Like a Whole Foods deli counter without the Whole Foods, The Kitchen has an incredible selection of hot and cold foods ready to be eaten or taken to go. While I was out in Arizona last month, this was the place my team was constantly returning to. Given its proximity to our client, that's understandable, but after going there the first time, I knew I would be back...a lot.
Again, I'd like to apologize for the iPhone pictures for my adventures in Scottsdale. I was there for work, and blogging wasn't on my mind. I created this series mostly for the wandering professional who might find himself out in Arizona for a random training or conference.
The Kitchen is divided into several stations in a cafeteria style. The center island showcases their cold prepared foods (e.g. pasta salad, ready-grill paninis, coleslaw), the olive bar, charcuterie, and cheese selection.
I grabbed a panini here once. Mediocre, but the glass cases are generally better for picking out cold sides like the dill potato salad. One night, I picked up two-foot baguette and a wedge of Gloucester chive and onion cheese and just dined on that. A word of caution, eating a whole loaf of crusty bread yourself can have a detrimental effect on your jaw. So as you can imagine, The Kitchen also has a bakery that churns out fresh pastries. Following along the wall of the bakery, there is a salad and cold sandwich station. I've heard good things about the cold sandwiches, but I never got anything there.
My attention was always on the rotisserie station. Their rotisserie chicken made a wonderful meal, more suitable for a dinner though, given the price of $11.99 for half a bird and two sides. I preferred the roasted chicken to the fried chicken, which I had on another day. The fried chicken was dry and over-priced at the same price for two pieces as a half a roast chicken. The basket of sweet potato fries is way too much for one person. Same with the French fries with cumin ketchup. Sure, add cumin to the ketchup, it makes it more interesting but doesn't make it taste any better. The team's favorite item from the rotisserie, judging by the frequency of ordering, would be the prime rib sandwich though. Flavorful and juicy, you can't go wrong with this sandwich. Actually, you can see it in the background of the fried chicken picture.
The Kitchen also had a wide variety of dry grocery items, such as pastas, olive oils, crackers. They even cater to the gourmand with canned escargot and amazingly fruity artisanal gummy bears (Great Skott Gummy Bears from Wisconsin). I also discovered Fentiman's Curiosity Cola, an intensely herbal, deeply flavored cola somewhat like a cross between ginger beer, sasparilla and Coke.
The Kitchen is simply a wonderful place for a wide variety of eaters. You can get the sophisticated epicure picking out obscure cheeses and wines, or you can get the same turkey sandwich every day and not be disappointed. Don't dismiss it as just a high-end grocer without the rest of the groceries though. I don't know a Bristol Farms or a Pavillion's that could make a prime rib sandwich like The Kitchen.
The Kitchen 8977 N. Scottsdale Road Paradise Valley, AZ 85253 (480) 612-0100 $10-12 for a usual lunch, but goes upwards from there
Admittedly, the title is somewhat misleading. "Savor" implies that the following restaurant is delicious or at least worth enjoying, but this is not the case. My entry for Whataburger is a warning instead. "Savor Scottsdale" is simply the name of my Scottsdale series. See a good Arizona burger at my Stax entry.
I first heard about Whataburger from a San Antonio native who described it to me as the "In-n-Out" of Texas. So when I finally saw a branch of this Southern institution, I was determined to give it a beefy audition.
Upon receiving my meal, a Whataburger combo, I realized immediately the Texan appeal. Apparently, size is everything in the South, because taste sure isn't a factor. They serve 5 inch patties for their classic Whataburger. That 32 ounce drink is a medium. Fries undersalted and underflavored, burger dry and boring. I've had more interesting burgers that come out of my microwave. As you can tell from my Counter and Father's Office reviews, I'm now a big advocate of simple burgers made with quality beef. All the fancy toppings can't save poor meat, and good meat can easily trump any accoutrements. Whataburger was almost as disappointing as my first trip to Sonics, although not nearly as bad because I wasn't constantly bombarded by commercials for a fast food chain that didn't exist within fifty miles of me. Honestly, where the hell is the a Sonics and why do they spend so much advertising in markets without restaurants?
But back to Whataburger, what a garbage interstate import. You can keep your Whataburgers Texas, we'll just keep sending you avocados so you can continue to make everything "Californian."
Update: Whataburger rep for Arizona actually emailed me and invited me back to the restaurant as a guest to try "what a What-a-burger should be." While I won't be back in town, I would go back because I appreciate the effort they go through for customer satisfaction. It may not change the burger, but it speaks volumes about the company.
Whataburger 9990 N 90th Street Scottsdale, AZ 85258 (480) 767-9281 $5 for a classic Whataburger, fries, and humongous drink
If Urasawa is not what a perfect dining experience should be, then I doubt anything else in LA could be. Granted, the cost is prohibitively expensive, and if I were to come back more than once, it would weigh more heavily on my review. But for a one-time visit, I felt good dropping $540 for the six-hour dinner. I suppose the cost just didn't bother me because I knew exactly what I was getting into fully anticipated handing over my paycheck to the Urasawa Corporation.
The most common response I receive when describing my meal is always, "Was it worth it?" To most people, the idea of paying this much for a dinner is outrageous. But to them I reply that it is precisely that type of thinking that makes it so expensive. It isn't just a dinner, it's an experience. Why would you pay for a concert when you can download the song for a dollar? On the surface, if you view dinner as just a form of sustenance, you're doing yourself a disfavor. A life of subsistence is not a life worth living. People take pleasure in different ways; this happens to be my vice. But hopefully I can convey to those who don’t already know the multi-faceted pleasures of eating.
Throughout the night, I constantly found myself rubbing my palms and fingers against the silky smooth blonde wood of the bar. The attention paid to this counter was indicative of the meal to come. No varnish, no sealant, this wood was sanded daily to a soft finish. It was a theme I noticed throughout the night, elegance in simplicity. All ingredients served a purpose; the experience was sensory on all levels. Whereas most use of gold leaf is ostentatious and completely unnecessary, its effect as a visual stimulant spoke to the complete sensory arousal in this meal. Too often sushi is too flashy, especially in American rolls, monstrous creations often appropriately named Godzilla. Elegance in simplicity comes with care and expertise, not with a squirt of rehydrated “eel sauce” and hastily battered tempura. Our first course had the weighty responsibility of setting the standard for the night, but the toro senmai-maki demonstrated a graceful interplay of seared tuna belly wrapped monkfish liver, garnished with shiso, topped with caviar and dashed with ponzu. Layer after layer of flavors hit me, as each ingredient harmonized yet played its own melody. Like the successful concerto, culminating in rich euphony, this was a great way to start the meal.
First course: Toro Senmai-maki
Even if it's not his intention, Chef Hiro Urasawa is an entertainer. The fact that this is dinner and a show helps to soften the wallet blow. With your seat in front of the master himself, you are privy to watching the exquisite knifework and attention to detail. Had I not been seating in my prime spot, I wouldn't have enjoyed the experience at quite the same level. He answered our questions cheerfully, and I could tell when he took out his prime Ichigin junmai daiginjo sake that his passion is really in his craft. Our Cristal failed to impress him; he’s seen all manner of victuals over-hyped. It was Brian’s bottle of Nihonbashi 2007 Gold Medal winner sake that made Hiro’s ears perk. I would’ve scoffed at any hip hop glamorizing this bottle, but it was music to my ears to hear Hiro exclaim “so good” after a taste. That was how the entire evening felt; he was enjoying it right along with us, talking, joking, sharing.
Hiro displaying his Ichigin Sake
While there were several dishes I've never encountered before, most of the menu was fairly familiar for a regular Japanese food consumer. Of course, it was the highest quality examples of said items. I didn't mind that there was nothing so rare I would find no where else. The Saga beef, wagyu from the Saga prefecture was unique enough by itself. No Kobe here; I’m convinced now that Saga is the only way to go. The beef, whether seared lightly on top of sushi or braised for three-days with snow pea, had tenderness without sacrificing meaty flavor. Carved from the block of cow behind Hiro, the meat could be chewy in one moment, and melting the next. Texture influences so much of the sensation of flavor that we too often forget that the touch of your lips, tongue and teeth are integral to the eating experience.
Seared Saga Beef Readied for Sushi
Three-day braised Saga beef
I'm certain that the menu would be quite different coming here at another time during the year. For our early Spring dinner, the variety was not quite so extensive. One seasonal difference—the shabu shabu course of amaebi, Saga beef and foie gras came in metal bowls instead of the summertime paper. A quick dip in the broth and the shrimp was ready. Sweet as is, a splash of dashi helped bring out flavor depth. The unctuous beef and goose liver inundated the soup, making the resulting broth richer than many French stocks and so full of umami that I hesitated to swallow, lest one mouthful be gone. As indescribable as umami is as a flavor, I would direct you to Urasawa’s shabu shabu for a demonstration of its full potential.
Individual shabu shabu
The orchids along the wall are supposedly hand-picked by Hiro. I’ve heard of chefs personally picking the fish for the day, but Hiro goes beyond the food. He knows that he has staked his reputation on more than just the food; he has to make everything beautiful. While “stunning” is not usually a word used to describe Japanese food, the hand-carved ice block with Spanish toro, Kyushu tai and Toyama kanpachi flanked by a clean white orchid and bright orange slivers of Kyoto carrot was much more stunning in person than in the pictures. Colors abound, the taste almost took a backseat to visual appeal in this course…almost.
Sashimi platter
Most of the night was marked by a myriad of aromas, sometimes in front of me, sometimes wafting in from behind the curtain. The smell of the shiitake mushroom, grilling on the back-counter made me anxious for the renowned shiitake sushi, the only place I’ve heard it served before. Though the flavors of the fungus and the rice were slightly incompatible, the smell of wood permeated my nose. Yet this course paled in olfactory indulgence compared to the kani miso korayaki grilled hairy crab innards topped with uni. Each diner got his own hibachi with a simmering shell. Each bursting bubble sent waves of crab aroma into the air. My favorite course of the night.
Simmering hairy crab
We got to walk behind the bar after dinner and witness a huge kitchen for such a small front. I was somewhat dumbstruck by the massive mechanism behind the scenes, pushing forward twenty-six dishes or so to ten anxious diners. Come to Urasawa with an open mind and ready body. Hiro’s dishes hit all your senses, putting your body at ease so that your mind can enjoy. With your head floating in the Nirvana of culinary delight, you can truly forget the weight of your wallet.
Special thanks to Yoko for providing the photographs. Thanks to Kevin for his notes and borrowing his kick-off phrase. To all else who joined me on this adventure, I appreciated you sharing it with me.
I'm being sent where? I know my work is relatively transient; I work a few weeks at a client before grabbing my laptop and heading out again. In fact, I don't even have a desk. When I go into the downtown office, I have to "hotel" a cubicle. But so far, my work has kept me around Los Angeles. Sometime in January, I was told that I was being sent to Arizona to help with an audit. Although I'm now stuck in Scottsdale for the workweek, I'm armed with a $59 per diem and free breakfast buffet. That's quite a bit of change to explore Scottsdale's dining scene.
Of course, I'd be much more enthusiastic if Arizona actually had a dining scene. As a relatively newly populated area with little but white retirees, Scottsdale has a dearth of novel restaurants. Everywhere I turn, I'm confronted by imported Los Angeles and national chains. On my commute from the hotel to the client site, I pass a Flemmings, Houstons, Fogo de Chao, Mastro's, PF Chang's, McCormick's, and at least a dozen other casual-to-upscale restaurants you'd recognize. I've decided that due to the lack of diversity and youth, there's only a market for recognizable brands of the same boring food. Steak is the lay of the land, even in an area too dry to support cattle. Also, apparently old white people like sushi; though I still wouldn't trust raw fish so far inland.
That's why I decided to write a series on places actually worth trying out if you're ever on some corporate retreat out in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. Leave the chains; there's more to be tasted.
Hence, the first of my Scottsdale recommendations:
Stax Burger Bistro 4400 N Scottsdale Rd Scottsdale, AZ 85251 (480) 946-4222 ~$4 a slider
On recommendation from a coworker previously sent to this client, I went to Stax after work one night. Things were dying down by that time Thursday night. The location was in "Oldtown" Scottsdale, which only signifies that the buildings are five years older than the rest of town. Across the street from Saddlehouse Ranch, yes there's one here too, is a burger bar specializing in three-ounce sliders.
Though the server may tell you to order three sliders per person, I'd stick with two sliders and split a few sides. The sweet potato fries with various dipping sauces is a great choice. Each sauce is only $.25, so go crazy with the chipotle aioli, red pepper aioli, honey mustard aioli, jalapeno aioli, or just plain ketchup. The mac & cheese and buttered corn were mediocre. Actually, seeing "corn off the cob" on the menu made me think they just uncanned a Jolly Green Giant and melted a stick of butter into a bowl.
The restaurant really shines with its namesake sliders. Although I was bummed that they were out of the exotic sliders (made with boar, ostrich, venison, or whatever cheap wild meat they have that week), the three I chose were plenty satisfying. In the picture above, from foreground to back, I got an original beef slider with caramelized onions, mushrooms, and cheddar, a lamb slider with feta cheese, grape tomatoes and tabouli, and a kobe slider with asparagus. My verdict: order the first two, ditch the last. The kobe burger was a novelty at best; and from a taste test, did not have the marbling of real Wagyu. The lamb was my easily my favorite though. For the lamb lover, the intense flavor of the animal permeated my mouth with the first bite. Ground lamb is an unfortunate rarity in this country, so when you can find it, make sure to indulge.
At a burger bar like this, you can expect a fine selection of beers. With this kind of food, nothing pairs better. My local Tempe brewed Four Peaks Kilt Lifter Ale was no exception.
This is my second week in Scottsdale so far. Stax was one of the first restaurants to show me that there's might be something to eat in this town after all. But over the last few days, I've found a few more that I'd love to share. Support the independent restaurants!
What do bloggers do in their free time? We eat; that's a given. But we also meet up to eat. In this case, we journeyed the South Bay one Saturday afternoon, searching for our Japanese fix.
Organized by the multi-talented Fiona of Gourmet Pigs, this marathon had been in the making since our last expedition into the concrete Jungle. We teamed up with Javier the "Teenage" Glutster, Mattatouille, Choisauce, RumDood, Pepsi Monster, and budding blogger Danny for this trip. My girlfriend Yoko proved essential for some of the translations and the photos on this entry.
First stop: Gaja for okonomiyaki, a type of Japanese crepe/griddle cake. Made from yam flour, filled with ingredients, and fried on a teppan, this was my first experience at an okonomiyaki-ya. Thanks to the hot tip from I Nom Things, we were able to discover this fun DIY place. She even has several recipes if you want to try it at home. Of course, if you can't figure out the Japanese instructions, you can also get help from the friendly staff. Remember to proclaim "Yes!" in a tone as to indicate to your waiter your satisfaction for his efforts. Here's the waiter helping with spicy cod roe, mochi, cheese monja-yaki, a creamier, more gooey relative of the okonomiyaki. The monja-yaki is fried to form a crust, but then mashed and eaten with individual spatulas. This particular monja-yaki had the miniature texture of the cod roe and the runny mochi and cheese. Pre-cooked Not terribly appetizing in appearance, but fun to eat nonetheless
Our Modern Mix Okonomiyaki had beef, squid, oysters, noodles, egg and preserved ginger, a seemingly odd mix, but formed a satisfying pie. Topped with the special sauce, Kewpie mayonnaise and bonito flakes, this could easily make a decent meal for the hungry traveler. Unfortunately, the life of a marathoner is tough; it was one slice, then out the door for our next stop.
Second stop: Patisserie Chantilly, a delightful Japanese desserts shop. The picture at the top of the page is from Chantilly. Our large group rolled in and took over the small place. We laid down $3 each and partook in a foodie communism experiment. A communal order of three macarons; black sesame, vanilla, and chocolate profiteroles; passionfruit mousse; cheesecake souffle; cheesecake bar; chocolate tart; and a white sesame blanc manger was put down and quickly devoured. Luckily, Pepsi Monster bought additional treats and donated it to the still hungry citizens. Funny how even in desserts, communism doesn't work. If given the chance, make sure to try the souffle fromage, it is cheesecake heaven; at least you'll feel like you're eating clouds.
After a failed stop at Otafuku, our valiant troupe ended up at Hakata Ramen. Given that our soba stop fell through, we entered into a furious debate over a suitable replacement (I only say furious because at this point we were starting to get hungry again). Before our table was ready, we hopped back into the caravan and drove down to Ichimiann Bamboo Garden for homemade soba It certainly doesn't take much to constitute a "bamboo garden." But I guess if it took acres of bamboo to be considered a forest, pandas wouldn't be so endangered. Of course I quickly got over the lack of foliage when I sat down to my platter of cold zaru-soba, a refreshing mound of buckwheat noodles served with accompanying dipping sauce. I found each noodle to have springy integrity...chewy, a little before al dente. According to Matt, the sauce is mixed with soba water afterwards and drank. I preferred the brown rice tea instead.
Last stop: Izakaya Bincho, the charming mom and pop restaurant with extremely demanding chef/owner. On that day, the staffing situation was even worse. With a sick wife, the husband manned the entire place by himself. Although it's not unheard of for him to turn away customers, the restaurant stayed especially empty that night. This was my first visit since its closure last year as a yakitori. The tsukune chicken meatballs, which were godly last time, disappointed this time, probably due to the lack of bincho charcoal. Juicy as usual, but there just was no depth of flavor you'd get with the ashy charcoal. Instead, the braised pork belly shined. Despite the overexposure of pork belly these days, the chef managed to bring out the melty texture of the pork and supplement it with a rich braising sauce. He doesn't rely just on the fat of the dish as so many restaurants do. In fact, the long braising time made the whole slab fall apart enough to eat with a spoon. The tebasaki fried chicken wings with sweet and spicy sauce stole the show. Amazing flavors hit me all at once, intense at first, but gradually fading and lingering on the palate. The wings were deep-fried, but they didn't weigh me down. All I could feel was the crispy skin and the sticky sauce. With the decline of the tsukune, I believe the tebasaki is the new gotta-have-it dish. Though I will still give runner-up position to the agedashi tofu. The chef's dashi shows amazing care in its umami complexity. Plus large slabs of silken tofu make this a hearty dish for tofu. Braised pork belly Tebasaki (Deep-fried chicken wings) Agedashi Tofu
As I've settled into my home in LA, I've found so much diversity in the cuisine. I don't know if there's anywhere else in the world with so many ethnic options within driving range. With denser communities, they start to blend and lose some of their uniqueness within each cuisine. LA's just large enough that you can find places that just specialize in okonomiyaki, Japanese desserts, soba and izakaya. We have so much at our fingertips; it's a shame if you don't take advantage of it. I appreciate that I can have a Japanese food marathon without even once mentioning sushi. That's the kind of dining city that LA is.
Gaja gajamoc.com 2383 Lomita Blvd, Ste 102, Lomita, 90717 (310) 534-0153 $18 per okonomiyaki though that can probably feed 3-4
Izakaya Bincho 112 N International Boardwalk Redondo Beach, 90277 (310) 376-3889 Get here early on a non-weekend and pray for a seat ~$20 per person if you're eating at the end of a marathon
As the namesake restaurant of the Patina Group, which includes such LA eateries as Cafe Pinot, Nick and Stef's, I had high expectations. First of all, what is a patina? It's the oxidized change in color on bronze over time. The reason the Statue of Liberty looks green--false patina. It's a concept I considered when we entered. The small dining room nestled into the Frank Gehry concert hall was comfortably lit and quiet for a late Sunday reservation. We arrived just as the show was starting; an hour earlier and it may have been packed. Our French waiter, yes he spoke French, explained the specials and signaled for the bread cart. Bacon bread--already a good sign.
The amuse of white asparagus and aioli paired with a hot carrot ginger soup certainly surprised me in contrast. The crunchy asparagus in a creamy sauce paired with the soup well, though I expected the carrots to have much more sweetness.
Although this was my birthday, the tasting menu didn't offer anything eye-popping enough. My girlfriend chose the agnolotti filled with buffala ricotta with English peas, braised scarlet turnip, and speck ham. I don't know if it's just a coincidence or if it's a generally accepted practice, but pairing agnolotti with ham is an incredible idea. David LeFevre of Water Grill had served a spectacular dish of agnolotti at the 5x5 dinner. The buffalo cheese gave the delicate pasta a heartiness otherwise absent in the thin wonton-like skins. I was puzzled by the presentation of what looked like a green lawn. The speck ham, what looks like bacon, is actually more like a smokier panchetta from an area between Austria and Italy.
For my first course, I cheated and chose the Quartet of the Sea consisting of four immaculate square plates locked into formation. From the top: smoked trout blini, seared scallop with cipollini onions, lobster citrus salad, and tuna tartare with pickled cauliflower. The trout was much more refreshing than the all-too-often used salmon in this preparation. Grapefruit and orange garnished the lobster salad, though the color reminded me too much of ambrosia (a turnoff). I am a huge fan of seared scallops, and this was no exception. I also see cippolini onions so often at these kind of dinners. Apparently, they have a higher sugar content and the small, flat shape is conducive to roasting. Tuna tartare has been done to death, though the intensely tart cauliflower gave it a contrasting crunch that was innovative.
What makes a veal chop "authentic"? According to our waiter, grain-fed veal is "authentic." But isn't that how all veal is fed? My girlfriend's authentic veal chop with sauteed sweetbreads, maple syrup glazed cipollini onions, and chanterelles tasted better than it looked. The mushrooms were richly buttered and had enough bite to savor each forkful.
One of the reasons that my significant other chose Patina was for the game menu, which varies depending on availability. That night, I ordered the rack of venison with braised chestnuts, celeriac mousseline, and a pink peppercorn quince chutney. Though the smell of the plate had all the intensity of game, the flavor was quite a bit tamer. I'm familiar with the practice of combining gamey meats with fruity compotes, but I always feel like my preference for gamer is much wilder than the average palate. With the exception of elk, gamey is always my choice.
Though my girlfriend rounded off her meal with a coconut soup with a floating island of pistachio ice cream and spherified mango juice "gnocchi" I asked to see the cheese cart instead. We enjoyed the presentation of her dessert, the components sitting in a saucer that's subsequently filled by the waiter. Those little flourishes certainly make the meal more memorable. Having consumed a pack of Red Vines per day at work, I had enough sugar in my system. I settled on a triple-creme brie, a hard Italian pecorino, and a strong roquefort. My waiter actually wasn't much help in explaining the cheeses. By this time in the meal, he had seemed to ignore our table and favored the French speaking tables instead. I hate to perpetuate stereotypes, but the rude French waiter certainly still persists.
As a post-dessert treat, we received a tray of mignardises and a napkin basket of chocolate and vanilla Milano cookies. From left to right, I think the plate consisted of a cocoa nib, passionfruit gelee, orange marshmallow, cashew twill tuile, truffle, and carrot macron. I could eat a million macarons, except they're always so expensive. Does anyone mass-produce these awesome almond pastries?
Stuffed and finished with the food portion of our meal, the manager was kind enough to take us on a tour of the kitchen. Unfortunately, Joachim Splinchal wasn't in the kitchen, but I met his sous chef Santiago instead. He explained the various prep areas of the rather large kitchen. It looked straight out of my Culinary Institute of America textbook. What struck me the most was that the kitchen was almost half the size of the dining room and still heavily staffed.
My overall impression of Patina was that I didn't feel like I belonged there. It caters to the concert hall patrons, the stuffy old white men. As out of place as I was, I noticed an Asian man scurrying his family out from a dinner too expensive to bring children. That's when it hit me. If patinas are meant to convey antiquity, this restaurant definitely has that old-world feel. Patina's certainly not part of the hot LA dining scene, but it could be a dependable standby. Plus a Michelin star doesn't hurt.
Patina 141 South Grand Ave Downtown, 90012 (213) 972-3331 About $200 for the meal...and $8 for parking
