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.