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GOD IS IN THE DETAILS

July 26, 2025
by Terry Ratner

Mugen
in Espacio, The Jewel of Waikiki
2452 Kalakaua

Honolulu, HI 96815

808-377-2247

If it’s possible for Waikiki to have a genetic jackpot, then Mugen hit it! Its DNA includes a trendy neighborhood, an exclusive posh hotel, and the talented fusionista Executive Chef Colin Sato. His Hawaiian background, diverse culinary training, Japanese sensibilities, refined technique, and experimental approach to fine dining, has lifted Mugen to celestial status.

We recently had a culinary experience of infinite perfection. To quote Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, renowned minimalist architect, “God is in the Details.” If this is true, then Mugen, a mere fifty feet from Waikiki Beach, is a culinary House of Worship! The modern, unpretentious 34-seat Forbes five-star eatery, tucked into the second floor of an ultra-exclusive boutique hotel, lives up to its name, Mugen: Japanese for infinity, unlimited, boundless.

The dining room is low-key, with a few intimate tables. But like the denim jacket your date is wearing that looks normal, but cost $600, don’t let the comfortable façade fool you. A meal here is a special occasion. Mugen is both exquisite and approachable and you’ll never feel it’s out of your league.

Wherever you’re sitting, you’ll be surrounded by a lot of dressed-up pretty people. We counted five tables with romantic couples sharing plates and fine wines–we made it six! Mugen is a scene—but it’s a scene that comes with fantastic food. Most things on the menu are meant to be shared, but some are so good that you won’t really want to.

It’s obvious from the beginning that Mugen is into us. In the spirit of ‘omotenashi’, a Japanese term meaning “anticipating a guest’s every wish,” our server, Sheri, meets us at the door, escorts us to our table for two, where we become mesmerized by her performance art presentation of history, facts, and food.

A meal here is guaranteed to be an experience–with theatrics like history lessons in molecular gastronomy (egg yolks that transform into brioche), and great servers who are genuinely entertaining, telling you how their chopsticks were sourced in Portugal and their elegant dinnerware flown in from Japan.

Mugen’s three tasting menus, Jade, Emerald, and Sapphire, contained self-selected courses from the à la carte menu with optional wine pairings. Before we had a chance to order, Sheri brought an amazing mini brioche served with coconut kafir lime and Thai curry butters–light, rich, melt-in-your-mouth. So good, we begged to have our bouches amused again!

Our three starters began with the Octopus Garden, sous vide and flash fried tender tentacles served with parmesan, sea asparagus and a yuzu vinaigrette followed by a Wagyu Beef Tartare–an interactive experience during which we mixed our vegetables, egg yolk, and the Wagyu before spreading it on potato pave dusted with deep hydrated vinegar salt, and devouring it within seconds. I wanted to lick the plate!

And the star of the starters, Big Island Kona Kampachi, served with wasabi nasturtium puree, trout roe, and green apple ponzu looked like fine art framed on a cornflower blue porcelain bowl–each ingredient placed with precision. We imagined drinking a frosty glass of house-made ponzu, sitting on the beach at sunset, and asked if they might fill up our flask after dinner.  

While waiting for the main course, Chef Sato surprised us with a trio of nigiri sushi, aji with caviar, ago (flying fish) with sea asparagus and yellow tail with kosho ogo paste (chili peppers, yuzu, and salt). The sushi was unique and perfect, but trying to describe it is difficult. We snapped a picture, looked down, and inhaled it.

Next were the mains: Maine Lobster and Wagyu Steak. The lobster, like everything else at Mugen, was picture perfect – a colorful composition of sweet pink tail meat on a bed of unctuous golden truffle nori risotto peppered thru with delicate nutty hon-shimeji mushrooms and garnished with moss green parmesan foam. The Toriyama A5 Wagyu surpassed the Matsuzaka in Chef Colin’s personal taste test. It was presented as four seared shingled slices, cooked rare to show off the world-famous marbling, served alongside a cake of mochi rice with maitake mushrooms served in yuzu kosho broth. Sides were bowls of authentic truffled mash and fried sushi rice sprinkled with furikake and wriggling bonito flakes.

How many highlights can one meal have? Obviously with Mugen, it’s limitless!

After the main courses were cleared, Chef Colin, appeared at our table for a personal Q & A dressed in his Chef’s whites with the infinity symbol embroidered on his shirt. In the middle of our conversation, he gave a high sign to one of his runners who delivered two extraordinary desserts.

Chef lifted the lid of a delicate earthenware tagine revealing a Passion Fruit Custard, lilikoi gelee with a Chantilly cream float surrounded by passion fruit dice-looking cubes with fresh berries. The Chocolate & Pear offering was a mousse dotted with poached pear chunks lidded with a golden-brown pastry and accompanied by a “chocolate soil” topped off with a dollop of whipped creme fraiche.

Chef Colin noted that he was constantly under pressure to create and deliver the best possible cuisine, like having to hit a home run every time you’re at bat. If so, in our opinion, Chef is batting a thousand.    

Q&A with Chef Colin Sato

How do you keep connected to the culinary scene?
Through research, books, and Instagram. It’s always nice to see what other chefs are doing. I keep up with what’s happening on the mainland and locally through Gronda, a platform of and for master chefs. Ten years ago, one had to figure everything out by themselves.

How do you develop your innovative new dishes?
I keep my mind open to new ideas. My menu is constantly evolving. I often start small with a sauce or vegetable garnish. When you’re constantly working on the craft, the menu naturally evolves. For example, if I see a farmer posting about his new watercress harvest on Instagram, I think about the possibilities for creating something amazing.

What is your cuisine philosophy?
We call it globally inspired Hawaiian regional cuisine. Our local produce is unique, our fish is the best, but our beef isn’t on par with others, so we find alternate sources. We look for ingredients we can get here that aren’t available anywhere else. We’ve created a new menu form – a tasting menu based on the à la carte selections – fancy afternoon teas, and daily offerings of Sunset champagne and caviar on the rooftop. Our wine program continues to expand and set new standards in the industry, earning Wine Spectator’s “Best of” Award. I believe it’s also important to be active in your community, attend charity events, and give back.

How do you build and develop the complex and sophisticated flavor profiles in your dishes?
We hold tastings using the finest ingredients. Instead of hiding the flavors, we elevate them to highlight the natural ingredients. We plate our complex creations with simplicity and attention to detail. Sourcing information is passed to the front of the house to share with our patrons. We’re transparent which adds to the dining experience. When it comes to wine pairings, we make sure it’s perfect before it comes to the tables. It’s not only about the food, but also the total package.

WHERE’S THE PITA?

August 27, 2023
by Terry Ratner

Psistaria Greek Taverna
4711 W Touhy Ave.
Lincolnwood, IL 60712
847-676-9400

Consort and I broke our 60-day record of home cooked meals by visiting a renown Greek restaurant in Lincolnwood – four blocks from where I grew up and just down the street from the old purple Hyatt Hotel.  Pulling into the entrance, one could easily mistake the restaurant for a Mexican taqueria, complete with a prominent ‘Valet Parking Only’ sign. Its Southwestern tile roof and one-level nondescript architecture belies the quality of the Greek cuisine served inside Psistaria Greek Taverna.

We sat side-by-side at a four-top, complete with white linen, side of sliced lemons, and an authentic Greek olive oil, Horio EVOO. Our server, Andrea, presented a half loaf of crunchy, crusty, sesame toasted rounds dotted with oregano and brushed with a garlicky butter which had us salivating like Pavlov’s dogs.

We scanned the extensive menu, starting with a meze (appetizer), and settled on taramosalata, a creamy peach-colored fish roe spread, known as Greek caviar, high in omega-3 fatty acids, three times more protein than hummus, and a great source of vitamin D. Think Mediterranean diet. The roe, a perfect match for bread service, except for one thing, we’ve always had it with Pita. WHERE’S THE PITA?? When I posed the question, our server said they could sell us a fresh quartered pita for seventy-five cents. We decided to pass on the side order and dip the previously proffered toast in the roe, as suggested. Hey, if we’re visit Greece one day, we need to be hip to the local foods. This pita frenzy turned out to be our misconception, as we were informed by the owner, Pete Bournas, how the Greeks eat loaves of sesame bread with everything. It’s heart Healthy.

For a second meze, we chose four small dolmades, grape leaves stuffed with onion, ground beef and lamb, rice, and served in an egg-lemon sauce. Lots of lemon at the table. Consort has loved this dish for years and always chooses it whenever we eat Greek. He dubbed them ‘perfect’ as he spooned extra yellow sauce over the rolled delicacies.

Next came our favorite, avgolemono, a traditional Greek soup made with chicken broth, rice, and an ‘egg-lemon’ aioli, cooked fresh daily and probably the most popular item on the menu. If it was a drug, we’d both be addicts.

For a main entrée, we opted for six petite loin lamb chops to share. At this point, I was feeling full, mostly from a bread overdose and not sure if I could handle more than a few nibbles. The perfectly seasoned grilled chops featured a small flavorful nugget of meat around a tasty midget size T-bone. We ate a few bites of cooked roasted potato, not because it wasn’t delicious, but we were full-up.

If you’re licking your lips now or drooling for some great gourmet Greek, know that soup and potatoes are included with your choice of entre. What a deal!  

Andrea brought us our check with a to-go container filled with a double decker dessert – Ekmek, kataifi, a finely spun Greek pastry, layered with vanilla custard, whip cream, slivered almonds, and sprinkled with cinnamon. She told us, “Enjoy!”  

The staff, attentive, personable, and knowledgeable, were as flamboyant as the saganaki (flaming cheese) and homemade bougatsa (flambéed custard desert).

Each time we visit a Greek restaurant, I long for a vacation in Greece. The assistant manager, Gregori, originally from Ipiro, a village in the mountains in northern Greece, when asked which island he prefers, answered without hesitation, “Go to Crete.” His reasons followed: You can scuba dive, parasail, take a glass-bottomed boat tour, and walk miles of sandy beaches and craggy coves.”

If you were dating Crete, you could Tinder-swipe dozens of monasteries, fortresses, and antiquities.  

I just remembered he ended with “Crete has the best cheese’, but if I wanted a primo fromage, I’d visit Wisconsin, less than an hour drive from Chicago, or fly to Paris.

Psistaria Greek Taverna is a family-owned restaurant serving traditional Greek cuisine from all areas of Greece. The recipes are the brainchild of chef owner, George Bournas, who began his culinary career bussing dishes and line cooking in Greek Town.

Enchantment Under the Sea

March 5, 2018
by Terry Ratner

AquaKnox
The Venetian
3355 South Las Vegas Boulevard
(The Las Vegas Strip)
Las Vegas, NV 89109
702-420-2541

“Seasonal. Sustainable. Fresh.” We’ve all heard this promise before – especially when it comes to most tragically-hip upscale restaurants. In the case of AquaKnox, the seafood option at the Venetian in Vegas, there is a clear difference – Chef James DeFraga.

While drinking in the ocean theme with soft blues and coral tones, diaphanous booth draping and high ceilings, Chef DeFraga joined us for a face-to-face. Speaking with conviction and energy, Chef exposed his dedication, edgy vision, pride in product and presentation with keen attention to minute details.

But of course, this isn’t the whole story. Chef DeFraga began his journey into the restaurant business early in life – at age sixteen. His career path followed a steady upward trend starting out as a hired ranch hand on an organic farm, to becoming a line-cook graduating to prep cook, then a sous chef before his current gig as a top-notch executive chef. He isn’t thought of as one of the ‘rock star’ chefs typical of many Las Vegas eateries – no TV show or partnerships in a long string of 5-star bistros, but to his advantage, he’s a great chef and a genuine “good guy.” OMG, he’s actually in the restaurant and talks with his patrons. You can’t say that for Las Vegas’ invisible celebrity chefs such as Tom Colicchio, Wolfgang Puck or Jean-Georges Vongerichten.

After placing our order with the captain, the sommelier, Louis Hamilton, started us off with some bubbly, Tavistock Reserve Prosecco (the house brand), quickly followed by the presentation of AquaKnox’s ‘Seafood Plateau’—a revolving mountain of fresh seafood delights. This iced platter of delectables featured steamed lobster, prawns, three varieties of oysters, clams, mussels, king crab leg, pink shrimp ceviche and a pair of ponzu oyster shooters with sides of mustard, mignonette and cocktail dipping sauces – wow!

While waiting for our mains, we were served our selected wine – the Whispering Angel Rosé from Provence. My readers know that I’ve been lauding the virtues of rosé for years and AquaKnox seems to share my zest for the good pink.

I selected the Chilean Sea Bass with lobster succotash, black truffle, and sea greens. Of the three occasions I sampled sea bass during my Vegas junket, this was, by far, the best. The fish was flaky, moist and extra flavorful, and the garnishments were equally tasty. Consort went for the daily special ‘Surf and Turf’ including a crab-stuffed half Maine lobster and a masterfully grilled petite filet. It must have been exceptional because when I turned my head to ask for a taste, it was almost gone.

We ordered the Butterscotch Bread Pudding to assuage Consort’s sweet tooth and again we were surprised –this time by a visit from a ten-year old Australian aged wine – Yalumba Antique Tawny Port – which paired perfectly with the sweet gooeyness of the desert.

Sitting back and contemplating the end of a perfect meal (Consort let out his belt a notch), while I took a closer look at AquaKnox’s cylindrical ocean-blue wine tower—the dominating presence located center stage. I flashed on Back to the Future’s senior prom dance theme ‘Enchantment Under the Sea’ as a perfect description of this romantic evening.

a bruin café in lincoln park

January 22, 2018
by Terry Ratner

De Quay Restaurant
2470 N Lincoln Ave
Chicago, IL 60614
872-206-8820

The outside of this conservative Indonesian-Dutch restaurant is easy to miss, with its black-metal lanterns that look like antique gaslights glowing across the front of the building. Once inside, an old-world style bar, stretched the length of the restaurant, lends itself to a warm atmosphere which includes a smiling bartender offering an array of drinks. Chocolate-colored tables and chairs are set with flickering tea lights. The restaurant seats 42 patrons at tables with an additional 15 seats at the bar.

I suppose the little wooden Dutch shoes with fake tulips hanging from the walls are a nod to Chef owner David de Quay’s heritage, while a hand-carved mirror that hung over our table reminded me of Pier One Imports. The décor didn’t transport me into the Netherlands, nor to Indonesia. De Quay felt more like a neighborhood hotspot (literally) than the advertised blend of Dutch and Indonesian food.

The menu is limited, offering seven small plates, six side dishes, and seven entrees. There were three of us, all well-versed in global fare. We began with drinks, a Belgian beer, a dry cider, and a club soda with three green olives. Drinks were perfect.

We shared appetizers: Javanese chicken sate (Indonesian spelling of ‘satay’) with peanut sauce and homemade slaw, black pepper gouda dumplings served with potato, peas and bacon in wonton wrappers with mustard sauce—nothing too exotic there. We favored the dumplings, but did not taste any peas or bacon in the filling, only cheese. The mustard sauce tasted incredible, but they might have forgotten the mustard. It tasted more like an aioli you might prepare for artichoke dipping.

Entrees included curried chicken, a sate glazed pork rib chop, and nasi goring (fried rice) “Istimewa” meaning special. It wasn’t.

The curried chicken was touted as marinated in buttermilk and aromatics for 24 hours, a process which didn’t disguise the ordinary nature of the breast. It tasted plain and salty, drowned in a sea of curry sauce sprinkled with toasted almonds on top of dried apricot seroendang. They may have run out of apricots because that tart and sweet flavor never crossed my palate.

My friend, a distinguished professor of linguistics with solid experience in as many of the world’s cuisines as the languages he has studied, ordered the glazed pork chop, which he tried unsuccessfully to ‘saw’ with the sharpest knife the restaurant provided for their guests. The waiter offered to substitute his dish for another, but he declined. Ultimately the manager took that charge off the bill.

The nasi goring, de Quay’s version of the Indonesian classic, is fried rice elevated by a pair of sunny-side up eggs and flavorful pork belly. This spicy dish comes with a warning from the waiter as to its heat and potency. The bottom line is it’s not much more than a bowl of fried rice for twenty bucks. I should mention the side of krupuks, a popular fried Indonesian cracker, airy and light made from starch and other ingredients. Sadly, nothing to rave about.

But here’s something quite ‘istimewa,’ Spekkoek, a scrumptious dessert—thin layers of cake and almond paste served over a scoop of pandan (tropical green) ice cream. Surprisingly sweet and savory.

I recommend this restaurant for drinks, appetizers, dessert and before or after theater munchies. There are several theaters within walking distance. Take your appetite for entrees elsewhere.

it takes a village

March 7, 2015
by Terry Ratner

ALDEA
31 W 17th st
New York, New York, 10011
(between 5th and 6th ave.)
(212) 675-7223

We accidentally went to one of the best restaurants in New York City. Who knew?

We shopped the racks on 5th Ave and the East Side despite the windy damp weather that besieged us as we boutiqued our way through Manhattan. While escalating through  Barney’s, we stopped to admire a Westie. The animal’s owner, a tragically hip young man, both intelligent and engaging spent time with us ‘hillbilly tourists’ (anyone not from New York) and shared his vast knowledge of the City. Over a period of about 25 minutes, we played with the pup, and discussed the best areas to live (Battery Park City and Astoria Queens) plus a myriad of big apple related subjects. At one point in the discussion, he dropped the name, ‘Aldea’ and labeled it as a trendy eatery in Manhattan’s Flatiron neighborhood. Later, while looking for a place to dine, we recalled the recommendation and made a reservation and grabbed the last slot available—9:30 PM.

It wasn’t until a month later, when I received a review copy of Chef George Mendes’ memoir and cookbook, ‘My Portugal’ that a bolt of understanding hit me and I realized why Aldea (village in Spanish) was one of the highlights of our Thanksgiving trip. The place had garnered Michelin stars for four straight years and numerous other major awards and accolades.

It was a cold bleak windy night when we fled our cab and found refuge inside Aldea’s windbreaker vestibule. The entry opened up into a railroad layout, long and skinny with double high ceilings. Supposedly inspired by the beauty of the Iberian coast invoking images of water, air, wind, clouds, sky and earth, the restaurant imparts the serious austere countenance made of sharp honed wood panels, weighty horizontal concrete planes and sheets of standing rippled glass.

The hostess announced a 20-minute table wait, so we plopped down at the sleek modern bar. Consort ordered us a pair of one of Aldea’s signature cocktails, the DeNada, made with rum, apricot liqueur, lemon and egg white. The drinks, prepared with a flourish by the establishment’s expert mixologist were complex and airy and showcased his talent—he knew the proper two-step technique to shake egg white cocktails without ice to create the smooth, frothy meringue, then add ice for a second chilling shake. One taste of the pert and perky concoction and we knew that the evening was off to a profound start.

We were seated in a banquette two-top bookended by a pair of young Canadians with Portuguese ancestry and a party of four Long Islanders doing a night on the town. With assistance from our server, we settled on one snack, two appetizers and a shared entrée.

The ‘bread steward’ came by with a tray of three kinds of house made breads. You know how picky we are about bread—it can break or make a meal. We sampled them all twice and they were wonderful. The only low point, as was alluded to by our Canadian neighbors, was an 86ed fig bread of some repute. While we oohed and ahhed over the bread, our waiter plunked down our snack of sea urchin toast with cauliflower purée, mustard seed, shiso and lime. If the server hadn’t pulled her hand out of the way, she might have been injured in the frenzy that followed. The fresh uni punctuated with spice and citrus disappeared in 30 seconds—washed down with our first few sips of a glass of French rosé.

Our apps arrived simultaneously, the wild mussel soup for me and the charred octopus for Consort. The savory soup served with perfect, plump sweet mussels, flecks of fennel, and chorizo all in a smooth coconut-curry sauce was quickly devoured by the two of us. The octopus, plated with a potato confit and a pool of squid ink puree spiked with lemon turned out to be the best version of the dish we had ever tried – tender octopus and charred crisp at the same time with deep and rich flavors.

Halfway through our meal, we were disturbed by a row between management and the Long Islanders. It seems one of the woman guest’s hanger steak was too rare and her husband’s lamb was too tough. They wanted the items removed from the check despite the fact that they had left only a memory of the meals on their plates.

The battle over, our entrée was served. The wild striped bass fogged our table in a warm, welcoming cloud of coconut broth aroma. The kitchen split the dish for us and it was a race to the finish that consort won. The verdict is outstanding—a silky broth, perfectly cooked filet of bass and excellent melange of root veggies.

As members of the Clean Plate Club we had earned our pudding. In this case, it was a phenomenal cinnamon rice pudding papered with slices of apple cider gelée and sprinkled with a crunchy crumble of cinnamon toast peppered with bits of white chocolate.

All in all, Aldea was a pretty sweet place to stumble into on a cold and stormy night.

freak show and big food

March 6, 2015
by Terry Ratner

Hash House A Go Go
Linq Hotel and Casino
3535 S Las Vegas Blvd
Las Vegas, NV 89109
(702) 254-4646

Working up an appetite in Vegas isn’t difficult. Every destination is a hike and a freak show. Trekking over bridges, through smoky casinos, dodging flippers and panhandlers as we weave our way through topless performers, Elvi, street people, buskers, and an imitation Pee-wee Herman on his X-1.

From the Bellagio lobby to Hash House A Go Go: Round the lake, through shops, over a bridge to Caesar’s, another bridge walkway (over Las Vegas Blvd) by Ballys, through Flamingo, crossing a driveway into the Link Resort Casino where Hash House A Go Go is located. Along the way expect moving and dead escalators which are perfectly suited for photographers.

Consort here. You might ask why I’ve interrupted Dinner Slut (DS) in her review of Hash House. It’s because I am a huge fan of this restaurant—its twisted farm food cuisine and the renown as-seen-on-TV specialties. And, (DS), a petite night person, not an admirer of giant breakfast portions, came along to moderate my calorie intake.

I’m a Hash House fanboy since it opened. A quick history links it to Imperial Palace, a dump, the Quad for such a few heartbeats that I missed that iteration entirely, to the renovated, all modern and upscale, and renamed Linq—the restaurant with its hip Indiana farm ambiance finally has a home that stands as an equal.

At the back of the casino, up an escalator—an overflowing crowd waits to be seated. This is Hash House—packed for breakfast and brunch. (dinner is typically a shorter wait). No rookie, I weaseled our way through the throng (huge both in quantity and individual size), lorded my VIP status at the desk and we were escorted to a table without delay. It’s good to be Consort.

We started our noon-time breakfast with Fiji water to dilute the effects of Friday evening, then DS ordered herbal tea and I called for the famous 20 oz HH BLT Bloody Mary (hold the T – tomato allergy). The Mary is served with the usual accoutrements plus two slices of crisp bacon and a side of toast. A meal in itself if you’re inclined to dine on huge bar drinks.

DS ordered the regular-sized Farm Scramble with smoked bacon, avocado, onion, and swiss mix-ins. Plated with crispy potatoes, fresh fruit garnish and Hash House’s huge buttermilk biscuit. She was pleased with all of the breakfast goodness placed in front of her. Then my order came and her jaw dropped.

Having sampled most of the menu on previous visits, including the mountainous Chicken and Bacon Waffle Tower and the Man V Food favorite Fried Chicken Benedict, I had selected the huge Crispy Hand Hammered Pork Tenderloin Benedict. About as akin to the usual eggs Benedict as a minnow is to a whale—gargantuan. Start at the bottom of the platter with a mound of griddled mash, then add one of the giant HH biscuits split in two and pile on a scoop of spinach. Normally a tomato slice goes here but not so much for me – see allergy reference above. Now take a pound or so of pork tenderloin and pound it flat until it resembles the sole on Bigfoot’s sandal, bread it and fry it until it’s crispy, tender and down-on-the-farm tasty and lay it on top. Add three scrambled eggs, a slathering of ‘bar b’ que’ cream and a few other odds and ends, like strands of deep fried spaghetti.

“You’re never going to eat all that!” DS teased (of course, she was right). Looking around, we saw monstrous platters delivered to tables, booths, and bar. First they were photographed, then pointed to in disbelief, and eagerly devoured. Some diners left with grocery-sized doggie bags, but, in most cases, plates were cleared with much less in the way of leftovers than one might imagine. Hash House serves a food gasm that rocked you.

Next time I’m in Vegas, I know I’ll head back to H H. I’ll order the Chicken Pot Pie that our server said had to be brought to the table by itself because he couldn’t lift anything else at the same time. It will be worth the wait.

let’s make a deal

March 5, 2015
by Terry Ratner

Estiatorio Milos
The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas
3708 Las Vegas Boulevard South
Las Vegas, NV 89109
(702) 698-7575

Lunch at Estiatorio Milos could be the best dining deal on the Strip. Clustered among a slew of ritzy restaurants in the Cosmopolitan’s chic ‘food court’, Chef Costas Spiliadis’ eatery joins the likes of noted Chefs José Andrés (Jaleo, é and China Poblano), Stephen Hopcraft (STK), Scott Conant (Scarpetta and D.O.C.G) and David Myers (Comme Ça).

Milos is a Jeckyl & Hyde establishment. By night, Mr. Hyde is a pricey $$$$ fish house overlooking the twinkling lights of the Strip’s City Center. Their hook concerns how one orders: you walk up to a display of iced flown-in-fresh fish to interview the object of your evening’s meal – sort of like speed dating for dinner.

But, by day, Milos’ Dr. Jeckyl is an entirely different animal. Here comes the deal.

For the prix fixe of $25.15 (the punny 2015 price) you get a three-course choice of appetizers, entrées and desserts that will make your mouth water and your taste buds swoon. And, the Greek wine pairing at $16 costs less than the single glass at most other restaurants.

We ambled in for a late lunch as the pescadors (fish wranglers) were setting up the evening’s display of daily catch imported from exotic places like the Bay of Fundy and the shores of Morocco. While we scrutinized the menu, our tattooed, CIA-trained server brought us a bottle of still to quench the thirst we had built shopping the Crystal at Aria. Our only disappointment on ordering from the half-dozen dishes in each category was the wine list’s oversight of Retsina, an iconic pine-resin flavored Greek wine and Consort’s fave.

The apps appeared quickly, Grilled Octopus ($10 supplementary) for me and Hortopita for Consort. Loaded with charcoal-broiled flavor, I devoured the octopus. I don’t think Consort was able to stab more than one tender blackened morsel for himself. I promised to share next time. The Hortopita, a flaky stuffed pastry served with a small herb salad, started off Consort’s prix fixe with notes of tangy feta and fresh herbs.

For mains, I ordered Lavraki, a whole grilled sea bass butterflied and made piccata-style with olive oil, lemon and capers. Fresh from the Med, the boneless fish, flaky and flavorful became a favorite. A glass of Greek Agiorgikiko rosé paired with Consort’s Shetland Island Organic Salmon—a lunch-sized ingot of Scottish salmon also grilled with capers, herbs and lemon. Tasting both, I think mine was the winner, but his won a close second.

Though happy and satisfied with the meal, our server insisted we try dessert. His recommended Greek yogurt presented like rich and tangy vanilla ice cream covered with fresh berries. Again, simple, classic and the perfect capper for the meal.

Taking account of the price and the extent of the menu, Estiatorio Milos should be good for six straight Vegas lunches without fear of redundancy, boredom or disappointment. Kalí óreksi! (Bon appetit in Greek.)

Fish Eggs

February 28, 2015
by Terry Ratner

Prime Restaurant
Inside Bellagio
3600 Las Vegas Blvd South
Las Vegas NV 89109
(702) 693-7223

I think the role of a chef, is not just to cook, but to create cravings.” – Jean-Georges Vongerichten

Famous rock-star chef Jean-Georges causes foodies to swoon just hearing his first name. With his three-star Michelin achievement comes a strong-willed Alsatian background with culinary history running through his veins. It wasn’t a difficult decision to end our gustatory Valentine’s Day weekend with a dinner at Prime, located in the Bellagio Hotel, which in ‘Vegas’ means a long walk through a smoky casino. You sink to a new low trudging in four-inch heels with your man to Prime steakhouse. You don’t have to lower your standards, but you do have to descend physically down long corridors to the lower level of the hotel. The hike is well worth the effort as it allows you to dine while gazing out multi-paned French windows at the legendary and talented dancing fountains in Bellagio lake that perform every fifteen minutes or so they say. More about that later.

Prime’s chichi eatery shows some of the refinement of an Eastern chophouse – dark, warm colors, comfy chairs and crisp white tablecloths. But it is also true to its Vegas-baby location, displaying just the right amount of glitz, bling and smarmy opulence which the owners designate as chocolate brown and “delicate Tiffany blue décor” the elaborate design of Michael DeSantis. Chef Jean-Georges has two establishments in Las Vegas, the other is his self-named steakhouse at the Aria, plus over two dozen additional upscale restaurants scattered throughout the world.

Once seated at our “ring-side” table we were greeted with a complimentary champagne cocktail and a timely explosion from the star of the show, which interrupted our intimate moments more than once. We timed the intervals and they were irregular between 5 and 6 eruptions an hour. To be honest, after a couple of acts, I was more taken by a family of ducks cruising around the lake seemingly unaware of the carnage going on around them.

We sipped our champagne, toasting one another in between kisses before we picked up the comprehensive steakhouse menu loaded with starters, soups, salads, steak, seafood, sauces and sides, and began to ask our server questions. Our Captain had been with Prime since the day Bellagio opened in 1998, so his knowledge was immense and he would toss in a bit of trivia or add an aside of history with every answer and explanation. We looked at each other, and agreed by telepathy that this was our guy. So, we gave him free rein to order for us. We were not disappointed.

For a first course, he brought us a classic presentation of luxurious, ostentatious and pretentious golden Osetra caviar. It was to die for. Chilling in a large bowl of meticulously hand-cracked ice lay a tiny cup of silky grey-gold gems destined to be scooped onto silver-dollar buckwheat blinis with a mother of pearl spoon. The accompaniments made the deliciousness stretch to last as long as possible— minced red onion, chopped hard-cooked egg yolks and whites, creme fraiche, lemon, capers and chives. Oh my! I guarantee that after a few minutes of caviar—feeding-frenzy there was not a single sumptuous ovum left in sight.

After basking in the afterglow, over a cleared and meticulously crumb scraped table, the salad was delivered. For this, our server had recommended the roasted beets with apple, ricotta and quinoa. It was perky and tasty, but certainly not as amazing as course one, so we concentrated on the wine. We had ordered The Prisoner, a personal favorite since Consort once won a bottle at a pizza cooking party (but that is a whole ‘nother story), a trendy red blend of Zinfandel, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, Petite Sirah, and Charbono.

The main course came with a flourish, three varieties of A5 Japanese Wagyu beef, filet, strip and ribeye, to be carved tableside and presented with simple vegetables and bearnaise, peppercorn and rice wine sauces. Some people call this Kobe beef, because of its relation to the city of Kobe, Japan. Prime more accurately labels it as Wagyu, or Japanese Black Beef, and the A5 designation translates as “best of the best.” However, as it is with most “done three ways” offerings, one way is always better than the other two. In this case it was the filet – the ribeye and the strip both seemed to need an extra minute on the fire. Our server had recommended a pair of sides for the main course, Brussels sprouts with maple-roasted quince and hunks of bacon, gnocchi and mushrooms in a gouda fondue. Both were good, but a bit too heavy handed after all the previous viands.

Our Captain, along with server and busser teamed up and would not allow us to leave without one complimentary anniversary dessert, so they brought two – an amazing cheesecake with pineapple snow and a chocolate bombe that melted under a pour of warm caramel sauce to reveal a prize inside. They were ambrosial, but the gesture was all too Vegas – a redundancy of lavish excess. We capped off the night with a Canadian classic, a rich, sweet and indulgent flavorful icewine. We toasted each other, and tasted the syrupy wine on each other’s lips. One more toast to the team, Captain Danny, Server Julio, and Busser, Miguel.

“L’amitié peut entourer la table.” (May friendship surround the table.)

FYI: The Bellagio Lake, the size of eight football fields, holds the same amount of water as 2,000 swimming pools and would take more than a year to fill with a garden hose.

Twistin’ the Night Away

February 25, 2015
by Terry Ratner

Twist Restaurant
Mandarin Oriental
3752 South Las Vegas Boulevard
Las Vegas, NV 89109
888-881-9367

Consort and I celebrated our Valentine’s Day anniversary in Sin City—a great place to romance and chillax. The foodie extravaganza began with an evening that upended all expectations. We experienced an unconventional, wild, and outright mélange of cuisine and service with unlikely food combinations paired together for the happiest of unions—a twisted evening affair for lovers.

Twist, three Michelin Star Chef Pierre Gagnaire’s only US restaurant, is nestled high in the swanky Mandarin Oriental Hotel; a place unique among its casino resort neighbors – no gambling, no smoking, just sophistication and sensuality.

When we arrived at the Mandarin, we stumbled around an unmarked lobby, looking for signage or arrows directing us to the restaurant. It was then Consort gently removed my elbow length black laced glove, blindfolded me and led me through the labyrinth.

On arrival, he peeled off my mask just in time to take in the Strip view from the 23rd floor. The contemporary style setting by Adam Tihany with its floor-to-ceiling windows, suspended wine loft reached by a glass staircase, and golden globes floating in space like fireflies gave way to a most romantic evening with outstanding French eclectic gastronomy.

Our host led us to a window table where our server greeted us with a champagne cocktail – Kir Royale’s, our fave. How did he know? While we perused the special Valentine’s Day menu, the requisite amuse bouche arrived. It was a trifecta of tiny delights including a show-stopping dice-sized cube of shimmering gin & tonic pierced through with a spear of vanilla bean.

The four-course Valentine’s Day tasting menu started with a Terrine of Foie Gras with Sauternes – a delightful pâté of lush goose liver made even richer with the addition of a few spoonful’s of exotic sweet French wine. It partnered with tiny specks of intense flavor architecturally arranged on the plate—a cube of red cabbage gelée, bits of apple and quince compote, a toasted brioche square smeared with quince paste and mini drizzles of beetroot and cranberry syrup. Since we had ordered a wine pairing, a two ounce pour of the 2009 Chateau Haut-Mouleyre, from Cadillac, was charged with matching this amazing starter. The results: smooth, unctuous with a hint of sweetness, the Haut-Mouleyre only heightened the Chef’s quirky creation.

The second course, an eye-popping Scallop and Haddock Soufflé – a lightly oven seared “pancake” of goodness from the sea drenched in a rich sauce oozing American hackleback caviar. The soufflé sat in a nest of sea bean slivers (normally painfully salty, these weren’t) on a bed of perfectly cooked gnocchi. A side to this course was an amazing savory pudding of this and that dished up in a champagne glass looking like a child-sized sundae – but definitely crafted for adults. The wine was an Australian red blend “Rose” from Weingut Gerhard Markowitsch, Carnuntum. Like any modest rosé, it allowed all of the flavors of the second course to live on the palate while keeping our whistles wet.

The main course presented a conundrum – a choice had to be made between the Fricassée of Lobster A L’Américaine or the Black Peppered American Wagyu Striploin Steak. However, this being Valentine’s Day, a couples holiday, the solution came easy – Consort had the steak and I ordered the lobster with a promise to share.

The halves of lobster tail were butter poached, sweet and delicately tender. They were dressed in the buttery smooth white wine sauce and accompanied by a salsify and carrot purée and sautéed shiitake mushroom caps. I honestly don’t know what happened to it, except to say, I didn’t play fair—I didn’t want to trade my lobster for a piece of meat.

Consort’s striploin was presented as perfect rectangular Lincoln logs of seared pepper-crusted beef tastefully laid out under a blanket of a rich, creamy bordelaise sauce with plenty of shaved black truffle for good measure. Consort thought the truffled mash croquettes tucked up next to the steak were a bit gooey and bland, but praised the miniature purses of artichoke barigoule for their earthy umami taste.

The entrée course was paired with a unique wine from the Vipava Valley Herzogovinia (first time I ever had to spell that) – the 2006 Monastery Tverdos’ Vranac. This was a deep dark red that had a lot of barnyard on the nose but was fruity and complex on the tongue. Although it was an ideal pair for the Wagyu, it lacked the finesse necessary to accompany the lobster, so my glass was left lonely.

Consort slid his chair an inch back from the table to mentally let out his belt preparing for the dessert course – the Chef’s eponymous Grand Dessert Pierre Gagnaire. If a three Michelin star chef put’s his name on a dish, you don’t pass on dessert. Close your eyes. Now. imagine a tower composed of an orange and ginger roulade cake topped with cheese cake mousseline, chestnut ice cream, cassis marmalade, almond nougatine, caramel, raspberries and meringue straws strewn all around with colorful edible flowers. The fact is, it’s unimaginable. The Hou Hou Shu “Hana Pink,” another personal favorite, sparkling sake was the pair for the final course and they made a beautiful Valentine’s Day couple.

Dinner ended, but our evening was just beginning. We’re not going to go into our usual ‘attention to detail’ narrative. Just use your imagination.

high in vegas

February 24, 2015
by Terry Ratner

Alizé Restaurant
Palms Casino Resort
4321 West Flamingo Road
Las Vegas, NV, 89103
702.951.7000

We road-tripped to Vegas from Phoenix. During that time, I thumbed through four New Yorkers, a New York Times book review, and tweeted a photo of Mr. Ed, a horse in front of us who stuck his head out the window for most of the trip.

We rolled in after four and a half hours and were escorted to the VIP check-in at the Bellagio where we were assigned a media rate room for our Valentine’s Day restaurant review and anniversary weekend. They fed us hors d’oeuvres and wine before escorting us to our quiet corner suite on the 25th floor. The walk from the elevator to our room equaled the distance of three city blocks.

The CEO welcomed us to our suite with a hand-written card, heart-shaped arrangement of rose petals on the bed, and a bottle of Champagne and chocolate covered strawberries. We couldn’t resist chuckling about the romantic snack—I have an aversion to chocolate and consort has a severe allergy to strawberries.

Our dinner reservation at Alizé s (French for Tradewinds??), known for its spectacular views of the strip and outstanding French cuisine was set for 8 PM. I wore a low-cut, short black dress with sexy lace tights and gloves, and high-heel ankle boots. Consort wore black jeans, black shirt, a black sports coat, and his French cap. Yes, we love to dress in black.

We cabbed it to the Palms Hotel, an older philistine establishment, rushed through clouds of smoke through the dingy casino without taking a breath—trying to protect our pallets. We were cleared by the elevator police before being allowed to ride to the 56th floor. Not a great first impression.

We walked past the restaurant’s center piece, a glassed-in wine cellar displaying several levels of their renowned wine and cognac collection. Sitting at a table overlooking the Rio, the rear-end of the Bellagio, with a great view of Vegas’s brand new Big Wheel (550 foot- High Roller) spinning in the distance, delivered the sparkling glitz one expects from Las Vegas. We ordered our usual Kir Royales to sip while we took in the delights of the Chefs’ classic menu—a selection loaded with quality and not much in the way of innovation. I realized that the value of the dinner had to be measured by how well the cooks execute their vision, not on creativity.

As the cocktails arrived, the server ceremoniously placed a gold key with a red velvet tassel on the table and said, “This fits a treasure with a surprise at the end of the meal.” The suspense was palpable. I could hardly contain myself imagining all kinds of gifts.

After we ordered, an amuse bouche so small as to be nearly invisible appeared – a cocktail spoonful of cauliflower soup with a tiny cube of raspberry gelée and a few drips of basil oil. Delicious! The concept of the amuse—to titillate the patron’s tastebuds, build anticipation for the meal, and to introduce the chef’s style of cuisine.

I ordered Roasted Lobster Bisque with saffron polenta lobster tortellini and a slash of tarragon oil and Consort had the Seared Foie Gras with brioche pain perdu, sweet potato purée and apple chutney. We intended to share. My bisque was a silky smooth seafood cream lightly populated with floating pillows of lobster-filled pasta—wonderful. Sorry. Forgot to share.

The foie was well seared, simply oozing fatty flavor and goodness. The pain perdu (think bit o’ French toast) was the snappiest of the accompaniments, sweet and savory at the same time and a good match for the foie. We paired the meal with a Cote de Provence Rosé.

Entrées followed. My Dover Sole was expertly prepared and the sauce Véronique presented with a queue of grapes in a military formation along the top of the filet like rotund, yet tasty, marching soldiers. Consort’s Veal Wellington, seemingly the only innovative dish on the menu, was both visually appealing and flavorful. The rounds of veal were run thru with asparagus, almost sushi-like, rolled in puff pastry and served in a pool of truffled jus. It cut like butter and tasted like food of the gods.

Still dreaming about the fabulous contents of our treasure chest, we stumbled blindly through dessert. I think it was a less-than-extraordinary kiwi/lime Panna Cotta. This time I shared.

Finally, I was given the key to unlock the mystery prize. Trembling, I twisted the key to reveal the booty. It was a mushy chocolate and caramel cupcake boxed and wrapped in plastic wrap. Big deal! It melted by the time we made it back to the room.

Our dining experience at Alizé seemed adequate to begin the romantic weekend tasting—a pretty place with a knockout view, but its French cuisine desperately needs a makeover.

FYI: When cabbing back and forth in Vegas, be sure to get the number of the vehicle (posted on the side of the cab) and a receipt, just in case you lose something valuable. Yes, I know, we learned the hard way. What’s left in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

fse & tlc

January 10, 2015
by Terry Ratner

Bella Vista Biltmore
1260 Channel Drive
Four Seasons Resort
Montecito, California
805.969.2261

Consort and I road-tripped from Phoenix to Santa Barbara in eight hours, counting the two brief pit stops for ourselves and our Bedlington terrier, Gracie. Yes, we drove with our well-behaved two-year old dog, who slept most of the journey in her sheepskin doggie seat.

We had dinner reservations at Bella Vista for 8:30 PM, but because of L.A. traffic, arrived at 9:25 PM. They stop seating at 9:00, however we were treated like royalty from start to finish despite our late arrival.

We chose to sit inside next to the large, double-sided stone fireplace under a ceiling of glass. The restaurant’s ambience and décor, including a sense of quiet elegance with fresh flowers on the table and intimate conversation in front of a cozy fire set the tone for a romantic evening, which is difficult to do after riding in a car for 468.2 miles.

Harold, our waiter, welcomed us with an endless grin, laughter, and kindness. Imagine this—a server excited to greet his last table of the night. He told us he had worked at the restaurant for the last thirty years, give or take a few years. Harold is our FSE (favorite server ever).

Our first course, antipasti, an organic green salad with delicately sliced apples, salted ricotta cheese, and a lemon verbena vinaigrette, was a close second only to the porcini sformato, a custard with wild mushrooms, spinach, and a pecorino cheese sauce. We made love to the sformato—sex on a place.

Our primi course, lobster radiatore, tasted tender and succulent, a sweet lobster mixed with homemade perfectly al dente pasta. The offering of bread included warm, fresh from the oven fragrant focaccia, light and tasty, served with sun-dried tomato spread that melted in our mouths. You know our feeling about the importance of bread—how it sets the tone for the evening.

My choice for secondi (main course), a grilled tenderloin bistecca, served with chili roasted Brussel sprouts and an olive oil potato puree seemed as if the ingredients were meant to be together. Consort ordered the smoked lamb chops with cannellini beans, sautéed hen of the woods mushrooms and rainbow chard sauced with an apple agrodolce. Over a glass of rosé, we fed each other forkfuls of the amazing entrees . If that wasn’t enough to wow us, we were served a scrumptious side of course-ground white corn polenta with wild mushroom ragu.

In case you’re wondering how we know so much about what we consumed that evening, we’ll let you in on a secret. Both the executive sous chef and manager were happy to share the philosophy of this modern Italian cuisine featuring farm-to-table ingredients as well as a few tips from the kitchen.

Dessert seemed to follow as naturally as firing up a cigarette after sex. And no, neither of us smoke, but we’ve read about it and seen it in movies. We selected and savored ‘Going, Going, Gone Bananas,’ a rum-soaked banana with passion fruit and vanilla bean gelato.

The Bella Vista, one of the finest most sophisticated restaurants we ever reviewed, has high standards which they live up to. Imagine if all restaurants were genuine and gracious to their guests while showcasing quality, healthy and innovative cuisine. But this review isn’t only about service and food, it’s about a type of rare hospitality—the perfect place to unwind, relax, and recharge after a long journey.

attitude adjustment

December 22, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Roka Akor
7299 North Scottsdale Road
Scottsdale, AZ 85253
480.535.1291

Consort here. DinnerSlut (DS) isn’t authoring this review. I am.

After returning from NYC for Thanksgiving, DS had a painful outpatient procedure followed by a nasty virus. After three weekends housebound, needless to say, she has been marinating a foul humor. Bringing the powers of my usual joyful and romantic self to bear, I decided to force her to go out to dinner against her will. Call it dinner rape.

We had about $13 left on a gift certificate at Roka Akor, so, that’s where we went.

Roka means gathering fire and Akor is Roka backwards (I did some research). But despite the secret code cuteness of the name, the restaurant has always been classy and delightful.

Before ordering, I requested that our dour server, “E,” bring us a bottle of sparkling sake to lubricate the mood. He complied and after our traditional toast, the evening slipped into a lighter spirit.

We started with a couple of cold appetizers – the Butterfish and Prime Beef Tatakis (I can only assume that tatakiot is not the plural of tataki). The beef appetizer, served with a truffle jus and pickled shallots, went down like a high priced call girl – with style and a certain grace. The butterfish sashimi, wrapped around tender white asparagus with a perky Yuzu dressing, a RA signature dish, always disappears too fast. They should serve 20 pieces per order rather than five.

We followed the first course feeding frenzy with a hot cup of smoky White Miso Soup. DS was pleasantly surprised that it was not overly salty as many sushi providers are wont to do. A second bottle of the Sawa Sawa sparkling sake didn’t hurt, although hearing “E” describe it as too sweet made DS think of drinking sugar syrup. Our server wasn’t exactly a cheerleader for any of our food selections. He had the sense of humor of Kim Jong-un.

The main course, a tasty glazed filet of Yuzu Miso Marinated Black Cod, made its table debut under a banana leaf tent and was perfectly matched with a garnish of crisply pickled red onions. We chose to accompany the cod with BBQ Rice (sweet and crunchy), Zucchini with Miso Mustard (a little tang) and Asparagus with Wafu and Sesame (our fave of the three). BTW, Wafu is a Japanese vinaigrette.

I would have been flagged for piling on because I insisted on dessert. We shared the Green Tea Custard with Caramelized Banana. For me, it was the end of a near perfect meal. DS, in her fashionable way, ate a few bites, loved it and then quilt gave way and she left the rest for me.

FYI: I’m sure DS will add her two cents worth to my review before it hits the site.

One final note, I had to call “E” back to the table to adjust the bill because I forgot to give him the $13 gift certificate. No sense of humor at all, this move made him positively bleak.

DinnerSlut here:

Loved dressing up for the evening: tight fitting low-cut dress with hoodie. Leather knee-high boots for the occasion. Should have brought my camera, but forgot I’m always working when I dine out. “E” our sour server seemed to add to the evening comedy. I almost asked him if he’d rather be somewhere else, but I held back. I know, it isn’t like me.

After three nights of homemade chicken soup, I probably hyped up my assessment of R.A.’s food. Everything tasted great to me. We hadn’t gone out to dinner since our trip during Thanksgiving to New York City. Not sure if a trip to Don and Charlie’s for a disappointing takeout order of ribs and BBQ chicken counts, but that’s another review for another time.

I don’t want to be repetitious about the specifics of their food, since my consort did a great review of the design and tastiness, but I have one particular thought to run by you. Why don’t Japanese restaurants offer their guests some type of bread with the meal? After all, they have delicious sauces that are prepared with their appetizers and main courses. I know it’s a cultural issue, and gluten-free everything is the rage, but wouldn’t a nice thin slice of homemade bread be a welcomed addition? Perhaps we wouldn’t have to order ten sides with our main dishes if we had some hearty dipping bread to tame our appetites.

I asked our server if they had any bread in the kitchen. He mentioned a dish which wasn’t on the menu, “marrow bone with squid ink brioche.” We thought about it for a moment, but decided that $19.00 for bone fat and a piece of flaky French bread wasn’t worth it, so we passed.

We enjoyed ourselves in spite of the service and the absence of bread.

FYI: I googled bread in Japan and guess what? They eat bread.

guano

November 19, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Zinc Bistro
15034 North Scottsdale Road
At Kierland Commons
Scottsdale, AZ 85254
480.603.0922

Our night began with a stroke of luck, or so we thought. My consort found a parking spot 10-feet from Zinc’s front door. We usually have to park a block or two away, so we started the evening with a smile.

Three couples met for dinner, my two cousins and their spouses, and toasted a mini reunion with a bottle of French wine. Our favorite appetizer, large mussels served in a rich succulent sauce, lived up to their reputation while the rest of the meal disappointed our taste buds. The fish fell flat and the steak overcooked. We were served four slices of bread and two pats of butter to share among six hungry adults and had to request more. Service seemed slow for a Sunday night and we wondered we had to seek our waitress out several times.

This is not a restaurant for anyone on a budget. It’s a bistro, although not very French, except for the Eifel Tower decorated with cheesy Christmas lights in the middle of the room. I almost forgot—our server did say, “Au revoir” after she handed us the check for over $300.00. Yes, your math is correct. It’s was an overly expensive meal for what we ordered—a shared appetizer and main course.

We said our goodbyes at the door and hugged as crazy cousins do. They asked where we parked and we pointed to our car right outside the front door. “Oh, you are lucky,” they commented. “We parked down the street.” As we approached our car, my consort said, “My car is covered with guano (bird excrement).”

And that’s when the trouble began. My description of our vehicle is the following: We weren’t able to see out the windows except in between splatters of bird waste. We had to refocus our eyes and twist our heads to see through the carnage.

Our collateral damage, which was noted as soon as we pulled into our lit garage, was a work of art worthy of Jackson Pollack. The colors were magnificent, brown and white splotches on new car silver. It was museum quality.

The morning after, like so many we know, proved to be a nightmare. My consort drove to the nearest carwash where workers pointed and howled at his misfortune. Everyone wanted to know where his car had been and of course he told them, Zinc Bistro at Kierland Commons. We added a warning, “Beware of the bird droppings if you park nearby.”

We called Bistro’s manager in charge that morning and told him what happened. He was no stranger to the problem—he had heard this tale many times before. In fact, we found out that Zinc Bistro has known about the Guano problem for the past ten years—since they opened. After talking with two inexperienced and unsympathetic managers, we tried to reach the owner, Terry Ellisor, who we were told, doesn’t think the guano problem is in his jurisdiction. Neither he nor the managers feel their patrons should be warned when parking in front of this eatery. And I quote, “We spare our customers the discussion of dangers of bird excrement before they dine with us.” That’s where my consort and I have a problem. So, rather than just ignore what occurred, we want to alert the public to the gangs of vandalous birds nesting on the trees directly in front of Zinc Bistro. You’ll save yourself aggravation and the cost of a VIP wash complete with detailing and don’t expect any sympathy from the BISTRO.

FYI: You can bet management doesn’t park their cars anywhere near the restaurant.

soft

October 11, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Forge Hand-Crafted Pizza
Union at Biltmore Fashion Park
Phoenix, AZ
602.955.0334

It’s probably not fair to review a restaurant during its soft opening any more than you would think to review your first time . . . It’s an overture before the first act begins—a trial and error period needed to refine product and presentation.

My consort and I began started baking homemade pizzas two years ago after being disappointed with the Valley’s pizza scene. Our creations began with a naked crust rolled out and pinched around the perimeter of the pan. We started experimenting with different types of dough, which included a packaged organic, chemical free sausage, and healthy vegie toppings from Whole Foods. While there’s something to say about home baked pie—every once in a while we crave a wood fired slice of za.

FORGE, a product of Le Bon Temps Restaurants, opened on October 9 in the Union shops at the Biltmore Fashion Park. This isn’t just another pizza place touting a wood-fired oven—their oak and almond fuel produces a crust that’s sweet and smoky on the palette.

We’ve tried at least a dozen pizzerias; watching Pizzahacks rolling out or tossing the dough as if they were performing an art. Whipping it up in the air or kneading it with their fingers. This act won’t be appearing at Forge. They simply form the dough and whisk it onto their pizza peel and into their steel-clad Valoriani pizza oven.

The design, a demonstration kitchen, makes guests feel included in the pizza making process. Depending on where they are sitting, bar, patio, indoor dining, they can watch each pie cook. Their minimalist design, an industrial space with simple tables, metal stools, dangly lights on the patio, soaring ceilings, and open duct work gave it a casual feel.

Our server, Chloe, a knowledgeable transplant from Colorado and former culinary student, assisted us with her knowledge of cocktails, starters and entrees. We kick-started our evening with IF YOU SEE KAY, an Italian red blend, and a mixology of aperol, Lillet, hard cider, and cranberry compote. For openers, we ordered crispy cheese curds with a tomato dip, long-cooked ribs on the bone with a honey jalapeno slaw, and crispy Brussel sprouts served with fresh parm and pepper flakes. Thumbs up for the Brussel sprouts, roasted to perfection, cheese curds not for fry-finicky diners, ribs mediocre, rub right-on, and a crunchy tasty slaw.

At its coming-out party, executive chef Jeffrey Amber and his team unveiled their Bay area import—a Neapolitan style pizza made with a vegan crust (natural yeast), simple ingredients and creatively topped. We ordered the white cauliflower pizza, leeks, gruyere, arugula, and sauced with a pistachio pesto and crunchy bits of nuts. Grated cheese is strewn with abandon and tomato sauce stingily applied. A second pie, a mushroom with house-made sausage, onion, garlic and thyme dressed with a fresh tomato sauce had a salty crust. The pizza is lumpy and a little heavy-handed on the muzz. The spicy sausage, sparingly scattered with a deft hand, gave off just the right amount of heat for our Arizona palettes and we kept scavenging for more.

Our taste buds rejected the abundance of sodium, perhaps in the dough, not sure of the origin and the grease under the pan and on our fingertips caused us to request several napkins. But the pizza’s seasonal ingredients packed in flavor which satiated our hungry appetites.

A meal isn’t complete without a choice of sweets. My consort ordered the soft-serve salty caramel cream for dessert. I spooned the tip of the swirl and tasted pure salt—not my style. I should have ordered a root beer float.

The verdict is in: soft crust, soft ice cream, soft opening. Oh well, next time, and there will be a next time soon.

new dog in town

September 28, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Detroit Coney Grill
930 West Broadway Rd
Tempe, AZ 85282
602.791. 9978

In Detroit they call soda ‘pop’ and chili dogs ‘Coneys.’ In the Valley, we’re hearing the same Motown lingo. The birthplace of Detroit Coney-style hot dogs may be 2000 miles northeast of Arizona, but you can find the same chili, buns, and snappy sausage flavor in a strip mall on Broadway in Tempe.

My consort, Richard, a Michigander, and I mean that literally especially when the Wolverines take the gridiron, has been raving about Coney Island dogs for years. Richard has as much allegiance to Coneys as he has to his University of Michigan team who lost three out of five games this season.

But let’s talk about a win. David Najor, a Michigan native expat living in Tempe, has recreated the famous Lafayette Coney Island with an arsenal of Detroit-based ingredients (Vernors, Faygo, and Better Made Potato Chips). His meats are as authentic as they can be, made with all-beef natural casing dogs shipped in from Detroit, burgers from scratch, and hand-cut russet potatoes.

My consort taught me the jargon, “two with.” Translation: two Coney dogs with chili, mustard, and onions. If you don’t want the onions, just say “two.” To order a pop, “one Faygo” (orange, grape, or root beer). If you aren’t a diggity-dog fan, like myself, order “chili, hold the wiener.”

The two foremost purveyors of Coneys in downtown Detroit, American and Lafayette, have embarked on a family feud for generations. I talked to one Lafayette employee who had nothing good to say about his next door neighbors, American Coneys. But as far as the customers are concerned, they divide into two distinct camps. In Tempe, we are lucky—there is only one authentic Detroit Coney.

Our tradition is to celebrate a Wolverine win with a visit to the neighborhood Detroit Grill. We haven’t tasted a Coney for two weeks and we’re both craving a dog. Our team plays Rutgers next week. Whoever heard of them? I guess they are new to the Big Ten. See you at Coneys after the big win! Go Blue.

mussel beach

September 24, 2014
by Terry Ratner

PRADO AT BALBOA PARK
1549 El Prado
San Diego, CA 92101
619-557-9441

We recently spent a week on our sailboat while it docked at Harbor Island. As always, we stocked up at Vons for our brunch and snack delights. We slept in and ignored the roar of jets taking off every few minutes at 6 AM—flying directly over our slip by closing our hatch and port lights, covering them with aluminum foil and tape. Our sound and light barrier worked with the help of fans going full speed and white noise from our iPad, giving us the allusion of a comfy, cozy love cave.

During our intimate brunches, we’d discuss romantic dinner options for the night. After watching a movie one evening, THE PRIDE AND THE PASSION, a love triangle starring Sophia Loren, Cary Grant, and Frank Sinatra, we craved a sexy Spanish restaurant. We googled a few local diners and PRADO sounded like an interesting hot spot. We arrived at 8:30 PM, knowing they were open late. It wasn’t easy finding the restaurant or a place to park, as signage and street lights were lacking. We ended up following a car into a parking lot and walking a few blocks toward what sounded like a big party. After climbing over a crime scene barrier, we were able to enter through the alfresco dining patio.

My expectations of the PRADO restaurant were heightened by my memories of the famous PRADO art museum in Madrid. Inside we noted painted wooden beams and elaborate glass art displays similar to a Mexican hacienda or a taco bar. We disagreed about the style of the décor: a colorful mixture of Mexican highlands and painted tiles from Talavera craftsmen. My consort likened the ambiance to a tacky upscale taqueria, whereas I felt imbued with a certain charm of old world colonial Mexico. We settled our difference with two glasses of Segura Cava and a kiss.

Our appetizer, whole-grain mustard steamed mussels served in a white wine herbed broth, came with an added crunch—tiny bits of sand indicating that the mussels had not been properly cleaned. As a side, I presented my business card to the manager and waiter, dinnerSlut.com, before being seated for dinner. Perhaps they didn’t let the chef know?

Our server seemed shocked and appalled that the “beach” came with this dish. After apologies from both the manager and waiter, we ordered spicy calamari fries with a Korean chili sauce and a Napa cabbage slaw. Many of you know my dislike for fried foods, but it didn’t seem to matter with this tasty dish. The glaze, hot and sour at the same time, disguised any trace of grease.

The main course, PRADO Paella, with fish, mussels, shrimp, calamari, chicken, sausage, simmered in a lobster saffron broth tasted fresh with each ingredient maintaining its individuality and flavorful integrity expected from a great seafood dish. The shrimp tasted sweet, the calamari toothsome, not rubbery, and the spicy chorizo popped our palates. The only downer, once again, were grains of sand from the same batch of unwashed mussels.

Dessert, Tres Leches, a traditional Mexican rolled sponge cake soaked in a triple milk mixture (whole, condensed, and evaporated) reminded me of our trip to Oaxaca. The filling consisted of pistachios, meringue, and caramelized bananas topped with a luscious vanilla bean ice cream. Another Mexican rather than Spanish dish. The perfect postre—delicioso, or should I say sabroso postre?

play doh

September 22, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Steak 44
5101 N. 44th Street
Phoenix, AZ
602.271.4400

“And what, Socrates, is the food of the soul? Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul.”– Plato

I had planned to dine at Prime Steak House, at the Bellagio in Vegas, but my trip fell through because of a problem with my dog, Gracie. So to cheer me up, my consort invited me to join him at Steak 44, the newest Maestro upscale eatery, located in Arcadia at the site of the old Cork ‘N Cleaver.

Steak 44, seemed more causal and less expensive than Dominick’s at the Quarters, which cost a whopping $6 million to build. You won’t see palatial chandeliers or a retractable roof, but instead you’ll cast your eyes on the horse-shoe lined bar with overhead sexy lighting, tables with crisp, white linen cloths, polished rich wood everywhere, and a stunning collection of flasks and shakers which get lost in the soft lighting. What a coincidence because my consort has the world’s largest collection of cocktail shakers from the turn of the nineteenth century to the present. I know because they take up a great deal of space in my foyer.

Dinner began with two stiff Negroni’s and a choice of fresh baked garlic or sea salt rolls smothered in butter and served in cast iron skillets still steaming from the oven. After tasting the overly salted and garlicky bread, I opted for plain rolls with a side of butter. I took a few bites and began modeling the pretzel-like dough, like Play Doh, forming a smiley face. I would have preferred a crusty, rustic French or Italian loaf to the Pillsbury doughboy.

The appetizer selection took a while because of my aversion to fried foods. I choose the beet salad, small chunks of ruby and golden beets sprinkled with goat cheese peppered with pistachios. Within five minutes, my plate was empty. My consort ordered panko-breaded fried deviled eggs with a sriracha aioli. The crispy outer layer functioned as a fancy gift wrapping for a perfectly cooked farm fresh egg and the aioli served as the ribbons. My usual dislike for fried foods didn’t apply to this dish. In fact, when the waiter tried to clear the remains of the aioli we gave him a verbal hand-slap.

We split the main course, steak farina, the bone-in filet mignon, topped with a fried egg. It’s a steak house, so we anticipated a good piece of meat, but the main course surpassed our expectations. The menu includes options like Petite Filet, Delmonico, NY Strip, or Bone-in NY Strip. The kitchen controls the quality of the beef by cutting their own to fit their needs, including the unique bone-in filet. The chef, Geoff Baumberger, uses a spice rub for his steaks, cooks them at 1500 degrees, and serves the ordered cuts on a 500 degree platter. Our steak was cooked to perfection, medium as requested, with only one flaw—a little too much salt in the rub. This gorgeous butter-tender steak was accompanied by a pair of pathetic slices of grilled greasy toast.

Most steak houses offer a few a la carte sides, but at Steak 44, you have 18 to choose from. We selected the sautéed steamed spinach laden with garlic and Dominick’s potatoes, an au gratin with caramelized onion, Gouda, and mozzarella. The spinach bombed, but the potatoes were a smash and the leftovers even better the next night as a side dish with dinner.

We ordered an Oregon Pinot Noir to accompany the dinner which didn’t arrive until after our plates were cleared. Red faced and apologetic, the waiter comped us the vino. We studied the desert delights, but satisfied and full from our meal, we decided to pass. If you like sweets, white chocolate, s’mores, or chocolate peanut butter, you’ll enjoy the selections with your favorite, but pricey desert wines.

If you’re a health nut, you won’t be dining here more than once. If you like your meals rich and well-seasoned, then this might become your next go- to hangout.

ganador del zorro

September 1, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Translation: a win for Fox

BLANCO TACOS + TEQUILA
Biltmore Fashion Park
2502 East Camelback Road
Phoenix, AZ 85016
602.429.8000

Oh my God, finally a FOX winner in Phoenix. My consort and I tend to avoid Fox restaurants due to negative experiences. Their restaurants are usually located in upscale neighborhoods, focusing more on modern interior design and ambiance, and crowded with wannabe foodies and the tragically trendy crowd. Most disappointing is the lack of taste and a cuisine deficiency.

We visited the taqueria for a casual weeknight dinner. We were drenched walking toward the entrance of the restaurant from a ‘mister monsoon’ located in the alfresco patio. These misters were like foggy nor’easter, not the usual drizzle effect. I know because my hair, a barometer of humidity, became frizzy within two minutes.

For starters, we ordered the guacamole, chips, and Mexican street corn, a blend of roasted corn relish hand-cut off the cob and a bowl of corny delight. The magic show began with a bowl of chips disappearing soon after the mashed avocado appeared with a touch of tomato, roasted chili, caramelized onion, and a sprinkling of cojita cheese.

Our tag team servers included a pro and a first night trainee, both attentive and full of personality. We chose a classic Greyhound with a twist to accompany our starters—their version included a grapefruit infused Vodka served in an eight ounce glass rather than a 16 ounce, which would have been preferred. The drink, tart and tasty, left one wanting the missing eight ounces.

My consort ordered a nontraditional enchilada served hot in a cast iron pan with a cheesy red sauce poured over flat corn tortillas instead of the usual roll-ups. Side dishes of pinto beans and buttered rice complimented the dish. I selected the grilled fish tacos on corn tortillas with avocado and a house-made Pico. The perfectly pleasing fillets, flaky and flavorful, rested on three mini tortillas. After a squirt of lime, I devoured the trio.

Satisfying our hunger, we had no room for the sopapillas and honey or the brown sugar flan which we’ve sampled in the past. Instead we sat and chatted with Matt Runkle, assistant manager, who told us his theory of running a successful restaurant, “My goal is to please the customer and leave my ego at the door.” He went on to say, “I might be a certain type of person outside of the restaurant, but when I’m managing, it’s all about the patrons.”

Lucky Sam Fox to have a manager like Matt running the show. Finally, a winner for el Zorro.

burned

August 26, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Grimaldi’s Coal Brick-Oven Pizzeria
4000 North Scottsdale Road
Scottsdale, AZ 85251
480-994-1100

My consort and I took my six-year old granddaughter to a puppet show and then to Scottsdale Fashion Square for some shopping. We decided to grab a quick dinner before bringing her home and pizza sounded like the perfect kid-friendly meal.

I wasn’t planning to review this eatery, mainly because food reviewers need a break once in a while to enjoy their social engagements—a busman’s holiday. Our last experience (read BOUNCED) made us gun-shy. We’ve been cooking at home for the last three weeks.

We’re always looking for good pizza in Scottsdale and I remembered loving the coal brick-oven pie at Grimaldi’s a few years ago, so we finalized our restaurant choice and headed south on Scottsdale road. We arrived famished at 5:30 PM to find a quiet Grimaldi’s, which was out of character. Most of my visits have consisted of long lines at the door, noisy patrons, and waits of 15-30 minutes.

Our order was simple: a Mediterranean salad and a large pizza with black olives, mushrooms, and onions. The salad came drenched in an overly tart vinaigrette. We told our waitress and she brought us a new dish of greens, dry and tasteless.

The pizza arrived hot and our server dished out our first slices. It didn’t taste like I had remembered—crisp crust with a rich flavored sauce. This pizza had a metallic flavor with a damp cardboard texture. The scantily applied cheese made a polka-dot design and the mushrooms were under cooked.

After two slices, my companion took a black object out of his mouth and dropped it onto the pizza tin creating a clang as it hit the metal. He said, “I bit into a hard, hot rock. It tasted funny.” We asked for a manager and Lauren came over to our table. We showed her the substance and she immediately identified it as a piece of anthracite coal. She said, “This happens often, it’s just a popped piece of coal from the oven.”

She acted as if it was a common occurrence and that this type of experience is expected when cooking with a coal brick oven. We then left and within moments my consort complained of a coal burn on the inside of his lower lip.

I examined him when we arrived home (I’m a registered nurse) and found the affected area on his bottom lip. I’d display the photo here, but it’s not very appetizing. Needless to say, we were upset with Grimaldi’s casual, insensitive handling of this matter. I used to eat at this establishment once or twice a month a few years ago and never experienced this type of incident, service, or food quality. The waitress took the cost of the pizza off the check, but seemed to be indifferent about what had occurred.

We are still on a mission to find a good pizza place in Scottsdale or Phoenix. If you know of any, please send us a name and address and we will give them a try.

bounced

August 9, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Grassroots
kitchen & tap
2119 E. Camelback Road
Phoenix, AZ 85016

I had just completed my newest essay about living on a sailboat. After sitting in front of a computer for the last five hours, I needed a break, not to mention a good dinner. My consort suggested we try Grassroots, a newer restaurant in the Town & Country shopping center. I knew little about this restaurant except that the owner, Christopher Collins’ father (Wally Collins) owns Wally’s American Pub ‘n Grille.

The restaurant’s interior felt cold and monotone. It’s a typical sports bar with large flat screen TVs dominating the captive drinking audience. A few couples sat at large, comfortable booths and high-tops for four or more. Lots of singles ordering appetizers and drinks—a good place to forget your troubles after a long day at the office. If you’re drunk enough, you may not notice the quality of food or service. Unfortunately, we were sober.

Our waitress, Amber, reminded me of the Stepford wives movie, where all the women in the town sounded as if they were robots and weren’t able to think for themselves. When asked if any of the food was organic, she replied, “I know we try to buy locally, but I’m not sure it’s organic.”

She told me the owner wasn’t there, so I gave her my business card and informed her that I was about to review the restaurant. We ordered an appetizer called DAD’S GROCERY BAG, a loaf of French bread, three cheeses, three cured meats, olives, nuts, and local honey. Let’s start with the positive. The cheeses, Port Salut, Brie, and chèvre, were tasty. The French loaf turned out to be white bread, not French, which the waitress wasn’t aware of and claimed not to know the difference. The meats, a bland prosciutto, sopressata, and a mystery meat took up their share of space on the cheese board. I have to say the brined olives tasted good, just like the ones we buy a few doors down at Whole Foods. I should have known that is considered ‘local.’ I almost forgot to mention the Crockett honey bear served with the dish. Not too classy.

We were hoping to find good BBQ in the neighborhood when we ordered the ROOT’S BBQ BRISKET, served with cheesy grits, pickles, and BBQ beans. The meat presentation looked odd from the start—a rectangular log with a quarter-inch fat cap. To make the trendy boxed cut, they must have wasted the best part of the brisket. The texture of the meat was gummy, dry, and tough lacking the rich, slow-cooked meaty flavor. It didn’t fall apart or melt in your mouth like Mom’s brisket. In the words of Christopher Collins, “We’re American with Southern influence.” I’m not sure what recipe the chef uses, but it’s not the best of American or the best of Southern. It seems to be an enigma unto itself and a tasteless one at that. There were six cookbooks sitting on a shelf behind our booth. Perhaps the chef should study up during a slow night.

The waitress came over when we finished and asked how we liked the brisket. I gave her my critique and she said, “I’m sorry you didn’t like it.” I even went so far as to tell her I couldn’t eat more than two bites; one to find out how it tasted and the second because I couldn’t believe this entrée was trying to pass as brisket. Within minutes of clearing our dinner plate, a short blond man in a white chef’s jacket came to our table with a scowl on his face (we now know that he is Robbie M., a manager wearing chef’s garb). He was arrogant beyond his experience. “I heard you didn’t like the brisket,” he said without salutation. We explained to him what we expected from the entrée and he commented, “That’s the way I make it and it isn’t going to be changed.” Then he left in a huff.

The waitress came by and said, “Sorry again. Would you like something else?” We ordered the Key Lime pie with whipped cream, only to be polite and fair since our dinner was such a disappointment. She sounded as if it would be comped, which would have been expected. The pie tasted like it had been in the cooler for a few days, a bit heavy and too sweet. By this time, our expectations had diminished and our taste buds had suffered cruel and unusual punishment.

When the waitress presented us with a check for $50.00 (including the cost of the Key Lime pie), she asked if we talked with the “chef.” We told her “Yes, but he was arrogant and acting stupid (referring to his attitude and cooking knowledge). We’re of the opinion that people in the service industry should smile and remember, ‘the customer is always right.’ In this case we were.

On our way out, we asked the hostess for a paper menu and the owner’s business card when we were accosted by the angry chef-manager, acting as ‘bouncer’ (we’re not sure what role he plays in the restaurant). We were glad to see he wasn’t wielding a meat cleaver. He told us in a loud unfriendly tone, “Your waitress said you called me stupid. Get out and never come back.” I think by then he knew we had no intentions of returning or writing a positive review of his cooking or antics.

Suggestion for Grassroots owner: Anger management and service professional classes are in order for this employee.

So he bounced us and wouldn’t you know, we had forgotten about our recent Judo lesson. We should have assumed a defensive position and said, “Back off.” Who knew this could occur at Grassroots restaurant, or any establishment. I want to think this type of behavior would not be tolerated if an acting manager or owner had been present. I later learned the owner was on vacation and the general manager wasn’t present.

chewing the fat

August 7, 2014
by Terry Ratner

D.Z. Akins Delicatessen
6930 Alvarado Rd.
San Diego, CA 92120

This is a restaurant for obese people. I came to that conclusion by watching the customers waddle in and out while waiting for my takeout order. The portions are generous, sandwiches piled three inches high, but the quality of the food is not worth your health or time.

We were on our way back to Phoenix from San Diego when we decided to call in an order for two sandwiches, a cup of matzo ball soup, and some cookies. I won’t bore you with the specifics, but there were numerous errors, including no utensils, napkins, mayo, or mustard. Halfway through our trip, I ate a dry brisket sandwich on white bread (instead of sourdough) no cheese, which I had ordered. My consort ate a corned beef without the Russian dressing he requested. The matzo ball soup had no flavor, nor chicken broth, but it did contain stringy bland noodles and giant uncooked carrots to crunch. My hamantaschen cookie was thrown in a thin paper bag under a loaf of bread and box of pastries. I found only crumbs an hour later. When I called to ask what happened to our order, the deli gal, Laura, said, “I thought I packed everything. I might have mixed up your order with someone else’s.”

The next afternoon I phoned and relayed my saga to the owner, Steve. His response, according to Alma, a deli waitress acting as our liaison, was the following: “My policy is to ignore complaints about takeout unless the food is brought back to the restaurant.”

Difficult to do when one is on the road back to Phoenix. I expected an apologetic phone call, or some type of explanation for the mix-up, but instead I heard this from Alma, “We are definitely going to retrain everyone in the deli about takeout service.”

This place is a joke: terrible service, bad management, tasteless food, and an owner who apparently just takes in the money and doesn’t care about his patrons.

FYI: If you are someone seeking a large unhealthy caloric intake and sandwiches built like skyscrapers with fatty foods, you might like what DZ AKINS has to offer. My advice is don’t pay for your takeout order AND tip the waitress without first checking what’s inside the bags. Make them accountable for their service.

opa!

August 2, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Georgia’s Greek Cuisine
(Since 1977)
3550 Rosecrans Street
San Diego, California

Living on a docked sailboat for a week in tight quarters, even with a lover, can be claustrophobic. Not to mention having to prepare food in a 15 sq. foot kitchen. I’m lucky to be with a consort who forces me to try new eateries, even against my will.

We had worked through lunch, sitting on the settees, facing each other with back-to-back computers trying to meet our individual deadlines. I felt famished, but I didn’t want to dress up, so he suggested a Greek restaurant in Point Loma. He caught me at a weak moment. I gave him one of my looks that means, “I’ll try it, but I hope the food is good.”

Georgia’s Greek Cuisine, housed in a sketchy strip mall next to Chipotle’s Mexican Grill and a PetSmart, looks like an ordinary eatery with its smudged front doors and a partially glassed in patio overlooking Rosecrans Street. For some strange reason, I trusted his judgment and didn’t demand to see a menu before being seated. I allowed him to order for us, as he knew the menu and had been craving his favorite Greek foods for a while.

We started with a couple of glasses of Greek Retsina, a smooth resin infused white table wine followed by a plate of black olives. Our waitress was Asian and didn’t speak good English. She knew her menu, but didn’t understand ‘hold the tomatoes.’ If you’ve followed my blog, you probably know my consort is highly allergic to this fruit. She brought our appetizer with uncooked tomatoes as a garnish and we had to send it back. The owner, Georgia, came over and apologized for the misunderstanding. She gave us her full attention for the rest of the meal, not knowing I there to review the restaurant.

For starters, my consort ordered Taramosalata, a hummus-like spread with lemon juice, vinegar, and olive oil flavored with red caviar served with cucumber slices and homemade pita bread. What a pleasant surprise to taste an appetizer that isn’t loaded down with salt. This tantalizing light dish was a joy to our famished palettes.

The waitress unceremoniously presented us with their famous Avgolemono soup, a chicken broth based lemon and egg soup with bits of chicken and rice. This can only be described as ‘nectar for the Gods.’ This soup, light, fragrant, and packed with flavor, could easily be a meal in itself.

On the menu, it says, “Can’t decide? Try our combination plate.” We couldn’t make up our minds, so we did. The combo includes Mousaka (a ground beef eggplant, zucchini, and potato) served like lasagna, but Greek style. Two generous portions of Pastitsio (layers of macaroni, ground beef with a béchamel sauce) and Dolmades, grape leaves stuffed with ground beef, rice, herbs and spices topped with an egg lemon sauce. Georgia’s Gyros (a blend of beef and lamb), broiled on a rotisserie and cut in thin slices stood up to traditional Greek street food. The beef kabob seemed thick and difficult to chew, but after a brief workout of my masseter muscle (muscle for mastication) jaw muscles, I was able to swallow it.

After dinner, the owners, Georgia and Dennis, brought us a small piece of Baklava with two spoons and a knife??? I thanked them for the free dessert only to find out that dessert is included with the combo. To please my consort who loves all sweets, I ate a tiny morsel but ended up surreptitiously depositing the bite in the fold of my napkin.

All we could say throughout most of the meal was Opa, a word similar to a combo dish. It means whoopee, hooray, oops, anything happy in life. We loved dinner at Georgia’s and we will return.

bad trip

July 26, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Sam Fox’s FLOWER CHILD
5013 North 44th Street
Suite B2025B
Phoenix, AZ 85018
602.429.6222

I spent an hour with my counselor this afternoon which can only be described as a crying frenzy about an unexpected catharsis concerning my childhood trauma. Afterwards I felt cleansed, as if I had been baptized, completed a yoga weekend with Deepak Chopra, or visited St. Tropez for a weeklong spiritual cleanse.

After the session ended, I needed to refuel, but didn’t feel like cooking. My consort suggested we try Flower Child, a new restaurant created by Sam Fox who felt that none of his other 14 eateries fit the concept of healthy, fast, and casual. Sorry to break the news Sam, but that void still exists.

We walked into the Child and noticed a crowd of ‘foodie wannabees.’ If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I entered THE HENRY by mistake. The establishment appeared modern and clean, similar to the generic feel of CULVERS, another fast food diner, but something crucial seemed to be missing at Flower Child—real people. Yes, this is another Fox place where like people gather. Gazing around at the patrons, I noticed there wasn’t any age range. Everyone seemed to be a blank-faced millennial, feeling like they were dining in style, when in reality they were at an upscale McDonalds.

A station near the front door allows you to peruse the menu and order salads, vegetables, grain plates, wraps, or bowls. It’s like a ‘do it yourself’ project. I asked the question “Is your chicken organic?” I received this answer. “It’s natural and that’s the same thing.” We all know that natural is meaningless and organic is meaningful. I wondered why these employees aren’t knowledgeable about health. Isn’t that a major part of this venture?

We ordered the Flying Avocado wrap with grilled chicken, smoked Gouda, romaine, tomato, and avocado hummus (guacamole). I asked the cashier to hold the tomatoes because of my consort’s severe anaphylactic allergy to this fruit—or is it a vegetable. It’s actually the fruit of the tomato plant. I finished our order with a side of red chili glazed sweet potato and an organic tofu and mushroom pho. We were handed a sign with the number 26 to place at our table while waiting for our food.

The Flying Avocado wrap came chock full of cubed tomatoes, which were sent back for obvious reasons. I took a bite of the sweet potato side dish that looked appetizing, especially after rejecting my main course. What I tasted was a yam smothered in an overly salty sauce. At that point, I lost it and told the manager what had occurred. She asked if we wanted to substitute and I declined.

The Pho, according to my consort was edible. He called it “white boy Pho” because it had no ethic zing. It’s served with a plate of condiments, large branches of Thai basil, bean sprouts (6) (I know because I ate all six of them) and four jalapeno peppers.

We left hungry and disappointed. At home, we cooked salmon patties on the grill. Not farmed / sustainable salmon, like Fox serves, but the real thing. I whipped up an organic potato salad side and we feasted like royalty.

I don’t recommend this restaurant to people who desire healthy, delicious, creative food. Unfortunately if you’re after a place that delivers on things like taste and affordability—keep looking. Perhaps in future endeavors, Fox should think more about fulfilling his customers’ needs than filling a void with fluff.

FYI: Their menu features Gluton Lite, whatever that means and Local Produce. Does that mean they buy their greens at Fry’s? Also note: whole grain wraps are offered as one of the main healthy entrées. Doesn’t Fox know that whole-grain foods are not always healthy?

Blazing Trails

July 21, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Juniper & Ivy
2228 Kettner Blvd
San Diego, CA
(619) 269-9036

In Little Italy’s north end, in what used to be a sprawling roofing materials warehouse, now houses San Diego’s newest hotspot for foodies—Juniper & Ivy. This mammoth-sized restaurant features an open kitchen, outdoor and private dining perched above the main bar. It’s a new venture for Top Chef star Richard Blais.

My vacation, like so many others to San Diego, happened to fall during a full moon. I felt like a werewolf in heat and needed to spice up my evening with some amazing fare. My consort, Richard, picked me up at the hotel and blindfolded me saying, “I have a surprise for you this evening.” I told him I was starving and I hoped it would include food.

When we pulled up at our destination, he took off my black satin eye mask and escorted me inside. We sat at an intimate table for two, sandwiched between a pregnant woman with her husband and a couple celebrating their 44^th anniversary. The acoustics were thin and we had to lean over to communicate. An ambitious cocktail menu kept us busy for the first few minutes.

We ordered two 15 Love cocktails, featuring Pimm’s No. 1 liquor. A little too much ice in the glass caused us to order two additional drinks. Tasty, but not economical. Our waitress took her time and finally brought us an Amuse-bouche of Gougeres, a puff of pate a choux pastry flavored with cheese (Gruyère). Immediately after tasting this dish, I revealed to our server, “I am reviewing this eatery. May I please have more?”

Finally, we feasted on appetizers and small plates, beginning with an order of blackened Baja shrimp toast with avocado, Japanese cucumber, and a taste of orange. Their small plate of small roasted beets with caramelized yogurt, white peacock kale, apricots and pistachio nuts disappeared within seconds.

Next came the bone marrow topped with crispy oysters, ranch dressing, and pickled celery. The rich bone marrow, an unctuous savory dish, evil and delicious at the same time.

From their Pasta Starter section, we ordered Corn Agnolotti, a tender ravioli filled with wild mushrooms and dressed with Huitlacoche (a corn fungus delicacy). The Carne Cruda Asada, affectionately called Meat Toast, featured beef tartar topped with a row of sunny side up quail eggs, cotija cheese and jalapeno. I hate raw meat, so I ate the three quail eggs and left the beef for Richard.

The full moon demanded that I complete the meal with a decadent confection. We order peaches on bourbon soaked pound cake with a pecan sorbet. A demi spoon feeding frenzy and a mini sword fight followed as we each tried to get the last bite.

We were pleasantly satiated, but not stuffed to the point of discomfort. There was plenty of room for a digestif, a Brandy Alexander. We toasted each other and Richard Blais, an executive chef actually working in his kitchen. Imagine that.

bottom feeder

June 25, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Stingray
2502 E Camelback Rd.
Phoenix, AZ 85016
(602) 955-2008

After discussing where to eat for thirty minutes, we settled on Stingray, a Japanese restaurant at the Biltmore. On previous visits, I’d sit at the bar during happy hour and devour the eel rolls with a Sunomono, translated to “cucumber salad.” Not to be confused with Sudoku, a number puzzle,  or pseudomona, a deadly bacteria.

My last two visits to Stingray were flirtingly spent with single buff guys sitting at the bar enjoying drinks. In fact, my girlfriend and I had to snipe a couple of barstools because the place was packed. An aquarium behind the bar features colorful tropical fish for additional eye candy.

We decided to eat at a booth in the lounge rather than the open misted patio because even though it was 8:0 Oh, by the way, this is the first ‘happy face’ ever to surface on my computer. So, I’ll keep it there.

Two drunken young ladies sitting at the bar were sufficient entertainment for us during our dinner. I doubt the management had a reasonable drink cut off for the establishment, because their drinks kept coming.

My consort did the ordering. We started the night with Tuna Tataki, a half-seared tuna with a ponzu sauce (soy, lemon and onion vinaigrette).  I took one taste of the dish and pushed it away like a spoiled child because raw tuna does not happen to be a favorite of mine. However, my friend, a sushi connoisseur, cleared the plate in four bites. Using my chopstick chops, I dipped the ginger in the soy and wasabi sauce which disappears within seconds

Lobster ceviche, marinated with bell pepper, red onions, jalapenos, mango, radish sprouts, and yuzu (citrus) scooped onto butter lettuce leaves tickled my palette and left me panting for more. The next surprise came with an assortment of fresh sashimi, pronounced like the Flaming Lips’ song, Yoshimi, yellow tail, salmon, tuna, shrimp, and a dollop of crab salad on the side arranged over sushi rice. I’ll admit to eating a few chops of crab with rice, but again my companion ate the majority of the fish.

By this time, he realized that perhaps he was ordering more for himself than for me, so he motioned to the waiter and ordered the lobster dynamite, which he remembered we enjoyed on a previous visit over a year ago. To clarify, that is when we were dating, lovers—a time when we couldn’t take our hands off each other. I would have eaten a dead skunk if it was served in Japanese fashion with enough sake. I would have swallowed the rawest fish on the menu; I would have faked a foodgasm.

Things are a little more realistic now.

I picked at the top of the lobster with my shrimp fork, tasting a fiery aioli sauce mixed with oyster mushrooms and onions. A bit rich for my taste, but this time I decided to be a good girl, a good sport, and act as if I loved it.

We topped the night off with an eel roll. It was obvious to me at that point that my consort was trying to mollify my anger and my unsatisfied hunger with one of my favorite rolls; however this dish was just plain boring to both of us. It lacked the usual gooey sweetness of eel sauce.  I glanced over and noticed my companion with his glasses over his nose, studying the menu, hoping to find a quick last minute dish to satisfy his now ravenous friend. I turned to him and said, “I’m full. Let’s get out of here.” Needless to say, the bill swelled to triple digits, like the heat outside because of my friend’s difficulty finding fabulous flavorful fare.

Thinking back to that evening, we should have ordered sake.

virtuous vittles

June 1, 2014
by Terry Ratner

VIRTU
3701 N. Marshall Way
Scottsdale, AZ 85251
(480) 946-3477

A certain hide-a-way restaurant, tucked inside the Bespoke Inn in Downtown Scottsdale, lives up to its name—Virtu. If excellent cooking is a fine art and the food possesses the quality of being rare, beautiful, or otherwise appealing to a connoisseur, then indeed this eatery is named appropriately.

I visited the Scottsdale restaurant twice since it opened. The first, a romantic dinner date, occurred a few months back. The noise overwhelmed us initially, but after a couple of Astral Tequila Blancos served with a side of Dante’s Sangrita, we no longer had to speak loudly to hear each other. Instead, we whispered, feeling each other’s soft breath and lips against the tip of our earlobes.

When we revisited the restaurant in May, we brought along another couple to experience the wonderful food and libations. I ordered a Kir Royale cocktail—champagne and crème de cassis in a flute glass. My consort and guests ordered a Dirty Martini with Kalamata olive juice. Our appetizers consisted of grilled octopus with arugula and lemon chick peas. They must have massaged the octopus for at least 40 minutes to obtain such delicate tenderness. The pork rillette (pate) with pickled fiddleheads and shimeji mushrooms tasted creamy and rustic. Plump juicy caper berries were used as a condiment complementing the dish. The third starter, grilled asparagus garnished with bacon candy, melted in our mouths and caused us to salivate like Pavlov’s dogs.

We shared the pan seared branzino with calabrese peperonata and crispy leeks. We inhaled the light and flaky perfectly prepared fish along with the Italian sides. Our friends had the grilled flat iron with Moroccan spiced king oysters and the pan seared scallops with baby artichoke confit. At the completion of the meal, all was gone except a lingering aroma and four satisfied palettes.

We ordered the chevre cheesecake with nilla wafer crust and slices of Meyer lemon. This dessert started a spoon war between the four of us. We ended the meal with a glass of Bracchetto, a sweet and sparkling wine that tickles your tongue.

It isn’t the main protein on the plate that I’m raving about, but the synergy of the combinations between the star and its supporting casts. Both the food and the service are trendy. The ambience, intimate and sexy, makes for a perfect setting for that special date.

I don’t want to label this restaurant because that would create boundaries. It looks as though the edgy executive chef, Gio Osso, hovers around cuisines and dishes of the Mediterranean, including France, Spain, Italy, Greece and Morocco with a soupcon of Asian flourishes. I hope he continues to tweak the menu by creating new flavor profiles and tantalizing dishes.

tv dinner at 30,000 feet

May 31, 2014
by Terry Ratner

Two key points to consider when choosing your International airline include comfort and food.

My first trip to Paris from J.F.K. airport was on a 757-200 British Airways (BA) Airbus.  The seats in Economy Plus (better known as World Traveler Plus) seemed comfortable with plenty of leg room compared to a coach flight. A clean linen towel was placed over the headrest and we were given blankets wrapped in cellophane, giving the allusion of cleanliness, to keep us warm during the 7 ½ hour flight to Paris.

We grabbed a late lunch in New York before boarding our 9:30 PM flight, but the packing, taxi ride to the airport, plus checking in and walking to the gate worked up our appetites.

My companion chose the beef with mushroom sauce. His description of the meal was, “It looks and tastes like rubber.” I chose the pasta with cheese sauce served with zucchini bits, a stale inedible roll, a wilted salad, and a slice of lemon cake that tasted like grains of sand. Apparently this is a new recipe for spaghetti; the cheese sauce consisted of bleu cheese salad dressing. I ate about five bites of the noodles and even tried the zucchini that tasted sour before deciding to hold off on eating until I reached Paris. After an urgent trip to the bathroom, I felt better.  I’m not sure how BA can get away with their disgusting food offerings. Perhaps they need to find a new caterer.

My seat on the 757 had a 47 inch pitch with a 20 inch width, which allowed me to relax and sleep comfortably for a couple of hours during the flight. Luckily once I arrived in Paris, both the quality of food and the excitement of the city itself seemed to compensate for my lack of sleep, nutrition, and calories.

On the plane from Paris to London, I cornered a flight attendant and asked her where to eat at Heathrow airport. We were given the name of a Japanese restaurant, Wagamama, and we both consumed a huge lunch before departing London for Phoenix. I wasn’t taking any chances this time.

Our plane back to Phoenix, a 747-400, was a larger, older model. While walking to my designated seat, I stepped on and crushed two plastic cups that were in the middle of the aisle. I guess the flight attendants forgot to clean up before we boarded. The seats measured out smaller, a 38 degree pitch with an 18 ½ width. Not much leg room or an ability to be comfortable during the long flight home to Phoenix. On the upside, our seats were limited to two instead of the four crowded seats located in the center of the plane. Dingy doilies, the size of a handkerchief were on each headrest along with a dirty ragged blanket and pillow. To make matters worse, my window shade was stuck shut. The seatback T.V. screens were small in comparison to the individual iPads offered on our flight to Paris. This plane’s interior was noticeably shabby and in serious need of repair.

On our flight back, the lunch menu consisted of one appetizer—a bland and unsavory potato salad. The main courses, a seared fillet of British beef or roasted corn-fed chicken was difficult to look at, let alone eat. The only portion I ate consisted of a mashed sweet potato which held me over for the duration (10 ½ hours). My companion pushed his tray aside after two bites.

I talked with a flight attendant about their quality of food and why they were still flying the antique 747 plane. She assured me that they were about to retire this model and buy some new ones, however she had no answer concerning BA’s quality of food. I think if more travelers voiced their opinions to the airlines, they would have to change their ways. (Send your email to CEO: keith.x.williams@ba.com). After all, we pay high prices for International airline tickets and in turn we should be cared for, which includes our comfort, a healthy environment, and nutritious food.

Before we booked our tickets, several people said, “British Airways are the best. You must fly with them.” I hate to think of what their competitors offer, or maybe they used to set precedence and need to live up to their current seared reputation.

FYI: I do have one complement about the old 747’s: the restrooms are still small with the usual odors, but seem to have more leg room than most other planes. How sad is that?

the french connection

May 5, 2014
by Terry Ratner

CENTRAL BISTRO
3160 East Camelback Rd.
Phoenix, AZ 85018
480.646.8560

April 20, 2014

What upscale restaurant occupies the northwest corner of Camelback Road and 32nd street? Here’s a hint: It’s housed in a shopping plaza next to a Mexican fast-food place and a popular hamburger hangout and screams ‘aphrodisiac” waiting to be savored and shared with a lover.

If you guessed Central Bistro, you are correct. Its unique features include large windows overlooking a decked patio and an inside design combination of red brick surrounded by lush wood accents. This bistro arouses the senses beginning with elegant tempered glass doors that lead into a sleek bar and lounge; the perfect place for you and your date to sip on Limoncello Sours before dinner. The candlelight atmosphere enhances your romantic tete-a-tete and after the second drink, anything is possible.

The lure of this eatery isn’t just its décor and intimacy, but also the cuisine—an Italian French fusion. Servers assist you with wine paring with a choice of more than 250 labels to choose from.
We chose to dine at Central Bistro on Easter Sunday, but not because of any religious connection. We were two couples who hadn’t seen each other for a while and we wanted to carry on a conversation without the backlash of a full house. Only six tables were occupied, so we didn’t have to scream across the table at one another. Our server, Shelby, was polite and friendly. While we looked over the menu, she came by the table offering an assortment of lemon, orange, or grapefruit slices to flavor our filtered water. Unfortunately we were unable to taste the added fruit and ended up ordering a bottle of Pellegrino sparkling water.

Each time we answered her questions, she replied with an affirmative “excellent” a word that seems to be popular with all food servers. We offered her an alternative response, so she used our word, ‘trendy’ for the rest of the evening.

We started with a ‘trendy’ appetizer, a tower of Avocado and citrus aioli. It offered sizable lumps of crab and wontons which seemed to be the perfect starter dish for spring, not overpowering, just light and crisp. Our friends ordered an arugula and wedge salad and couldn’t stop raving about their choices. For a main course we decided to split the veal chop served with whipped potatoes, grilled asparagus in a bed of burgundy wine sauce. We both cut into the chop and disagreed as to whether or not it was cooked medium or rare. My boyfriend loved it and I rated it ‘mediocre.’ The buttery potatoes melted in our mouths and the grilled asparagus disappeared within three minutes. Our friends split the sea bass served on a bed of artichoke hearts with fingerling potatoes and garnished with arugula and lemon vinaigrette. Their main course didn’t last long on the plate. We didn’t taste it, but since they were unanimous in their opinions, we gave it a thumbs up.

Dessert consisted of a lemon mascarpone cheesecake and an ‘on the house’ vanilla panna cotta. The cheesecake melted in my mouth. I took a small spoonful of the brulee and inhaled scrapings of the vanilla bean which made me cough like crazy, but no one noticed. They were too busy finishing off the scrumptious desserts.

notorious burgers

April 22, 2014
by Terry Ratner

April 19, 2014
NOTORIOUS BURGERS
8777 North Scottsdale Rd. 
Scottsdale, AZ 85253 
480.947.3180

Scottsdale’s culinary scene includes two new concepts at the Shops of Gainey Village. Jim Maggiore and his wife, Christina, converted the former McCormick and Schmick’s site into a burger joint and seafood restaurant. On one end is Cuttlefish focusing on coastal Italian cuisine with a contemporary menu. Its counterpart, Notorious Burgers serves handcrafted burgers and craft beers while boasting a mobster theme focusing on the family aspect of the mafia.

FYI: Joe’s experience stems from his father, famous Phoenix restaurateur, Tomaso Maggiore, who has owned Tomaso’s at 32nd Street and Camelback in Phoenix since 1977.

There’s nothing better than biting into a great burger and letting the juices drizzle down your lips and chin. We stopped at Notorious Burgers for a late lunch on a Saturday afternoon. It’s a dimly lit establishment with contemporary furnishings. The tavern area and a whiff of cleaning solvent is the first thing you notice when you walk through the door. The bar is separated from the dining room by a half wall, which is handy to lean against if you’re sitting on one of the black cushioned chairs that lack a back.

We were both famished, so we quickly decided on the Lucky Luciano’s Truffle Burger (stilton bleu cheese, bacon, micro arugula, and wild truffle mushroom demi) and an order of sweet potato fries with aioli dressing.

Our friendly server, AJ, acted as bartender as well as waitress. Questions about the quality of meat and servings were asked and respectfully answered. It wasn’t a secret that I was there to review the restaurant. DinnerSlut  doesn’t ambush, but instead talks with servers about the true purpose of her visit. My expectations are always high, especially after exposing myself as a reviewer and being specific about my likes and dislikes.

The burger and fries took about 30 minutes before they were served. I’m not sure why because there were only three other patrons in the restaurant sipping on drinks.

OUTCOME
A burger served without seasoning, or juices, overcooked and tasteless. The only flavor I could savor came from the blue cheese; even the bacon was thick, tough, and rubbery, lacking any crispness or piquancy. I never tasted the truffle, which has an earthy distinctive aroma. And the arugula scattered on the burger was nothing more than a distraction for what was missing. The sweet potatoes were flavorful and crispy, not too greasy and tasted good when dipped in aioli. It was the only edible food on the table.

We talked to the manager, Vincenza, about our experience and she seemed concerned and eager to correct the problem with their burgers. Although this is their main entrée on the menu, they also offer lamb and turkey patties. A waiter who was sitting next to us eating lunch walked up to our table and told us about the milkshakes and the organic cotton candy offered on the menu. He made a point concerning the ‘organic’ cotton candy. This seemed an oxymoron to us, offering a solid sugar item with an organic twist.

Trying to satisfy children’s taste buds as well as connoisseurs of food is not an easy challenge for any eatery. The manager talked with us and mentioned that they were about to change their meat distributor. What I admired about the restaurant was the openness of the staff and their receptiveness to constructive criticism. We promised to give Notorious another chance in the near future.