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.