I sure do. Now imagine someone took one on those cans, emptied out the peaches, chopped them up, stuck a wooden stick in there and popped the whole thing in the freezer. Sound good? It's better. Way better.

I used to keep a couple of boxes of these things around. When friends came by, especially my very talkative friends, I'd shove one of these at them.

They'd hold it like I'd passed over a dirty sock. You know, two fingers. Arms length. "I don't want it."

"It's already open. Eat it."

"You eat it."

"I have one."

"I don't like peaches."

"One bite."

"I don't like popsicles."

"Just try it."

A tentative lick. Another. Soon there's a look of absolute concentration. And no sound beyond the slurping of the popsicle, an occasional moan and the ending comment, "My God. Oh my God."

You think I'm exaggerating. I'm not. But unfortunately, I can't prove it. Because for some unknown reason, Dole withdrew the flavor without announcement. And still, to this day, whenever I'm in the freezer aisle I search in vain.

Someone obviously does care.

I emailed my review of El Charro to the restaurant. Almost immediately, Ray Flores, the owner of the restaurant, emailed me back.

Mr. Flores admitted to problems with the waitstaff.

He also asked to meet with me personally to discuss the matter, an offer I immediately accepted.

It is certainly encouraging that Mr. Flores obviously cares very deeply about the reputation of his restaurant. I look forward to posting a follow-up.

El Charro; Downtown Tucson

This is a painful review to write. I've always had a soft spot for this place and have always defended it from detractors who claim it's getting too touristy. And one of the main reasons I did was because of the attentive, professional service.

For example, more than a few years ago, my ex-wife and I went down there for dinner on our anniversary. Somehow they knew it was a special night. Somehow our waiter figured out it was our anniversary. And at the end of the meal, unannounced and unasked, a large slice of tres leches cake appeared, an item that wasn't even on the menu at the time. Our waiter explained it was a Mexican tradition. We felt the love in the place that night. That moment and that gesture made me a loyal fan. And I am a loyal fan. I can forgive a lot if I like a place.

Well. I may have to add my name to the list of local detractors.

It's not a food thing. Sure, the menu leans a bit hard toward the "cheesy beans" as an old friend would say. But German tourists have their own idea of Mexican food. And if El Charro wants to stay in business, it needs to keep those people happy. I accept that. And as long as the carne seca remains an inviolate classic, I'll be happy with the food.

Carne seca? A southwest classic and the restaurant has as good a claim as any to its invention. Wind-dried beef. Shredded, reconstituted, spiced and cooked. Good stuff with an absolutely amazing texture. I love the stuff. I've made the stuff. And without reservation, I can say that El Charro's carne seca is the best I've ever had. I crave it sometimes.

The rest of the menu? How bout a burrito? Yawn. A taco salad? A chimichanga? Something with lots of cheese? Way to push the envelope guys. But again, I can't blame them. It's a formula that's worked for decades. Who am I to criticize?

So I'll leave the food alone. What I can't excuse is the absolutely indifferent service.

I eat lunch early. I like to avoid the rush. So for the second time in a month, my Sweetie and I arrived at El Charro at about 11:15 a.m. The restaurant was almost empty. The interior dining room was completely empty. And for the second time in a month, we were guided to the table closest to the kitchen. And for the second time in a month, we were then completely ignored.

By completely, I mean that at least three waiters walked by us into the kitchen without a word or smile. By ignored, I mean I could hear several servers just around the corner, shooting the breeze. By ignored, I mean that even though I started banging my plate on the table and yelping, noone, noone came to see what the ruckus was about. By ignored, I mean that even though I walked through a cloud of servers on my way out the door, not one asked if I needed help.

(I have chosen to remove a portion of this post. I remove it not because I do not believe I have a right to express my subjective opinions, but because of the personal contact I have had with the owner of El Charro. I have found him to be a professional man of great integrity. As a favor to him and his family I am removing these negative statements.)

There have been other problems with the service lately. Missing food. Appetizers that suddenly appear along with dinner. The wrong food. Cold food.

Maybe El Charro is of the opinion it doesn't need local regulars. And if you don't need regulars, then who cares how you treat the tourists? They won't be back. So who cares?

And that's the message that El Charro is sending loud and clear. We're a legend. We have reviews and plaudits from national magazines. We don't need you. And we don't care.

I hear you El Charro. Loud and clear.

Checkerboard Cafe; Oracle Road

Diner food ain't complicated. Or at least it shouldn't be. And diner food is really all about breakfast.

Why do we go to diners? Because we had one too many swallows of Laphroig the night before. Because we want to give our kids a special treat before school. Because sometimes, we need an actual meal before a long day.

A true diner is not a place to find a sundried tomato on your omelet. A diner is about the classics. A diner is about craft, not innovation. The Checkerboard Cafe understands that.

The place itself is nothing special. It was probably a fast food joint at some point. There are tables. And chairs and booths. And because the owner's dad ran a Sambo's, there are blithely racist paintings from that place on the wall.

And then there's the food.

The man knows how to cook an egg. The difference between over medium and over easy. How to scramble a couple of eggs, not murder them. He knows how to cook bacon. (No small feat.) He turns out perfect pancakes the size of your head. And most of all, no matter what you order, the man can cook a potato.

Diners are not about home fries. Diners are about hashbrowns, because diners are about consistency during volume sales. About a pile of shredded potatoes, a flat-top grill and the will to turn out a consistent slab of golden brown, crispy-moist hashbrowns time after time after time.

This is what this place does well. And honestly, there is nothing more important than doing the classics well, whether you're cooking four-star food or handing out hot dogs. And it's all about the classics here. Take the chicken-fried steak and eggs at Checkerboard. (I often do.)

Perfectly cooked steak. Crispy, not chewy. Gravy they make themselves, scattered with bits of what I assume are sausage. Rye toast, done right. Hashbrowns, done better than right. Two eggs, done exactly as ordered.

Your choice between three sorts of hot sauce. Coffee. It's diner coffee. I don't expect it to be good and it isn't. What it is is hot and brown. Classic diner coffee. The way it should be. That's the Checkerboard. A diner. As it should be.

Food cooked with respect. Respect for you. Respect for the food. And respect for themselves. I suspect most of their customers stop there because it's on the way. If there was a JB's or a Village Inn a block before the Checkerboard, they'd stop there. They wouldn't know the difference if the place served slop. But the man behind the grill would know. And the man behind the grill is proud.

Stuff I miss, Part 1, Chili's Chicken Crispers

This'll be the start the regular feature where I bemoan the loss or changes made to a particularly beloved comestible.

Today, I begin with Chili's Chicken Crispers. I eat at Chili's, you ask? Well, yes. If you date or, ahem, marry a Navajo, you'll be spending a significant amount of time in Chili's and Applebees. Why? Because the closest towns where there is a restaurant will be places like Farmington and Gallup. Not a wide array of gastronomic choice.

In fact, I once told my Sweetie that I was planning to surprise her by driving to Farmington. She asked, quite smartly, "How would you find me without tipping me off?"

The answer? "I'd go to Chili's and wait." Ha!

So yes, I've spent my time in Chili's. And my favorite dish were their chicken Crispers. Big, meaty planks of chicken. Battered in some sort of light, corn-doggy sensation. Super-hot. Super moist. Like biting a hot batter and chicken bubble. So good, it's hard to believe they ever existed.

And it's even harder now.

Chili's revamped their menu about a year ago or so. I'm sure it was some consultant's bone-headed cost-saving measure. And glory be, they messed with my Crispers. Sob. You bastards!

They're about half the size they used to be. And they're tough. And chewy. To be blunt, they suck. I actually complained the last time I was there. And the manager was very sympathetic. He even agreed with me and comped the meal.

But I haven't been back. I know I'd be tempted to try again. And my fragile ego can't take that sort of disappointment.

Chinese food in Tucson (Or the lack thereof)

This was going to be a review of a local Chinese place. A bad review. A head-scratching review. But a review like that just wouldn't be fair. Why?

Because anything bad I say about this particular restaurant is the same thing I can say about every Chinese restaurant in Tucson. That is, it's not good. Not close to good. So why single this one out for the faults of the entire lot?

It's not like Tucson doesn't have a large and vibrant Chinese community. It does. And it's not like Tucson doesn't do Asian cuisine well. It does. I can point you to many fine Vietnamese, Korean, Japanese and Thai restaurants. But embarrassingly, whenever someone asks for good Chinese food, I usually aim them toward Pei Wei. And that's just sad.

Here's what I would like. One restaurant that would abide by the following:

1. No more golf ball sized hunks of meat shellacked with chewy, tasteless batter.

2. No more sauce with a corn syrup base. Please.

2. a. No more of that bright red sauce. Whatever that is. It's unnatural.

3. No more restaurants that attempt to recreate the food of the entire Chinese nation. Come on guys! Would someone eat at a Tex-Mex, American Italian, cheesesteak shop? Well, probably, but I don't want to. And I'm tired of walking into a supposedly Szechuan place and finding a page of Chow Mein on the menu. Which, by the way, is about as Chinese as macaroni and cheese is Italian.

4. No more buffets.

5. No more cold crab puffs. I know these aren't authentic. But when they're made with actual crab and they're actually hot, they're really good. Cold, they're a major disappointment.

6. No more buffets.

7. If it ain't really hot, don't label it as hot. I live in the Southwest. I'm used to chilies. If I order it hot, I expect it to clear my sinuses.

8. Actually cook regional, authentic Chinese food using fresh ingredients. This isn't 1955. American palates have grown beyond meatloaf and lo mein. We're ready for the real stuff. How do I know? I grew up in Philadelphia. I have some experience with Chinese food. I don't know if what I had is "real" Chinese food anymore than I don't know if a chicken burrito is "real" Mexican food. But I know when a restaurant is condescending to me, saying, "You couldn't handle the real stuff, so here's some crap we doused in sticky orange sauce." Don't do that. I'm ready. I promise.

Here's a great example of number 8. The wife and I stopped at a local joint for some dinner a few weeks ago. Shining in the center of all the soggy onions, tasteless shrimp and gallons of duck sauce was a pile of bright slaw; two or three shades of cabbage, some ground peanuts and a light garlicky, peppery dressing. The highpoint of the meal. And come to find out after talking to the owner, the only freshly prepared, authentic recipe on the table. He looked completely baffled that I liked it.

Looking around that place I saw a few, obvious regulars, grimly holding on to something that probably never was. I saw the owner's wife who looked like she might burst into tears at any moment. And I saw an owner who just couldn't figure out where the customers went.

They're down the street, seated on the floor, eating bool gogi. They're around the corner, squirting Sriracha into a hot bowl of pho. They're across town, quietly munching seared tofu off a plate of pad thai.

They're not going back to eating a plate of chicken as sweet as any breakfast cereal. And if you don't take the hint, they ain't coming back to your restaurant. Not ever.

I know I'm not.

Cafe a la C'Art, Tucson Museum of Art

Cafe a la C'Art is a true Tucson pleasure. Nestled amongst the concrete arms of the Tucson Museum of Art, Cafe a la C'Art has served Tucson's business community delicious lunchtime fare for many a year now.

But the secret pleasure of Cafe a la C'Art is the chance to eat lunch backwards.

Cafe is half service. You order at a counter, pick up your drink, sit at a table with a number and wait for a server to bring your food. Simple enough. Simple enough if it weren't for the six feet of ridiculous desserts you must walk by to order your food.

Piles of chocolate cake buried in frosting. Tarts. More tarts. Cookies. Whatever your brand of "Death By _______," you'll find it here. It's hard to get by without rationalizing a purchase. You know, "I'll have half and eat half later. I'll bring some home for my wife." Sure thing, pal. But then, after you order your food and sit down, there you are. Hungry. At your table. Waiting for your food. With a cookie staring you right in the face. And not just a cookie. A ridiculous cookie, more walnut and chocolate bar than pastry. What to do?

A quick glance around the room will tell you. Eat the cookie. This is probably the only place in Tucson you'll see adults eating dessert before dinner. It's a relaxing moment. An indulgent moment. Especially in the midst of a workday.

The cookie? I couldn't stop eating it. And I actually went off on a weird sugar high for a few minutes. Have you ever looked at your hands? I mean really looked at your hands?

The actual food? They hit all the notes a successful cafe should. Straight-forward food served without pretension in a style that might only be described as dashing. Hanker for a hearty salad? Covered. A burger that's not an embarrassment to be seen eating? Ditto. A nice soup. That's here too. And a salmon or brisket sandwich that satisfies.

There's a lot to be said for consistency. Consistent food is a fine thing. To consistently offer not only a meal, but a moment, is a great thing. Cafe a la C'Art delivers that.

The Real Deal

I like to cook. A lot. And while I do like to make elaborate dishes that take all day to mince and strain and whatever, I also like to cook good, honest food. And that's what this cookbook is about.

This is puro New Mexican cooking. Heavy on the chile. Rick Bayless can show you how to make a more authentic mole. Diane Kennedy will send you on a search for banana leaves. This book will teach you to make a deep red sauce you can have on hand daily.

And these basic recipes will give the confidence to reach outside their bounds, to go into a market, see what meat is on sale and think, "Geez, that'll go great with that green chile sauce I have left over."

So whether you have a hankering for mutton stew (and that happens around our house) or you want to lear how to fold a burrito (yes gabacho, you fold a burrito) this is the book for you.

McDouble

As I'm sure you all know, McDonald's replaced the double cheeseburger on the dollar menu with a new sandwich called the McDouble. The difference? The McDouble has one slice of cheese. Not two.

I admit I was very worried about this. I like the double cheeseburger. I like that it was a dollar. Somehow, the low price made me feel like it wasn't really all that bad for me. I know, but it's my delusion, ok?

So it was with some trepidation that I tried the McDouble. And you know what? It isn't that bad. So relax.

World Sports Grille, Foothills Mall

When this place opened, a friend said to me, 'Tucson needs a place like this." What she meant was that Tucson needed a place where parents could take their school-age children and hang out for an afternoon. Kids get video games and whatever esle it is they do while I watch the game. Parents get beer and a couch. World Sports Grille is sort of on the Dave & Buster's vibe, lots of video games, lots of big screen tvs, good beer on tap, plenty of salted, fried food. Tucson does need a place like that. World Sports Grille just isn't it.

It looks promising. The layout of the place is well thought out. There are quiet areas where you can sit and chat, and communal clusters of seats scattered about. There are a lot of video games for the kids, huge tvs for the big kids (including a 103 incher) and somehow, although the place is usually pretty crowded, it never gets too loud to talk.

The service is, well, ok. Most of the time, though competent, the servers seem a bit overwhelmed. But the food and drinks come out relatively quickly.

It's the food that's the disaster.

I like bar food. I like fries, I like sandwiches, I like a big sloppy burger. What I don't like is walking into a bar and being handed a ten page menu. That's a sure sign of trouble.

A bar shouldn't try to be something it isn't. Case in point: World Sports Grille has an entire page of their menu devoted to tangine meals. That's right. A sports bar is bringing Morroccan clay oven cooking to Raiders' fans everywhere. Mistake.

That signal telegraphs a confused kitchen. People don't want to be challenged by bar food. They don't want to expand their horizons. They want tastes they know. Who the hell comes to a bar to eat pepper steak or fettucine? Apparently the owners think we do. They're very very wrong about that. So wrong, I have to wonder if they've ever actually been in a bar. In any case, if you are in any restaurant that hands you a menu of that size, alarm bells should go off. Freaking Eric Ripert couldn't master a menu that size.

But worried or not, we were hungry. First, we ordered a sampler platter of appetizers. That should be nice and safe, right? It also should give you an idea of what the kitchen thinks it does well.

Apparently, what this kitchen does well is cold fried food. But it's potato skins and egg rolls and chicken wings, right? Even lukewarm, that's still going to be good, right? Wrong. Man, are you wrong.

Memo to World Sports Grille. Potato skins should have cheese, bacon and chives on them. Or at least something edible. Not chewy precooked chicken and chopped black olives. Black olives? Really, guys? I almost ate one just to see if it tasted as bad as it looked. Instead, I had my wife try one. I'm still on the couch.

The best thing were the chicken wings. Relatively moist, relatively flavorful. Full of hope, we asked for two full orders for the table, one regular heat, one three-alarm. The three-alarm arrived with dire predictions from the wait staff that we were in for a thorough palate-scorching.

The three-alarm wings turned out to be regular chicken wings rolled in red pepper flakes. And they weren't hot. Not at all. They were bland. Very bland.

World Sport Grille feels like a place that started as a good idea. Big tvs. Video games. Couches. Good grub. But then, somewhere in the middle of development, someone who knows very, very little about restaurants, sports or bars took over. And that person is still running things.

It's the details that make the difference in a restaurant. As a customer, you want to feel like someone is paying attention, that somewhere, there is a hand on the tiller. Because, take it from me, you don't want to see the walk-in frig in a place where noone is paying particular attention. And World Sports Grille has that vibe. For example, a couple of my friends like to drink Corona. I know, but they're good people. Really.

Anyway, what comes with your Corona? Right, a lime to squeeze into the beer. A little wedge of lime. Not a quarter of a lime that no person could possibly fit into a bottle. It's a sad sight to watch a grown woman try to slice a wedge of lime with a table knife. But that's the salient image from our visit there.

World Sports Grille is a pretty good idea. Hopefully, before too long, someone who knows something about restaurants will buy it.