A Grand Day Out With The Tucson Homeskillet!

The wife has been out of town for almost a month and I really haven't left the house since she left. It's odd. Being joined at the hip like we are, when she goes to train new bartenders in various locations across the US, maybe once twice a year for a few weeks, my first inclination is to get a bunch of stuff accomplished. The reality of it all is the first week she's gone I live in almost silence and seclusion. I love her more than anything but she can be quite the tornado of clothes anywhere and everywhere, towels strewn about, shoes left in the middle of walkways and lord almighty if I can't just get a corner of the comforter when she literally coils herself up in a blanket ball from her night spinning much like a thrill seeker barrel rolling down a steep hill.

So the first week I clean the house knowing it will stay clean, take as many naps as possible, listen to Metal at top volumes alongside not saying a word and just enjoying the tinkling of garden chimes and the cat purring. Around the second week I start watching movies and shows I wanna watch and possibly have one too many to drink at night as trying to sleep without struggling for a bit of sheet only makes the bed feel empty and the house somehow bigger and darker. The third week I sort of get into this groove of "being alone" and before you know it she's back and all is right with the world. Well, our little world anyway.

The Wednesday (my one true day off during the week) before she returns, I decided to make a journey of it. Getting inspired by Wallace and Gromit and their "Grand Day Out" where they go to the moon to get more cheese and then are accosted by a skiing enthusiast robot oven, I too wanted to eat and do something around Tucson that I have been meaning to get on with. So I made a list, set a course and when I woke up at the crack of noon I got in the car and began my adventure. So here are the results of a most recent Homeskillet outing.

Was it grand? Some points. But a few snags only made a beautiful late winter afternoon as close to perfect as one could hope for.

Here we go...

Stilton? Wensleydale? 

First stop was a new taco place right down the street from my house and it is called:

El Berraco

2960 N. First Ave.

What used to be El Mezon del Cobre (a fine place to eat and grab some beers while we did laundry next door at this little wash shack called Dean's Village Laundromat) is now a nautical themed Mexican food establishment that boasts some of the best and most inventive seafood fare in the neighborhood, if not the city. I mean, the outside is built to look like a submarine and when you walk through the port like doors, you enter a fairly dark and blue hued underwater themed submersible bar and restaurant, one that you might find in some overpriced water park.

It was late afternoon so the lunch rush had already come and gone. Sure there were a few people in there but when I was sat at one of their large tables in the middle of the action, I had a feeling that I was in for something good.

In the center of the long plank-like table are a bevvy of various hot sauces and along the curved walls large flat screens display the specialties of the house all keeping with the undersea motif. This place is pretty cool.

The massive Chile Relleno Taco

Scanning the menu, I instantly became a bit weary of the prices. Tacos and tostadas ranged in price from $8 to $20. For a taco? In Tucson? So I asked my server what the portions were like and with a gesture of his hands as if he were holding a football, he assured me that the food here was very generous.

"Trust me," he said with a smile, "they are like no taco you have had before."

So I ordered a taco and a tostada. He then looked at me and asked "For...just you?" This made me nervous. Did I order too much?  The tone of his voice indicated that perhaps my appetite wasn't as big as the food here. I then assured him that I "just wanted to try a good variety" and, yes, I will need a to go box. But I was so hungry I knew that I could devour all the food I just ordered. It couldn't be that big...could it?

First up was some chips and salsa but....this wasn't your average free dippin' sauce you expect in a Mexican food joint. This wasn't made with tomatoes, but rather tropical fruit, peppers and, get this, soy sauce. I had to ask because when I dunked my chip into it and took a bite I was overtaken by flavor. Simple, beautiful, fresh and imaginative. Seeing my pleasure of just sampling the salsa, he kept bringing out more for me to try. Each one was wholly different and textural from the next. Some hot, some thin, some bright, some dense but all delicious.

Soon my first item arrived. It was the Chile Relleno taco which was described as a jalapeno filled with cheese and shrimp, topped with a cabbage salad, cilantro guacamole with a creamy chipotle dressing and pickled onions. Upon first view of it, yes, my server was right, this is a very shareable taco. It was big. But I braved the sheer mass of it all and dug it.

Glorious. Absolutely filled with layers of flavor, balance of heat, crunch, savory and creamy that all came together in a wonderful array. He was right, I hadn't had a taco like this before.

Then came the tostada.

La Berraca tostada, bask in all of its glory

The La Berraca tostada features salmon, shrimp and scallops on thick warm corn tortillas in a sea of ranchero essence sauce. Now, I haven't had thick corn tortillas like this since my time living in southern California or various trips to Baja. Everything about this dish was amazing. So fresh, so clean and so considered and thought about. At this point I began to get a little light headed from all that was going on in my mouth and stomach but I trudged on and actually finished the La Berraca tostada. But between the thickness of the Chile Relleno taco, the chips and the samples of salsas and the fact that I still had a full day ahead of me, I did indeed ask for a box for the remaining taco. Note to all readers: always trust your server!

El Berraca is new but is easily on it's way to becoming a food destination here in Tucson. Owned by the same team that runs the BK franchise, this place is now something that I treasure and fear in my neighborhood. Treasure because...oh my god! Fear because...oh my god, am I eating here again? Like I need a taco habit to aid in my already expanding middle. Whatever.

When I left I was so elated that I considered going up a few blocks to the house, cuddle up with the cat and take a nap. But...no. I still had four more places to go so off I went.

The next food destination was:

Hopyard Deli

210 N. 4th Ave.

I've been wanting to try this deli ever since going to Ermano's next door but never stepped foot in there even though its open later than most delis. Now, if you've read other Homeskillet posts you know how deli obsessed I am. Seeing how rare it is to get me to come down to 4th Ave, or even downtown, I thought the Hopyard Deli must be awesome because the decent reviews and accolades are coming in from all sides. 

Well, I must have caught them on an off day. 

It was late afternoon and the place was empty. It was nice, clean, seemed like a great location to stop in for a soda and sandwich but there was nobody there. Like...nobody. Not even an employee behind the counter. I couldn't even hear anybody prepping or cleaning or...anything. So I looked around, decided to get some pastrami to go and then waited. 

And waited. 

Maybe it was self service, I don't know. After about ten minutes or so of just standing there and looking into the cameras hoping someone would see me, two teenage kids slowly emerged from the back and just sat on a table checking their phone. I had to ask, "Uh, do you work here?" The girl with the blonde dreads and stoned eyes walked behind the counter and just looked at me. The other dude in the Bonnaroo t-shirt just sat there not even acknowledging anything. So I hesitantly ordered some pastrami, which seemed like an absolute chore for her, then the dude slid off the table, rang up my order and had problems running my card because the iPhone thing was "acting all stupid". What should have taken a minute or two was like a twenty minute ordeal. Plus it was getting close to 4pm and I didn't want to be late for my next appointment, which started at exactly 4 and if you don't get there on time...the merchandise goes quick. 

In silence and non appreciation, I was handed my stack of cut meat and I dashed out the door to my next destination. 

Thanks Hopyard, now I know: Just stick to the Sausage Shop and all will be well. 

Plus the pastrami was bullcrap.

Meh

Well, after that disappointing venture, I was off to my next annex, one that I know will not let me down, because the third spot belonged to:

Barrio Bread

Various Locations (This one came from the Tucson CSA, 300 E. University in the Historic Y courtyard)

No, I did not take this picture, thanks to the good person who did

When I re-started the Tucson Homeskillet almost two years ago and totally immersed myself in the local food scene, one of the first people to friend me and who I started to follow back was Don Guerra. This alchemist of local grains and flour creates some of the tastiest bread I have ever had the privilege to put in my mouth. Working out of his garage, Don is a one man flurry of baking, spawning delicious loaf after delicious loaf and sells his wares across Tucson at random locales, usually schools and community areas.

On this particular Wednesday, he happened to have a stand set up at the Community Supported Agriculture center courtyard on University Avenue.

Pain Epi and Au Levain, in repose

I got there at exactly 4pm and there was already a line. After staking my place in the que while checking out the amazing goods for sale, I had a horrible thought: Barrio  Bread only takes cash on outings like this, and I hadn't been to an ATM in quite some time.

Crap. Thing is, I rarely carry actual money with me, so I dug out my wallet and opened it up, praying I had at least a few bucks. Luckily there was a 10 in there...whew. Not enough to buy one of each but at least to grab two of my favorites, the the Pain Epi baguette and the au Levain loaf.

What can I say, if you have never experienced what real bread tastes like, you have no idea. Follow Barrio Bread online and track them/him down. Authentic bread is honestly one of my favorite things to eat. You think it's so simple, and, in reality, it is, but it is so much more. So complex, a living thing that is nearly almost all air, but it's science so... I hate to use this word, but the flavor is transcendent. Yes...I said "transcendent".

After the disappointment from the deli, the two loaves I was lucky to get made up for it. Just the smell alone made me woozy. And when I bit into the pain epi I honestly drooled a bit on myself. Which was funny because I wasn't even hungry. Those tacos from El Berraco were still doing their job which made my next destination a bit questionable.

Real bread is so Metal

To experience their happy hour cocktails and food, my fourth location was intended to be:

Pasco Kitchen & Lounge

820 E. University

I'm sure the drinks and food were good but...

Here's the thing: I didn't get a chance to grab a drink or any food. Pasco at 4:30pm on a random Wednesday in February was PACKED. For real, there was absolutely no room at the bar, the patio was way over crowded (I mean, it was a splendiferously beautiful day so that was no surprise) and although there was a table or two open, I felt weird being alone in that sort of upscale environment, me in grubby shorts and tattered Vans, among the late afternoon scenesters and purveyors of lunchtime gossip and wine pairings.

So...I split. But I told myself I would return, hopefully with a partner and probably not as sweaty and still bloaty from the taco apocalypse I had just endured.

Sorry Pasco, but good on you! Congrats on the success. I mean, the food looked good and the cocktails appeared inviting. Hopefully next time.

Anyway, at this point my daytime adventure was winding down and I was really craving a drink. Luckily my final stop was a bar, a bar in a video store no doubt. That's right, I finally hauled my lazy butt over to:

Casa Video Film Bar

2905 E. Speedway

The day was growing pretty warm, I had been driving and walking across a good portion of the city and I was so ready for a little respite and a cold beverage to ease me into the evening. Luckily when I walked into Casa Video's beer and coffee bar I was very pleased to find it full of places to sit and was gloriously air conditioned. Not too sure why it took me so long to check this place out but...I was glad I finally did.

Beer and a movie? Um, yes please!

Their beer selection was great, covering not just Arizona breweries but many others from the Pacific and Southwest. And there was a movie playing on the various flatscreens, Badlands, a movie I hadn't seen since I was a kid. This was great, just what I needed to end my grand day out.

The bar is set up really nice too. Not only do they have fantastic beer on tap but also microbrews in bottles for sale as well. Plus they are a full service coffee bar to boot. The other bodies in the place were drinking fresh brewed coffee, but not me. I needed an ice cold beer. And I got one. An IPA from a brewery up in Flagstaff. After grabbing my frosty glass filled with golden hued goodness, I took a seat on a comfy red chair near a viewing screen and sighed deep.

To quote Ice Cube: Today was a good day.

The beer was amazing; citrusy, hoppy, balanced and, most important, very cold and a bit strong. Folks from the regular video store area would wander in to access the second floor area seeing as the only way there was through the bar. I watched Martin Sheen and a very young Sissy Spacek kill people across the acrid space of South Dakota while quaffing a delicious ale made a few hundred miles up a ways as kids munched on popcorn before ascending the stairs to select a fine foreign film or exploitation movie whilst on a cozy chair hiding from the beating sun and after work traffic outside.

Everyone should have days like this. It makes you really appreciate the city you live in. When I was a resident of San Francisco for over 12 years I would do a "discover your city" tour at least once a month. Sometimes just jumping on a train and getting off at some random neighborhood and walking around to see what you could find. Tucson is no different. I mean, our "train" only goes a few blocks here and there but, you get what I am getting at here.

And, to quote Calvin and Hobbes: There's treasure everywhere!

Perfect way to end a fun day

Sure, the deli was a flop (like I said, I probably caught it on a not so awesome day) and Pasco was filled to capacity but...still. I set out to do what I had planned to do and when I went home to think about dinner and call my wife I was greeted with the fuzzy face of our cat, laying in a box and looking at me with "so when do I get a treat?" eyes. Days like this are indeed rare but when things come together, you need to just lean back and appreciate the awesomeness of the town you live in.

Thank you Tucson. We shall meet again on another excursion like this.

And then you lucky kids get to read all about it.

How grand is that?

Lil' Poundcake...you my only friend

Camera and Typing
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Late February, 2016

Metal Influence:

DEATH ANGEL

"Seemingly Endless Time"

Pastrami: Ode To A Lifelong Obsession

Just to let you know, I have had pastrami sandwiches from all over the United States. Yes, I have been to Carnegie Deli and Katz's in New York (which I touch on), but what you are about to read is my pastrami obsession from the different places I have lived in, both here in Tucson and back in California. Think of it as a "where can a pastrami hooked kid get a decent sandwich in his neighborhood?". Makes it a bit more intimate don't you think?

I think so.

Anyway, the sandwiches I have had in New York and beyond were amazing (although I do think the Carnegie is a bit overrated, I mean, c'mon, it's a tourist spectacle at this point, that tower of meat is just silly...yet delicious) but here is a nod to all of the pastrami sandwiches from around my blocks.

Thank you pastrami, past, present and sandwiches yet to be consumed. You...you made me the man I am today. You...you complete me.

Young Metal Mark and his early pastrami filled belly in repose in Los Angeles

Not too sure, but I think it came from a movie. Or perhaps a TV show I saw.

Somebody was eating a pastrami sandwich and it just looked heavenly. At the age of 8 or 9 the only deli meat I was accustomed to was bologna that came in clear plastic silos, "ham" and the frozen meat surrogate enigma also known as Steak-Umm. Living with my dad, who was famously known for being quite terrified of most foods, he kept the fridge stocked with glistening slabs he thought a spazzy little KISS listening to kid would enjoy for lunch or snack. I had little time to care about the menu in the house; between playing outside, going to school, getting high score on Donkey Kong or trying to get my Thief/Magic User to the next level, as long as I was eating, I was content.

Here's the thing though: I grew up in Glendale, CA, a pleasant suburb in Los Angeles. My friends were really diverse, culturally, so I was extremely lucky in that capacity. When I spent the night at any one of their houses, I was treated to trips of varied cuisines from around the globe.

Monte was Hispanic and through his mom and family I had my first tamale and authentic taco, not the yellow greased meat stuffed variety at Taco Bell (which was right next to the arcade I frequented so I have had my share, believe me) and they were fantastic. Victor was Korean so marinaded pork and rice with kimchi, hot and cold noodles, spicy soups and squid, squid! I ate squid!, were suspicious at first but divine. Michael was Italian so real pasta with real sauces and real meatballs made fresh by a real Italian mother changed the way I look and treat food to this day.

That's why when I saw that guy on the TV eat a pastrami sandwich, I knew I had to have one. Just think of it as a calling of sorts.

At a little corner deli, the pastrami craze took hold

Luckily, just a few blocks from where we lived, right across from my elementary school, was a little corner deli called the LA Cafe. When I walked in I was greeted by the ding-a-ling of a bell and a smiling Vietnamese lady behind the counter. The place smelled exotic, like a combination of steaming meats, fresh bread and heavy mustard; familiar yet strange at the same time. It was quite small so all of the ingredients, I'm sure, were packed tight together and with the front door always closed, along with an old oscillating fan working on a table in the distance, the scent of the place immediately drew me in and for some reason I knew I had found something special.

I got a small sandwich, like 6 inches, hot, with yellow mustard, tomatoes and Provolone cheese, which is what the guy on TV was eating...I think. The nice lady quickly went to work and after a few minutes my first pastrami sandwich was in front of me. After taking a seat near a window, I nervously picked up the soft roll packed deep with cured meat and took a bite.

Even at that young age, I knew I had found what I had been looking for - food wise that is. Whatever that movie or TV show that I wanted to sandwich emulate did nothing for what I was experiencing at that moment. That sandwich was beyond any fast food burger or sweet treat from the U-Tote-M market. So young, yet I had found my calling. Food wise, of course.

That night when my dad came home I told him about my new found love of pastrami.

"You don't like pastrami," he claimed as he put a Swanson's Salisbury steak dinner in front of me.

"Uh. Yeah I do."

"Since when?"

Even after telling him the extended story, he was still convinced that I was lying somehow about my love for that sandwich. Maybe because at that age I changed my love of things quite often. I was a Cub Scout for exactly a week, I wanted cello lessons and went once, Power Lord action figures were quickly replaced by Masters of the Universe. Stuff like that.

"You don't like pastrami."

But this phase I knew would stick.

The addiction taken to a new level

When my mom got word that I was now a pastrami fiend, she only had one thing to say:

"Oh, you like pastrami? Well we need to take you to Langer's then."

Apparently this place she was taking me to was famous for their pastrami sandwiches. Whatever. I was content with my little corner place, with the nice Vietnamese family that always greeted me with warm smiles and after a couple of visits all she would ask in broken English was "Pastrami?" All I had to do then was nod and she'd deliver another perfect sandwich to my 9 year old chubby face.

Langer's Deli was different. It was bigger. Much bigger. And packed with people. On a late afternoon on Alvarado Street in the MacArthur Park area of Los Angeles, there was a line out the door. So we shuffled through with the rest of the hungry crowd, eventually getting to the counter.

There it was, in a big sign over the bustling sandwich line, proclaiming: The #19, World's Best Pastrami Sandwich".

Okay mister number nineteen. Let's see what you got.

The Langer's Deli #19, a sandwich game changer for this kid

It was rough but we luckily found a table by walking around the busy restaurant a bit. After sitting down among the throngs of blissful eaters, I scooted my chair in, took a look at my pastrami sandwich and made a face. It didn't look like the sandwich I got from the LA Cafe. This was on seeded rye bread, no cheese, just mustard and served with a dill pickle. But, whatever. I was hungry and curious to know what World Famous pastrami tasted like.

After taking a bite...yep. It tasted like this.

The flavor on the meat was different but so much deeper in quality and excellence. The bread was soft and chewy and I didn't even miss the cheese or tomatoes. Mom then explained what Kosher was, that dairy couldn't be anywhere near the meat, which I found strange but didn't care. Luckily I had a few Jewish friends so from then on I always had them take me to their favorite Kosher deli for a pastrami sandwich when we got the chance. Most were good, but none compared to the #19 at Langer's.

Oh sure, I still went to my little Vietnamese family down the street, but only because it was so close and they knew exactly what I wanted when I walked in with the tinkling of that bell. But when I bit into the oh so familiar taste of the LA Cafe sandwich, I knew there were pastrami adventures just waiting for me out there, and Langer's had planted that seed of exploration.

Then, without warning, the little corner deli closed down.

Soon after, my dad and I moved from Los Angeles to a town near my hometown, Carmel, called Salinas,  and my pastrami prospects didn't look too good.

At the time, ToGo's was the only pastrami game in town

Salinas, for quite some time, was the hub of farming in central California. In fact, Salinas had the nickname of "The Lettuce Bowl" because there were nothing but lettuce fields everywhere. In my big city/small town displacement and creeping adolescence, my love of Hard Rock turned to Speed and Thrash Metal, my love of New Wave turned to Hardcore Punk and my youthful skateboarding around town progressed into a full thrasher lifestyle. This is where cute little Mark began forming into Metal Mark and my angst was only offset by the lack of a decent deli in Salinas.

Oh sure, there were plenty of good Mexican restaurants, which was great, and lots of cheap fast food and donut shops that served pizza, but what I really missed was my longtime friend the pastrami sandwich. Only trips to LA to visit my mom were I treated to good delis and Langer's, but around Salinas in the mid-80s, there was only one game in town.

It was called ToGo's and was a local west coast chain. The first time I walked into a ToGo's my first reaction was 'I don't like the smell.' It had this fake meat and hard plastic aroma but I was desperate to find a good pastrami sandwich within skating distance and there was one just a few blocks from my school, much like the little corner deli I missed so much back in Glendale.


The sandwich was...fine. Not horrible, not great, but good enough to satiate my eternal craving for pastrami. Luckily, when high school rolled around, I had friends that would go to work for ToGo's and often enough would get the occasional "hook up" on the pastrami front. But it wasn't the same. It lacked character and fresh flavor and was also kind of drippy. And when my mom moved from LA to Wilmington, Delaware, her home city and state, to be closer to her family, I knew I was in trouble.

The ToGo's pastrami sandwich...meh, but fine when the cravings came, which was often

In the post high school stage of my life there were various holidays back east to visit my mom, which meant trips to New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, etc. It was at these bustling metropolises I tried a variety of foods; the cheesesteaks in Philly, Chicago dogs, New York style pizza, all that. One thing was for sure though...I got me some fantastic pastrami sandwiches, especially in New York. My favorite was at Katz's Deli on East Houston street. It was a lot like Langer's; loud, busy, brimming with life, very Kosher and most importantly, had an amazing pastrami sandwich. The meat tower over at the Carnegie was just silly to me and the vibe there was way too touristy. Katz's though. That was my east coast jam.

After "dabbling" in college, I moved to San Francisco in 1995 which made me more excited than ever because I knew the food scene there was unbeatable. My pastrami addiction moved to Mission Style Burritos and if you've ever had a Mission Style Burrito, you know why. Still though, I needed to feed the pastrami beast that still lived inside me. I searched the local papers and publications looking for a real deli, when the internet became, well, the internet, I did online searches for the best pastrami in town, I asked locals where I should go, what I should eat and which bus line did I need to get on. Honestly, at that juncture in San Francisco, there wasn't a whole lot of options.

Except one.

A second home in SF if you will

Tommy's Joynt rested on the corner of Geary and Van Ness and was famous for their huge cuts of meat and gargantuan portions per plate. For me, this is where Metallica got Jason Newsted drunk and then announced that he was their new bassist. It was also a return to a corner deli, although in a much louder and drunker capacity. The deli wizards at Tommy's cut thick slices per order and then piled it on soft rolls or crusty bread and the addition of a full bar didn't hurt either.


The pastrami at Tommy's was good. Not Kosher, a bit greasy but still they provided a good sandwich when the perennial fog and drizzle gloom hit. This was my place to tuck in and hide among the crowds, disappearing into a mammoth sandwich and a mug of beer when the bustle of the traffic and onset of hipster bullcrap became too much.

I can't even imagine what it's like now. But in the early 2000's, it was glorious.

Thick and manly, the Tommy's pastrami way

Right before I moved from San Francisco to Tucson in 2006 to be with my now wife, a great little place opened up on upper Polk that I only visited once but was amazed at how they captured the essence of east coast deli.

Miller's was a delight, surrounded by questionable Asian fare and sex shops, and their pastrami sandwich brought me back to snow days in New York, watching the heavily coated community shuffle by in the sleet as I cozily sunk into a hot pastrami on rye. After experiencing Miller's, which wasn't too far from my last apartment on Columbus and Union, I knew I would return for more. Then one chilly night I met She-Ra, two days later I proposed and a month later I moved to Tucson. It's...a long, but lovely story.

You can read all about it in my first book HERE.

We could have been something Miller's, we coulda had a relationship

My first meal in Tucson was breakfast at Blue Willow, which was fine. I was bleary from the 14+ hour drive on no sleep but was happy to watch a brightly colored macaw dance around the back patio who had obviously escaped from the vet clinic next door. The second thing I ate, as She-Ra was driving me around town introducing me to my new home, was a Sonoran hot dog. No, it wasn't from BK or El Guero Canelo, it was from random dude with a cart on some dusty lot and, just like the Mission Burritos, my attention moved from pastrami to those hot dogs for a bit. I think I ate like three or four right then and there. They were unique, delicious and oh so bad for you. I couldn't get enough.

That is until I started to get a little pudgy, especially 'round the middle, then I knew I had to dial the Sonoran hot dog habit down a few notches.

As I began settling into my new home in the Old Pueblo, I knew what my next mission was: to find a great pastrami sandwich.

When I asked around the resounding direction I was pointed towards was a place called Schlomo and Vito's. It was a bit out of the way from our snug garden nook in midtown but, hey, if everyone says this is the place to go in Tucson for pastrami then a mini road trip it is!

The place was nice, a great set up, obviously catering to the more affluent residents surrounding the place. So I ordered my custom sandwich to go and when it was ready I drove out to a scenic spot to eat my first Tucson pastrami sandwich.

The result?

Meh.

Sorry, this place just didn't live up to the hype

There was a sort of blandness about the whole thing, the sandwich felt as if I was supposed to love it. I didn't love it. The meat lacked inspiration and seasoning which sucks coming from a spot that has "New York Delicatessen" on it's marquee. I've had New York deli pastrami...this wasn't New York deli pastrami. It was more like Montauk pastrami.

I don't know. That was back in 2006 so perhaps they have changed. Hate to say it, but, I haven't been back since.

Then a word came from the Kosher deli underground. In hushed tones, someone told me that a place that used to be called Feig's Deli was now the Fifth Street Deli (which is now under a new name, Eli's) and their pastrami was to die for. Great. So the next chance I got I drove out to see what all the rumors were about.

Now this joint made me feel at home. The guy behind the counter, a rather Hasidic man with the curls and everything, angrily took my order and in a huff made my sandwich. Was it because I am gentile, one with long hair and wearing a High On Fire hoodie, or was he just having a bad day? It didn't matter.

This sandwich ruled.

Thank you Fifth Street Deli, and thank you angry Hasid dude

Whew. Finally, after all this time, traveling hundreds of miles to be with my true love and leaving my city of 12 years behind, I finally grabbed onto a decent pastrami sandwich. It was perfect; simple yet elegant. No cheese (duh), but the meat was cured just right and the bread resonated with Langer's and Katz's divinity. Lovely, just lovely. Welp, I guess I found my sandwich.

Uh, nope. Because I was about to get thrown a pastrami throwback curve ball.

One night, after a screening at The Loft Cinema, a group of us converged to a bar and grill right next door. Called the Red Garter, it was a spot I had been to once before but had a hesitancy to return, mainly because the last time I was there smoking was still permitted in bars and it was a choking smog bank of cigarette pollution. Me having never smoked a cigarette in my life, I nearly died. But now that the smoking ban was in full effect, I decided to give it another go.

It was getting rather late. My buddies and I were a few drinks in. Seeing as I had only eaten lunch many hours ago, my belly was rumbling. Luckily they served food till late so I grabbed a menu and made a pleasant surprise.

The Red Garter had a pastrami sandwich.

Things are about to get real here

Now, knowing the environment I was in and how tipsy I was, my expectation of the sandwich was quite low. Still, I was curious as to how a divey type bar would handle a pastrami sandwich. So I ordered it up and when it arrived I made a very pleasant discovery.

It looked almost exactly like the sandwich from the little corner deli in Glendale! Nearly on the same roll, similar build and presentation but, most importantly, the smell. This pastrami sandwich, in one whiff, brought me back to being a curious nine year old kid, hungry for a sandwich he saw in some show on the TV and immediately became obsessed with. And after taking a bite? I knew I was home.


I almost wanted to go back into the kitchen and look for the nice smiling Vietnamese lady who always greeted me with a knowing "Pastrami?" before I confirmed her prediction and her going to work on it. Now, you may be reading this and are rolling your eyes before yawning and consoling with the local hipster pastrami elite, but for this food guy, this rolly polly writer and lover of all things pastrami, the Red Garter does it old school correctly. Sorry, but their pastrami sandwich is now my birthday treat, as my wife and I watch one of the various o.g. Star Wars movies on the back wall of our favorite bar, and it always takes me back to a more innocent and (palate wise) simpler time.

It might not be the most perfect pastrami in Tucson, but it is perfect for me thanks.

That being said, I want to thank the early Romanians for coming up with the idea and recipe for pastrami and the Kosher sorcerers that made it what it is today. Thank you all the deli kings and queens for assembling and delivering delicious sandwiches to my salivating mouth and to all the future pastrami masters yet to feed me.

Thank you pastrami. You've always been there for me...

Honorable Tucson mentions for pastrami go to: The Sausage Shop, the Sausage Deli, that one time offer at Old Chicago, Daggwoods (rip), Kappy's and Tony's Italian. You guys rock. Cheers!



Photo Archives, Scanning and Typing
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Late January, 2016

Metal Influence:

Anthrax

"Belly of the Beast"

Bar Food or Pub Grub. Whatever. It's the best food in town.

The best food in town? Go to a bar...

One thing that celebrity chef and author Anthony Bourdain has championed is the non-demonizing of street food and pub fare. The guy has literally eaten at the best restaurants, with some of the best chefs, in the world!, but yet he still craves meat on a stick served by a humble cart vendor more than any truffle infused foie gras or some molecular gastronomy puzzle with aromatic foams that you have to figure out before stuffing it into your maw .

That other guy, Andrew Zimmern, just likes to eat penis and balls. 

Thing is, honest people like honest food. Sure, I crave a coursed meal now and then. I like presentation and complex flavors with clever sauces and new fusion ideas. Who doesn't? If you like to eat, much like I do, you gotta break the wallet now and then and treat yourself to some 4 star luxury.

But that's on the rare occasion. Me?, I love hearty and fun food. Hands down. Heck my good pal Tavish the other day, while munching on a rotisserie turkey sandwich I made for She-Ra, blithely exclaimed “I could eat sandwiches everyday. No doubt about it. Best thing ever.” And, you know what? He's right.

If you take those basic elements that most of us here in the States hungrily crave on a regular basis, put it in your favorite local pub or dive bar and, viola!, an instant recipe for success...at least in my opinion.

So, I've gone on about the wonders of Tucson and the fact that it is relatively hidden from the rest of the culinary world. Oh sure, they may know about the Sonoran hot dog and, yeah, they watched Adam Richman on Man vs. Food conquer the OMFG burger at Lindy's on 4^th, but what about Acacia at St. Phillips Plaza? Did you know that executive chef Albert Hall has won multiple awards for his savory cioppino and the fact that the salmon, which he bronzes in a sweet honey pecan glaze, is flown in from a lake in Scotland? Oh yeah. That guy and place rules. Or that Pastiche, outside of its world influenced menu, has, literally, the best mac and cheese plate ever? You put gouda and bacon in anything and I'll eat it. Thing is, eating in Tucson is so much fun and I have found three distinct bars that have some of the best food in town.

Let's check it out...

First up is the Boondocks Lounge. Now, if you live in Tucson and drive or bike or walk or stumble anywhere near midtown, you know the Boondocks. Its that place with the big wine bottle that says...Boondocks Lounge. It's around 1^st and Ft. Lowell. You cant miss it. I know you've seen it.

Now, the Boondocks, outside of being a full service bar with live music most nights, is home to the Range Riders Grill. Nothing fancy, nothing we aren't fully familiar with, the Range Riders Grill offers up some of the tastiest vittles in and around Tucson. The burgers are huge, juicy, hot and can come served with a fried egg on it, a red wine reduction or even peanut butter. Their sandwiches are just as amazing. She-Ra's favorite is the 'Velocifero' which features thick smoked bacon, turkey, sauteed onions and Swiss cheese which is then grilled on rye bread. Me? Well, if I'm not chowing down a guacamole burger, I love their club sandwich which is piled high and paired so well with a cold frosty mug and a game of Battleship So freaking good.

And on Fridays? You have to go in for their fish fry. Huge portions of battered cod served with fries and down home coleslaw for like 6 or 7 bucks. Unreal. Plus they serve breakfast everyday (except Monday) till around noon serving up flapjacks, scrambles, omelets, huevos rancheros and french toast. Trust me here, the Boondocks rocks!

And their wings? Ugh. I usually judge a place by the quality of their hot wings. Once we bit into their, we knew we were hooked. Every time they come to the table or bar we must look like a couple of ravenous cannibals; mouths literally covered in bright orange Buffalo sauce and a basket full of sucked to the marrow bones.

Now, this find and curiosity lead us even further down the way from our safe haven of our neighborhood. And if you know us, we really don't like to travel very far for food or drinks. It's usually in a good half mile radius that we can usually be found dining and wining. But we ventured out to North Oracle after hearing that the hidden, yet conveniently located, dive Joe and Vicky's served up some great pub grub.

We thought we'd start with something simple. So we got nachos. If you know She-Ra, then know this – the woman loves nachos. It was late afternoon after doing a bunch of errands and a beer and a plate of cheesy chip goodness sounded nice. When the nachos arrived, I felt like Sylvester Stallone in “Cliffhanger”. It was the K2 of nacho land. “This?”, I think I cried out. “Is a snack?” It was supposed to be an early appetizer before dinner, which we planned on cooking and eating in an hour or so. That meal got pushed back till 10pm. Why? Because we're dumb and we ate the whole friggin thing.

Joe and Vicky's also has fish specials, bountiful burgers, yummy sandwiches and the usual suspects you'd expect in a bar food line up. They are all hearty, delicious and worth enduring during karaoke night. I didn't even care that this guy was murdering (and not in a good way) “Margaritaville”. I was face down in my meatloaf and garlic mashed potatoes. I couldn't hear him. My stomach was singing for me (in the good way).

You so have to go on Mondays and do their “All you can eat” tacos. What better way to end the most grumbled-about day then a non-stop taco orgy in a funky yet cozy place while watching the Wildcats lose? Sounds good to me. But, check this out:

One night we were craving Chinese food (or for those Dude Where's My Car? Fans “Chinese Fooooooood”) and there's a great place next door to Joe and Vicky's. While we waited for our order, we popped in for a drink while we waited. Once settled in, I looked up to see what their dinner special was (oh, I forgot to tell you, they have nightly specials) and I was regretful in my wanting of kung pao chicken when I saw written in dry erase marker: Wasabi crusted pork loin with seasonal vegetables and cheddar marbled twice baked potato. You have got to be kidding me? That is served here? So, your job is to not make the same mistake we did.

Just order food at Joe and Vicky's and leave the kung pao for later.

Last on the list (even though I know there is more out there, so stay tuned for our tummy rumble inspiring finds) is a place that we were just at recently and actually holds a pretty special place in both of us. Right next to the Loft Cinema, across from Rum Runner and Chuy's, at Country Club and Speedway, is a place that some refer to as “the Gutter”. It's actually called The Red Garter and used to be a much more rough and tumble establishment. In fact, it was one of the first bars I went to when I moved to Tucson. Let me tell you, this was a year before the AZ smoking ban in bars so the place was choking in a swirl of cigarette smoke clouds. I nearly died. Dude, I'm from California. I wasn't used to this. But luckily the laws changed as did the ownership.

Now it still looks the same, a little cleaned up, but one thing for sure, they got themselves one of the best cooks in town who is a grill and fry basket wizard. This guy must weigh around 400lbs and can only be seen once in a great long while. To catch a glimpse at the genius behind a fantastic homemade spicy wing sauce, that is slathered on thick and generous wings and drumettes, or the BBQ beef, is like waiting to see if the Do-Do bird will emerge from it's nest and stretch its wings in the bright morning fairy dust sun. I, honestly, have only seen his back. And, oh!, what a back it is. Not to be rude, but he obviously takes pride and samples of his culinary handiwork.

Once again, the burgers. Unreal. How many adjectives and anecdotal whimsies can I conjure up to describe meat between buns? I don't know. I honestly don't care. But recently, on a chilly night after running around the greater parts of Tucson in search of decorations and giveaways for an upcoming work related party, we stopped in, cold and starving, and ordered food. She-Ra got the wings (you just have to) and the steak fingers. If you know what Lucky Wishbone is then, look out Lucky Wishbone! This guy has you beat. I was nearly half dead from the recent goings-on at work, which has our kitchen turned upside down with new systems and organization while at the same time dealing with an upcoming and daunting new menu rollout, and I just wanted a burger. I got the BBQ sauce with bacon and cheddar and a side of spicy curly fries. I'm not gonna lie to you here, I was silent in my ravaging of the items that filled the large wicker basket, as tears of near thankfulness and appreciation welled up in my quivering half mast eyes. That and the sauce was rather tangy. As were the curly fries.

I have never had a poor meal or snack at the Garter, and I suspect that I never will. That is, as long as the stout prestidigitator behind those closed flap doors keeps churning out the bar bite mastery that he has been in all of his glorious secrecy.

Plus, and here's where it gets good, for our 4 year anniversary, She-Ra ordered to-go from the Garter: 2 pastrami sandwiches, which we ate while watching The Empire Strikes Back on the back wall at Dannys. Now, I am a pastrami purist, a whore even, and I will be wrought to tell you flat out “This sandwich is amazing” or “You ruined my lunch. Worst...pastrami...ever. Now I have to kill you!” And there are a few places in town, one that claims to be “just like New York” and “Kosher” but couldn't be farther from the truth, that claim good pastrami, and I've had a few, but there is one here in Tucson that I always return to. You want a good, honest, broiled, piled mile high and real pastrami sandwich? Go to the Red Garter. Tell 'em Metal Mark sent you. Sure, they'll look at you, shrug and mutter “Who?” but if word gets back to the chef de grande le sorcerer I know he'll perk up his meaty head and perhaps crack a brief smile. Only because I've spoken to him.

In my dreams.

Well, kids, there you have it. Three of my current top picks for amazing bar food and pub grub...or whatever you wanna call it. If you have any suggestions of your own, just contact me and I will be there sucka. Why?

Because. Dude...I'm so hungry right now.