dinnerSlut

December 22, 2014
by Terry Ratner
1 Comment

attitude adjustment

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.

November 19, 2014
by Terry Ratner
0 comments

guano

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, you 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.

October 11, 2014
by Terry Ratner
1 Comment

soft

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.

September 28, 2014
by Terry Ratner
1 Comment

new dog in town

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.

September 24, 2014
by Terry Ratner
0 comments

mussel beach

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?

September 22, 2014
by Terry Ratner
0 comments

play doh

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.

September 1, 2014
by Terry Ratner
0 comments

ganador del zorro

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.

August 26, 2014
by Terry Ratner
0 comments

burned

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.

August 9, 2014
by Terry Ratner
0 comments

bounced

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.

August 7, 2014
by Terry Ratner
0 comments

chewing the fat

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.