Review-Jonathan's Cork, Tanque Verde and Pima

I get no pleasure from writing a negative review. That’s why there are so few of them on this blog. Part of that’s because the internet already has enough snark. Part of that’s because of my own experience.

Working in restaurants is hard. It’s hard to cook. It’s hard to wait tables. It’s HARD.

But what isn’t? I’m a lawyer by day. That’s hard. My wife is a lawyer AND she’s my wife. Talk about hard. If work was fun, they wouldn’t pay you. The fact that your job is hard is not an excuse to do it poorly.

I’ve had bad meals that didn’t upset me. If I pay a teenager a dollar for a McDouble, I’m not expecting life-altering flavor. I’ve gotten overcooked burgers at Chili’s, indifferent spring rolls from Chinese takeout. It happens. It doesn’t alarm me.

But I don’t judge every restaurant on the same curve. If I have to speak into a plaster clown mouth to order my food, I grade on one curve. If I have to sit at a linen tablecloth and speak some French, I grade on another. Why? Because when the price is higher, so are the expectations.

An example. At Ghini’s Café, they market Eggs Provencale as their specialty. A bold claim. An implied promise of exceptional food. I’ve had it many times. It is exceptional food. And for what is, essentially, two eggs on toast, it is expensive. So expectations were correspondingly high. http://www.ghiniscafe.com/page.cfm/menus/breakfast But the first time I ordered it, the poached eggs were overcooked. Not what I was led to expect. A profound disappointment.

What happened next, however, was not. I noted the overcooked eggs to my server. He frowned, apologized, and whisked them away. Before he entered the kitchen, he showed them to the owner. She touched the eggs and frowned, glancing in our direction. Minutes later, my breakfast rearrived. Perfectly done. Another minute, the owner arrived. She apologized. She inquired after my eggs. She was very pleasant.

When the time came to pay the bill, the meal had been comped. Not just mine. Mine, my wife’s, and our daughter’s. With nothing said, the restaurant left the lingering impression that what had happened was a shocking anomaly that deeply disturbed them. Unspoken was the implication that this was a singular event, a humiliation that they would not stand for. Message received. Have I been back? Indeed. Many times.

Why did they go so far out of their way for me? I was not a regular. I carry no weight in the restaurant world. They could have offended me without cognizable consequence. But they didn’t. Why? Because they understand the crucial secret of the restaurant industry.

I am not a professional food writer. I am not paid to critique your restaurant. I will not be coming back, on multiple occasions, to see if you can eventually get it right. You get one chance. Is that fair. Oh indeed. Quite fair. Why? Well what does my offer of one chance make me?

The average patron.

I experience restaurants as any real customer would. And the average customer will give you exactly one chance to get it right.

And then they will go down the street.

Jonathan’s Cork is about a block from my house. I ate there last about three or four years ago. In the bar. I had a piece of salmon. It was all right.

My wife and I were childless last Friday. This is rare. We wanted to eat at a place that doesn’t offer crayons or a kid’s menu. Jonathan’s seemed just the thing. If it worked out, it’s close enough that we could be regulars. I am aware that I am the demographic restaurants like this pursue. Young. (Sort of.) Professional. (In a sense.) Will spend money on a good meal. (Definitely.) What restaurant wouldn’t want us as regulars?

Jonathan’s décor is outdated and embarrassingly “eclectic.” The walls are covered with random art that is “Southwesterny” and “Indianish.” I’ll admit it. My wife is Navajo. The casual disregard for her culture in a restaurant with fine dining pretense is alarming. And makes us uncomfortable. But whatever. We’ll live with it if the food is good. The furniture is substandard. The floors are carpeted. The walls are paneled and white. The atmosphere is essentially non-existent. Jonathan’s won’t win you with ambience. That puts pressure on both the food and service.

Jonathan’s menu is, to be blunt, expensive. These are unapologetic prices. If my wife and I had paid for our entire meal, without wine the bill would have been a Benjamin and a half. That doesn’t leave room for error. Prices like that are a promise and an assurance. The finest ingredients. Expertly prepared. Perfect. Just the thing. We couldn’t wait.

The restaurant was about a third full. We were eventually seated. We then waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually a smiling waitress took our drink order. Then we waited.

And waited.

Eventually we ordered our meal, including a Caesar salad to split and a crabcake appetizer. My wife ordered the surf and turf special; lobster tail and filet. I ordered the lamb chops. Rare.

Then we waited some more. Eventually a basket of bread arrived. Not fresh, hot rolls. Not homemade bread. Not locally sourced, great bread. Nope. Not for us. Sliced, store bought bread. That was a surprise. Not a good one.

Eventually the crab cakes arrived. They were good. A bit fishy. But pretty good. I would order them again.

The Caesar salad arrived. It was not good. Store bought, bagged croutons. Pre-grated, bagged parmesan. You know, the pointed, uniform slivers of cheese? A dressing that was way too vinegary without the faintest hint of promised anchovy and garlic. A terrible salad given the price and promise. Sadly, a portent of what would eventually come.

At this point, we had spent over an uncomfortable hour in the restaurant. For an establishment nowhere near full to capacity, the staff seemed stressed and overwhelmed. They rushed about with nothing in their hands. There was no apparent reason for the delay in the arrival for our food, nor was one offered.

Finally, our waitress appeared, apologetic, and told us that the kitchen had overcooked my wife’s filet and was firing another. Well and good. As we learned later, the platter cost forty-three dollars. For that price, by all means, take a stab at getting it right.

My food arrived soon after. With the wrong side dish. I sent it back. It came back. I cut into my lamb chop. Remember I had ordered it rare. The list price on the chop is twenty-eight dollars. The chop was beyond well done. Totally inedible. I called the waitress over. She asked if I’d like them to fire another. I asked if it would take another forty minutes. She said she wasn’t sure. I told her not to bother and asked her to remove it from the bill.

Five minutes or so later, my wife’s food arrived. Her filet was significantly under-cooked. Her lobster tail was small, and abundantly overcooked. We ate it anyway. Why? Because after almost an hour and a half, we were hungry. And all I wanted to do at that point was get out.

Some time after we finished, we were able to flag down a waitress and retrieve our check. About the same time, the harried manager arrived and bluntly inquired if my lamb had been overcooked. I stated that it had been. He perfunctorily inquired if we wanted something else. I politely declined. He left. Without apology or explanation.

Our bill was in excess of seventy dollars. Without the lamb. With tip, we paid eighty-five. Between the arrival of the check and our departure, the chef/owner arrived in the dining room. Without so much as a glance for us, he planted himself at the table next door and bellowed gregariously for the remainder of our meal. He paid absolutely no attention to us. He spoke in a volume reserved for sea captains and drill sergeants and seemed deadly intent upon ruining whatever remnant of a good time we had experienced. At the very least, his complete disregard for our dining experience was commensurate with his attention to the cooking of our meal.

On the way out I passed the manager as he expedited by the kitchen. I mentioned that the evening had been “truly subpar.” He actually shrugged. He stated that he’d offered alternative food. The implication being, what else could he possibly do?

Fair enough.

The evening wasn’t a total loss. We stopped by Frost on the way home and had some gelato. We were treated with respect and courtesy and delivered a product well worth what we paid for it.

Tucson’s food landscape is changing. We have any number of dining options. A number of classic restaurants from our past hang on. Some in triumph, see Janos. Some simply deliver what they always have, see Pico de Gallo. And Pat’s Chili Dogs.

I had a friend in high school named Ray. And Ray used to say that a man’s honor was like his virginity. You only got to lose it once. But unlike your virginity, once you lost your honor, you lost everything.

One of my favorite places in Tucson was Ye Olde Lantern, a steakhouse on Stone. As the neighborhood decayed and the downtown nightlife faded, the Lantern held on. Eventually the owner died. And the restaurant went with him.

No matter what else happened, in good times or bad, the Lantern did what it did. As best it could. It wasn’t cheap. And it didn’t compromise. Not on service. Not on food. It didn’t matter if you were a regular. Or an out of towner. Your tiny meatballs arrived sizzling on a cast iron platter. The salad bar was outrageous. The steaks were perfectly prepared and the baked potatos creakingly loaded. When they finally went out, they went out with honor. And I’ll always remember that. And I’ll always respect it. And if it reopened tomorrow, I’d be first in line.

Jonathan’s Cork is headed in the same direction as Ye Olde Lantern. For very different reasons. And when it goes, it’ll go without honor. Apparently it lost that a long time ago. And with their honor went everything else.

Recipe Corner-Green Chile Stew

So there are a few things you should know how to make as a denizen of the Greater Southwest. Why? So when your relatives visit and want some "real Tucson food," you'll have something to do other than simply take them to whatever cheesy-bean establishment is less than a mile away.

This is a recipe that requires little to no naked cooking ability, other then the browning of meat and the stewing of everything else. It's a celebration of that wonderful late summer vegetable, the green chile. This is straightforward border home-cooking. Ready? Let's do it.

1. A great stew starts with meat. I use pork country ribs. These are not actually ribs, they're shoulder meat. That's what the bones are if you buy them bone-in. You should buy them bone in. Why? The bones add additional flavor, and are usually cheaper than the boneless. Why? Because a human has to cut the bones out. More human effort, pricier meat. Take a look at these.
Notice how much fat there is. That's called flavor. Now, if it's much fattier than this, you probably want to trim them. This marbling is about perfect. Not too much fat. These four ribs weigh about two pounds. Also perfect. Rinse them. Dry them. Why? Dried meat will sear better. Season liberally with kosher salt and pepper. Besides adding flavor, the salt will also dry out the surface a bit leading to, you guessed it, better sear.

2. Sear the meat. Use a heavy-bottomed dutch oven. This is my old Lodge five quart dutch oven. It is well-seasoned and older than any of my children. You can use an enameled dutch oven too. I would go with cast iron regardless. Why? It retains heat extremely well. It is not, however, extremely sensitive to changes in heat. That gives you time to correct if you've turned the heat up too high. Do not crowd the meat. With pieces of meat this size, you will need to cook in batches. Why? Because if the meat is too crowded, the oil will not stay hot enough to sear effectively, your meat will start sweating, release liquid, and the meat will steam instead of sear. Cook like so:

Put a tablespoon or so of plain vegetable oil in the bottom of the pan. Heat until just smoking over medium high heat. If you have lard, use that. I render my own lard. How? Easy. Ask your butcher for a pound of pig fat. Cook it in the oven until it renders. Cool it. If you don't make your own lard, I would avoid packaged lard. It sometimes has a bitter taste. I would also avoid olive oil, or any oil that has an assertive taste of its own. It will change the flavor of the stew.

When the oil is hot, add the meat. Avoid the temptation to move it around. We want to develop a brow crust. Again, that's flavor. Good stuff. There at the bottom of the pot. After five to seven minutes, flip the meat. It should look like this:

Doesn't that look good? Let the other side sit. Take the meat out. Repeat with the other pieces.

3. The green chile. Now, while you're cooking the meat, heat your broiler. Put the rack right up next to it. Take out your green chiles. Poke them with a fork a few times. Put them in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet. Shove them under the broiler. For how long? Until they look like this:

Take them off with tongs. Put them in a plastic shopping bag. I prefer the ones from Target. They're a bit thicker than your grocery store bags. Tie the top of the bag shut. Put the whole thing aside for ten minutes.

When you open the bag and pour out the chiles, the skins will have loosened enough to peel them. Like so:
Run the chiles under the faucet. Rub the skins off. They should come off fairly easily. If you can't get it all off, don't sweat it. A lot of chile skin is annoying. A little will soften and disappear into the stew. Chop off the tops. Rinse out the seeds. The seeds will make the stew hotter. The flesh of the chiles will provide enough sharp heat. Too many seeds and you'll taste nothing but heat. Trust me. The stew will be plenty hot.

(If you want to short-circuit this step, you can buy bags of roasted and peeled green chile at Food City)

Chop the chile. Not too fine. Otherwise, it will disintegrate after an hour or so of stewing. About half an inch square is good.

4. Chop an onion. If you don't know how to chop an onion, email me. Seriously. There's a right and wrong way. Make the pieces relatively uniform.
Put a tablespoon or so of oil in the pan. Put the onions in. Salt them liberally. We want to draw some moisture out. Extra moisture in the stew will dilute the flavor we're looking for. Between the leftover pork fat in the pan and the oil, there should be enough to briskly cook the onions at around medium heat until they start to brown a bit and are starting to get translucent. At that point:

5. The baby will probably have gotten bored and will leave the kitchen:


6. That's the signal to add the chopped chile and a can of diced tomatoes:

I like fire-roasted diced tomatoes. The extra flavor from the roasting is no bullshit. I use Hunts or Muir Glen. Both go on sale frequently. When they do, I buy ten or so cans at a time. They're pantry staples. Into the pot they go. Stir. Let cook for a minute or two, again, to get the excess moisture out and preserve the structural integrity of the ingredients.

7. Now add the following. A container of chicken stock. Low sodium. Not because I'm a health nut. Because the regular sodium stock is waaaaayyyyy too salty.


I like Swanson's. I also like Costco's Organic chicken stock. Suit yourself. If you have a looonnnggg time to let the stew simmer, like all day, feel free to just use water. If you only have a few hours, the flavor boost of the chicken stock works better. Bring to a simmer with:

One minced chipotle pepper and a tablespoon of adobo sauce. You will be tempted to use more peppers and more sauce. Resist. You want smoky, background heat. Not burn your tongue aggressive heat. It's the green chile that we want to shine through here. You have been warned.

Two or three cloves of garlic, smashed with the flat of your knife. Not minced garlic. Not passed through a press. Again, we want a subtle flavor. Not a harsh one.
A tablespoon or so of Mexican oregano. Pour it into your palm. Rub your hands together over the pot. Do not use good old Italian oregano. The two are different plants with different flavors. You put a tablespoon of Italian oregano into this stew and it will taste like marinara sauce. Don't do it. If you can't find Mexican oregano, and you should be able to, it's in the supermarket next to the rest of what Albertson's calls "Hispanic Foods," skip it entirely. It won't make that much of a difference.

8. Simmer at a lazy bubble. For how long? Until the meat breaks down and can be cut with the side of a spoon. Probably at least two to two and half hours. About forty minutes from go time, add three good-sized white potatoes scrubbed, but skin on and chopped.
Why white potatoes? Not as starchy as russets. Won't fall apart under long boiling and won't noticeably thicken the stew. Why not peeled? The peels taste good, have vitamins in them and help the pieces hold together. Try to keep the pieces cut semi-uniformly. So they cook at the same rate. Add to the stew.

When you're done, you should have something that looks like this:9. Eat it. Careful before you add salt. The meat is salted. The onions are salted. The broth has a surprising amount of salt in it. Taste before you correct. I like a little cheese on top, cotija if you have it, a bit of shredded cheddar if you don't. Eat with tortillas. Maybe a bit of diced avocado. If you want it hotter, use Sriracha in a sensible fashion. Enjoy.

Poco & Mom's Review-22d and Kolb

I can't say that the existence of this place will be a surprise to any of you. In the past few years, this Eastside eatery has developed a ferociously loyal clientele. They could easily seat twice the folks they have the actual room for at any given time. People feel blessed to be endowed with a bumpersticker and proudly slap it on their Prius' and pickups alike as a canary yellow badge of honor, the secret handshake announcing membership in a club one vainly hopes is exclusive.

Poco and Mom's fills a niche. They found a need. And they filled it. And they keep filling it. Over and over.

What is that need? New Mexican food. They do other things. But New Mexican cuisine is their thing. New Mexican food is their mission.

What is New Mexican cuisine? How does it differ from our Arizona border food? Braised meats instead of grilled. Carne adovada, pork slow simmered in red sauce. Green chile stew, pork lathered in scorching green chile. Two sacred sauces, the green and the red. Heavy reliance on the meat of the blessed pig. A spectrum of salsas, maybe more often stewed than chopped as is common in Border cuisine. Sopapillas; golden pillows of fried doughs. A vaguely Mexican cuisine that owes more to the New Mexico's numerous pueblos than Puebla. A cuisine that grew in a colder climate. A higher climate. An amalgam of Native, cowboy and pure home-cooking of local ingredients. I love this stuff.

I'm not claiming to be an expert in New Mexican cuisine. But my wife is from Shiprock. And business often calls from Albuquerque. Each and every trip, we make time for a pilgrimage to Rancho Chimayo. For the food. And Saltillo weaving. But mostly the carne adovada. When we trek to Phoenix, we go to Dick's Hideaway. For the grilled shrimp. But mostly the carne adovada. I'm devoted to this food.

I would suffer no pretenders.

Thankfully, Poco and Mom's, bare blocks from my home, satisfies a space within me that is precisely the size and shape of a roasted Hatch chile.

A good diner is a place to hang out, have a cup of coffee. It's a reliable spot for a harmless breakfast and lunch. A better diner is a place you will travel to for the food when other options are available. A great diner is a compulsion, a need, in and of itself. Consider.

About two weeks ago, I had a guacamole omelet at Poco's. That's three eggs, a big helping of homemade guacamole, scattered nuggets of bacon and a slice or two of swiss cheese. Was it good?

The next day I went back. And had another. That Saturday, I took my wife to Poco's. And had another.

Poco and Mom's is the truth. This is New Mexican soul food. The real deal. Made by people who know. I suggest you go there. Now.

A&M Pizza-Florence, Arizona

I drive through Florence fairly often. While I often have to travel within the state, I try to avoid freeways if possible. They stress me out. And I'm curious about our smaller towns.

This can be a problem when it comes to food, however. Not a "crap, I have to eat at Arby's" sort of problem. More of a "I'm not sure there's more than one restaurant in this town; God I hope I don't have to sit at a dirty counter and be stared at by locals or die of salmonella," sort of problem.

Any economics professor can tell you that a monopoly can cause issues. The fewer entrants to a marketplace, the less competition. The less competition...the less pressure to excel.

So eating in a small town is often a fingers-crossed leap of faith. Maybe, against all odds, this will be a good meal. Maybe, just maybe, these people will cook well just because they wouldn't have it any other way. Maybe.

Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll find a place like A&M Pizza in Florence, AZ. This is one location of a chain. The other locations are in Pennsylvania. No, that does not make much sense. But God bless these people.

I grew up on the East Coast. It's hard to find pizza and subs out here that match what I grew up with there. It's totally bizarre to find some of the best in Florence, AZ. But there you go.

The pizza is fantastic. Not too sweet sauce. Hand stretched dough with surprising crackle. The sandwiches are old school. What do I mean? If you order an sub with ham, provolone and mortadella, you get one thick slice of each. A handful of shattered lettuce and slivers of onion and tomato. On a homemade bun with a bit of mayo. That's it. But what else do you need?

Nothing if the ingredients are this good. A word about the rolls. Actually a couple of words.

They make these things fresh everyday. Please do not tell them the following. But I would eat three of those rolls a day, with mayonnaise and nothing else, for the rest of my life and I would happily pay for the privilege.

I have no idea how well this restaurant is doing. Whenever I've been there over the years there's almost no one in the place. But it's still there. Year after year. Quietly doing things just the right way. With obvious pride.

Apparently, the place is going to expand in AZ. To Casa Grande. And Coolidge. So that solves the conundrum of where to eat in those towns. But what about Tucson? Because we don't have a place with rolls like that here. And we need one.

My God, do we need one.

What time is it?! It's Burger Time!

Suddenly Tucson is awash in Burger Joints. And I don't mean Burger King and the like, I mean places you wouldn't mind spending seven dollars on a burger. This is fabulous news. Who doesn't like a good burger?

Communists. That's who.

No matter. Here's my thoughts on the best spots to grab a pile of hot beef in Tucson. (Insert your own joke here.)

1. Zin Burger-Sam Fox's restaurants don't always work. But when they work, they really work. They've expanded to Phoenix and soon to the east side of the Baked Apple. Fine burgers cooked to order, tasty salads, shakes that could kill a man. Great stuff and still the king.

2. Culver's-Just opened and narrowly nips In-n-Out. Great burgers with a good, not overwhelming variety. I like the smoky, crispy bits around the edges of the patties. I love the frozen custard. What is it? Who cares! It's great! They also serve crinkle-cut fries, of which I am a fan.

3. In-n-Out-Great burgers. Great fries. The ordering process is still enough of a secret code that it annoys me. But the employees are universally cheerful and ease you (meaning me) through it. Just a hair behind Culvers, but I like the variety at Culvers. I also still remember that at base In-n-Out is owned by right wing religious nutjobs that used to put bible quotes at the bottom of the cups. But they make a strong burger.

4. BK's-Yes the primary business is tacos, caramelos, etc. But they also make awesome burgers with killer crispy fries. Mesquite smoke adds a nice edge. The major failing? The service is incredibly up and down. Sometimes it's great. More often it's up and down. Everyone there is super pretty in a music video of five years ago way. I keep expecting the whole place to erupt in song and dance like a Bollywood movie. But the burgers are good.

5. Five Guys Burgers-Very good burgers. Two things. I don't understand the peanuts. Not that I don't like them. But I don't understand them. And this is a menu where, for me, too much is left open. There are simply too many options. I don't mind having the option of leaving off this or that or adding the odd condiment or garnish. Hell, everything's better with bacon, right? But to some extent, I want my restaurant to tell me what it is they like on a burger. I don't eat burgers enough times a week to just happen across my favorite combination through trial and error. But that's me. If that sort of mix and match freedom doesn't scare you, you'll like it there.

6. Monkeyburger-Same general concept as Zin Burger. Same arty pretensions. Great burgers. The service? Ehh. Not so much. The last few times I've been there, they've been creaking under the weight of their own success. But they're local, they're young, and their hearts are in the right place. Definitely worth a trip.

7. Fuddruckers-Certainly you laugh. But if you want to feed a family quality food, this is a good spot. Freshly ground beef cooked to order. Buns baked on site. A huge tub of liquid jalapeno cheese for your fries. Video game! Random crap on the walls! Hooray!

8. Shari's-It's gone, but we remember. A little shack with charbroiled burgers. Twenty or thirty flavors of milkshake. The very taste of a Tucson summer. I miss you Shari's.

Food on TV

I admit it. I watch a lot of tv. And I'll freely admit to watching a lot of pointless reality television. And not even the sort that appeals to my more, ahem, prurient interests. Heck, I watch House Hunters AND House Hunters International, two of the more pointless shows on television.

I also watch an awful lot of shows about food. And because I love you, I'm here to tell you what I think of them, in order of watchability. No, not every single show is listed here. I don't watch them all. If you want to, please do and set up your own damn blog.

1. Boiling Point-A BBC documentary about the opening of Gordon Ramsay's first restaurant. You want to know what it takes to open a three star restaurant? This is as close as you'll get. Fascinating. And raw. Affirms for all time Ramsay's unswervable commitment to his art and to his own set of standards, both professional and personal. Available to watch on Youtube.

2. Iron Chef-The grandaddy of them all. Note, this is not the American version that's not nearly as entertaining. This is the old school Japanese show that was emphatically not made for American viewers. The premise? Four Iron Chefs. The contestant picks one to compete against. They get an hour to cook as many dishes as they can using a mystery ingredient. Then those meals are judged by three people with only the vaguest connection to the food world. Seriously. A rasanjin scholar. (A type of ancient porcelain). A former legislator. A parade of winsome actresses. Minor athletes. All of which are apparently paid to say things like, "You have honored the liver of this monkfish." Very entertaining and compulsively weird watching. Like everything else that involves a competition, this show was taken waaaaayyyyy too seriously in Japan. If you've never seen it, you must. Note: The American version isn't nearly as compelling.

3. Top Chef-The best of the game show cooking shows. This has evolved from a show on which itinerant and starving sous chefs jousted for a chance to pay off credit card debt, into a showcase of serious culinary skills. Several contestants have gone on to greater success, including Stephanie Izard, the winner of two years ago who is universally hailed as one of America's rising culinary stars. The show features regular contributions by the stars of the cooking world (stars?! Really? Really), like Anthony Bourdain, Jacques Pepin, etc. It's also one of the few shows with real integrity. But then, if you're reading this, you probably know all this already.

4. No Reservations-Some say this show has lost its edge. I say those people are stupid. Don't hate the player, hate the game. Bourdain is an average writer (Kitchen Confidential, great read, his fiction, don't know, don't care) with a great personality, discerning taste in all things and a sincere passion for food. He finds the compelling in every place he visits. In places as diverse as the Ozarks and Dubai, he ferrets out the real connections between place and food. There are plenty of moments that will make you laugh, and plenty that will genuinely move you. I think of his visit to the Plain of Jars in Cambodia. Or one of his visits to Japan where we witness a solitary man making rice noodles by hand, in a fashion that will likely die with him. Along the way, we meet plenty of Tony's friends, cooks like Michael Symon and Eric Ripert, writers like Daniel Woodrell (Winter's Bone) and Jim Harrison (Legends of the Fall). Truly compelling television. Even if you don't like food all that much.

5. Kitchen Nightmares (American and British versions). Here's the premise. A restaurant is failing. A family is failing. The owners call upon Gordon Ramsay to help them fix it. He comes in and tells them their food sucks. They argue. They cry. (Well, Gordon doesn't) Everyone talks about their feelings. Having reduced everyone to quivering piles of goo, Ramsay then rebuilds them. He teaches them to cook. He teaches them to live! Et voila, that most cherished of American dreams; redemption. Is it cheesy? Sure. But Gordon Ramsay, say what you will about him, genuinely cares about food. And he's a spectacular leader. Maybe I'm a gullible sap, but I think he changes lives on this show.

6. Top Chef Masters-Just like the mothership only with accomplished chefs competing for charity. And no Padma Lakshi. Who, by the way, scares the hell out of me. But still a good way to kill an hour.

7. Hell's Kitchen-Yes, Gordon Ramsay's temper is rapidly becoming a cliche. Yes, the contestants are cast in roles (Asian tramp, crazy guy, Latina tramp, slutty white chick, black tramp, nerdy guy with glasses, four or so people who can cook, blimpy pasty guy from NY or NY) rather than chosen for ability. Yes, yes, the show has an all too familiar arc and is impossible to keep up with outside of DVR or Tivo. (Seriously, it'll be on two or three nights in a row and then sometimes for two hours instead of one. What's up with that?) But as said above, the chef that is Ramsay is a leader. And like him or not, you would follow him too. He turns spuds into chefs. (Or at least respectable cooks.) And every once in awhile, you'll see some absolutely bizarre television. To wit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzBnFutegJE

8. America's Next Great Restaurant-A dozen or so weirdos of varying ability and craziness who think they've figured out the theme of the next restaurant to compete in the fast casual market. Bobby Flay is a judge, which doesn't annoy me as much as it might have a few years ago, as is Curtis Stone who is very pleasant in an Australian sort of way. It also has Steve Ellis, who always introduces himself as "Steve Ellis, the founder of Chipotle," which, I imagine, is also his standard pickup line with the tramps of Hell's Kitchen.

9. Food Fight-Simple and direct. Who makes the best hot dog in Boise? Well, here's two restaurants who say they do. Let's get it on! Also features a perky, ambiguously ethnic hostess. She could be Puerto Rican, she could be Italian. Sort of like the guy who replaced Steve on Blue's Clues. Not quite dark enough to be threatening, just dark enough to be vaguely exotic. Guessing is half the fun!

10. Restaurant Impossible-Kitchen Nightmares lite. A bigger, louder Scotsman at the helm. Less money. Less time. Less everything! Hooray!

11. Throwdown-Bobby Flay says he can make your signature dish better than you can. Sometimes, he's right.

12. Ace of Cakes-It's gone now. Seemed harmless enough.

13. All of those shows featuring people eating repulsive shit-Man vs. Food, Bizarre Foods, etc. What's the premise of these? "Hey, watch as I try to eat a whole pile of yellow stuff! Hey look, it's moving! God, I should have taken the LSAT again" I used to wonder who watched these shows. ( I used to wonder if anyone thought Tom Green was worth emulating. Then I saw Adam Richman) Then I got married to my wife who happens to be Navajo and I met the in-laws. Now I know the answer. Quite rightly, brown people enjoy watching white people hurt themselves for no good reason whatsoever. Who can blame them? Seriously though, these shows are beyond stupid. There's another coming where two guys eat the spiciest food they can find. Super. I imagine they'll say things like "Extreme!" and "Awesome!" and compare the next morning's explosive bowel movement. Yawn. Count me out.

13. Top Chef Just Desserts-Ouch. Ow, quit it! A few things you should know about me. I watch home decorating shows. I watch Project Runway. I enjoy the short stories of Somerset Maugham and the novels of Jane Austen. I listen to David Bowie and Peggy Lee.

I never thought I would run into a show that was simply too gay for me. And I don't mean too homosexual. I mean too gay. Clarification: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mKSj_dD09M&feature=related

Until the airing of this abomination of a show. Christ.

So that's it. I know I'm certainly forgetting or omitting shows. Tough. It's my blog.

Bad news, scratch that. Terrible news.

Those of you who work or live near the downtown area are probably familiar with Chaffin's Diner. It's been a few things prior to operating under that name, but it's been Chaffin's for twelve or thirteen years.

It's an old school diner; deep booths, counter-seating, semi-open kitchen. Fairly typical. The food, however, has been extraordinary .

Chaffin's hits all the diner notes; eggs, club sandwich, etc. But where it really shines is in the execution of those classics. For about two years, I've ordered nothing but eggs florentine here. Poached eggs on English muffin with spinach, covered in hollandaise sauce.

Let's stop right there. This is hollandaise sauce made TO ORDER. In a FREAKING DINER!

Have you ever made hollandaise? I have. In the best of circumstances, in your own kitchen, with all the time in the world, it's a difficult thing to make. In a commercial kitchen, next to a three hundred degree flattop, in the middle of breakfast rush, it's really a feat.

It sometimes takes a while. Because if it curdles, or breaks, they THROW IT OUT AND START OVER!!!

That's the attention to detail that lifts this place above the ordinary. That makes a burger ordered medium rare actually arrive medium rare. That makes bacon actually taste like bacon. That makes iced tea that doesn't taste like it's been steeping since yesterday. Because it hasn't. And if it tasted off, they'd throw it out and start over.

So why is this post labelled "Terrible news?" Because the yellow "For Sale" sign means they're selling the business. And moving away. The new owners will probably still run a diner. (If they don't tear the place down.) But will they make hollandaise a la minute? Will they care if they consistently exceed your expectations? I fear not. I fear I will soon be in hollandaise limbo. Drifting from diner to diner, seeking to capture a time and place lost in the mists of my youth. Or early middle age.

Chaffin's, I miss you already.

Moose Tracks: Compare and Contrast

For those of you who don't know, Moose Tracks is a flavor of ice cream produced by Denali Flavors and licensed to local brands across this great land. It also happens to be freaking awesome.

Moose Tracks is vanilla ice cream stuffed with peanut butter cups and shot through with ribbons of chocolately goodness. My God, that stuff is good.

Now, the stuff sold at our local chains; Albertson's, Fry's and Safeway, is all certainly called Moose Tracks, but each of these stores produce it themselves under license. There is, therefore, a big difference between these flavors.

In the interest of science, and because, I, of course, consider it my sacred duty, I have sampled each and have found a clear winner. (And by "sampled," I mean I've eaten a large pile of ice cream.)

Drum roll.

Fry's version beats the pants off Albertson's and Safeway's. Both of the latter are very icy, not a good trait in vanilla ice cream. Also, both of the peanut butter cups used in the latter come up short in the peanut butter to chocolate ratio.

Also, Safeway is often mysteriously out of Moose Tracks and instead chock full of Bunny Tracks, some godforsaken pale imitation some focus group invented. Note to Safeway: No one was asking for chocolate bunnies in their ice cream. Also, filling ice cream with hard, brown, raisin-sized lumps is an unfortunate choice for a product named Bunny Tracks.

Think it through.

Good News

Good news for the Eastside. El Guero Canelo opened another location on 22d East of Craycroft. Of course, the standing sign still says Los Betos, but what else would you expect of Geuro Canelo? Knowing the owner the very little I do, I wonder if he doesn't see it as a battle trophy, like a captured Roman Eagle or a regimental flag? No matter. Bacon wrapped dogs and all the tacos you can eat are on available. No word on whether they'll serve breakfast there too. Also no word on whether BKs will immediately open a location across the street. But that's my guess.

On another note, local superhero Sam Fox is closing Montana Avenue on Grant across from Costco to open another Zin Burger. Good move.

Montana Avenue wasn't a badly run restaurant, but it suffered from a lack of concept. Which, if you're familiar with Sam Fox, (God I love saying that name) is pretty surprising. Service was fine, food was adequate, outside of some bizarre missteps, (note, don't put a pile of arugula atop a freshly fried stack of calamari. The heat from the squid will wilt the arugula, which will in turn release liquid and make said squid soggy. And what's the fascination with arugula anyway?), a weirdly tame winelist and a muddled, directionless menu. In short, I'm happy a restaurant I love is opening in the stead of a restaurant I'm indifferent to.

The Way of the Sushi Chef Is Found In...

Every few months a friend will mention a new sushi place. What follows is generally the proclamation that X is the best ever to grace our native caliche and that the fish there is just as good as anything you can get in LA, NY, San Francisco, fill in the blank.

Which is, of course, all bullshit.

Sushi is, at base, extremely simple food. Fish and rice. The better those two ingredients are, the better the meal. And fish of better quality is available other places that are closer to the ocean, places that have things like wholesale fish markets. Superlative, blow your mind nigiri requires classically trained chefs steeped in hundreds of years of tradition. Those folks ain't moving to Tucson for a twelve dollar an hour job.

That said, Tucson certainly has its share of perfectly adequate sushi restaurants where the chefs care about what they're doing and try to make your experience as pleasurable as possible. And that's what it really is about.

When the fish is the same in this joint or that one, there's little about the menu itself that divides one place from another. That's especially true for those like myself who veer more closely to the nigiri/sashimi edge of the sushi spectrum. Seriously, if you're not a nineteen year old sorority girl, why are you having a caterpillar roll? Why? Because you don't like the taste of fish. The same way you drink wine coolers because you still want to get drunk without that nasty alcohol taste.

But I digress.

Here's what I'm looking for in a satisfactory sushi restaurant:

1. It must be clean.
2. Seriously, it has to be clean.
3. I don't want the spicy yellowtail on my roll to be scooped out of a plastic bin.
4. I also want it to still be recognizable to the naked eye as fish.
5. The rice must be prepared correctly. It should be sushi rice, should taste faintly of vinegar and not be over cooked.
6. See number 5.
7. Consistency.
8. Service that will get the hell out of my way and let me enjoy my lunch.

Sachiko, the name means, loosely, "Happiness," delivers all this. It is, to coin Hemingway, a clean, well-lighted place. The service is attentive, but not intrusive. The fish is reasonably fresh and consistently dressed.

It is a place of comfortable routine and cared for food. My wife and I live nearby and we frequent it with our children. My wife enjoys the noodle dishes. I enjoy my sashimi. My children enjoy the chopsticks and staring at the things I eat.

In the Hagekure, one of the very first phrases states that "[t]he Way of the Samurai is found in death." That's not pointless bravado. That's the acceptance of a core Zen principle as a way of life, that the way you do something is more important than the end result. That even if the desired result is not possible, that one will still live consciously. To the best of one's ability.

Sachiko Sushi will never be the best sushi restaurant on earth. It does not have the personnel or raw material available to equal the best that New York or Los Angeles has to offer. It doesn't need to.

It has a small core of family willing to work hard, to grasp the best things available to them, and to give you, and me, the best they can. Without let up. Day after day. That is a thing to be admired. And Sachiko Sushi is a restaurant to be frequented.

Seoul Kitchen

I've been a big fan of Korean food for a long time.

In college, my longest-standing roommate was half Korean. His mother took care of us. And by took care of us, I mean, she tried, in a very loving way to jam herself into every aspect of our lives, from our romantic interests to our daily intake of pickled cabbage. She was gentle about it. For instance, if she thought our vegetable intake was lacking, she'd get a faraway stare and say something like, "People should eat more salad." People meaning us.

It was certainly meant well and we took it as such. Most of her advice, suggested clothing purchases, etc., we simply blithely ignored. Probably to our detriment. But the one thing I didn't ever ignore and in fact welcomed, were the monthly deliveries of kimchi. By kimchi I mean pickled cabbage with chili. I could have eaten a gallon of the stuff. Probably still could, with tears running down my face.

So happy indeed was I when Seoul Kitchen opened near our home. It's your typical strip mall joint, not very large, sort of hard to find if you don't know it's there. The food is sensational and direct. As, in my opinion, it should be. This is straight up Korean soul-food (seoul food?). That means meat. That means rice. That means two or three simple flavors, strong and without embellishment.

That certainly doesn't mean you can't embellish. Every meal comes with an assortment of kimchi. From the aforementioned cabbage to daikon, to a small dish of bean sprouts. You're free to add what you like. Plates are generally large enough to share. You certainly won't go away hungry.

You may, however, have periods of hunger. The general problem with most family run restaurants is that, at the start of the business, they have no, and I mean no, experience running a restaurant. What does that mean for you dear diner? It means your meals are cooked one at a time. In the order they get to the kitchen. So your food arrives in the same way. It means your waitress isn't really a waitress. She's more of an expediter.

Seoul Kitchen suffers when there are more than two or three diners in the place. Which there usually are. Because the food is really just that good. So good, that I'd like to overlook the service completely. But they've been there for a while now and they should have worked some of this out for themselves.

The bottom line? By all means visit the Seoul Kitchen. On a weekday. At about three o'colck.