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.