When a neighborhood comes together.

For about ten years now I have called Tucson home. Having moved from the rent insanity and trivial bustle of San Francisco (where I lived for twelve years), I enjoy the laid back pure eccentricity of this, the lil desert hamlet that could. The people are genuine, the cost of living is very doable, the dive bars are real dive bars and have yet to be scavenged by neo-hipsters (but I do see it unfolding before my eyes...) and the food is some of the best I have ever had. Living on the coast of California my whole life I thought I knew what "real" Mexican food was and tasted like. Not until I move here mister. That initial bite of a Sonoran hot dog the first full day I was here I knew I was hooked. My food appreciation had become a food obsession and 20+ pounds later, post five years as a chef and now writing this blog, my love of eating and cooking has only increased by my belt line.

Thing is, and here is something I have noticed about Tucson: neighbors don't really know their neighbors. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but it seems that folks do their thing, come home and lock the doors. Or...maybe that's just She-Ra and me. Sure we know one or two names of people that live near us, but for the most part they just have nick names like "Crazy Ambulance Driver Guy" and "Nice Bald Lesbian". It's not like we're anti-social, far from it, we both work with the public for our day jobs and immediately there after you can find us in one of our local pubs chatting it up with the regulars and bartenders. But when it comes to actual home time, we lock the gate and shut the real world out. It is glorious.

When I was a kid growing up in the suburban bliss that was Glendale, CA, a neighborhood-y division of Los Angeles, my dad and I pretty much knew the names of all that were in the immediate vicinity. There were holiday parties, birthday picnics, summertime cookouts and, most importantly, annual block parties hosted by our friends and neighbors and, sometimes, us. These were events that we didn't even think about; they just were and you just attended. It was fun, a healthy retreat for new and longtime residents of your tiny universe and ones that we looked forward to and even extensively planned for.

But as time moved on, technology began to take over and the idea of a neighborhood block party faded into hard bound photo albums and scrapbooks. So were my memories of Mr. Greenstein burning the hot dogs that one year, or when it began raining so hard during an outdoor function that we all huddled on the Babinski's porch and the kids watched the adults get drunk on Michelob, or the time my buddy Mike put mirrors on his shoes so he could look up Brook Hill's summer dress. Stupid things like that. Thing is, those times created dusty photographs and reminiscence that I will never be able to recreate. So when some friends of ours decided to bring the art of the block party back, the Tucson Homeskillet was there and ready to relive those golden moments of neighborly good will.

Nestled near the Winterhaven area of Tucson, the first annual 'Scorchin' Pig Roast' was the brain child of proud parents and proud new homeowners Debby Riccard and John "Gonzo" Gonzales. Their idea was to bring their friends, family and neighbors together for, what they thought was going to be, a one time big time old fashioned block party.

Let's see, umm...yes please!

"We I had been thinking of having a Pig Roast for a long time to get all of our family and friends together," says Gonzo as he balances not only a child but a margarita. "One morning we decided that we wanted to have one and said 'lets text people now and see if they are interested'.  We received enough immediate response and decided at that moment that we would have the pig roast.  I immediately developed a rather basic website and invitation to the pig roast....and the rest followed." 

Ears, snout and jowl...best part of the pig!

Well, let me tell you, She-Ra and I are very grateful to be friends with Deb and Gonzo because this first annual event was a smashing success. It really brought me back to yonder days of outdoor fiestas with old and soon to be friends. Kids were splashing in the pool, bands were playing, people were laughing and, most importantly, everyone was eating the bounty of pit cooked pig.

You...have no idea.

"We thought the aura of a Pig Roast was a way to bring more people together," said Debby trying to find a place to sit and eat, "and there were also some traditional ties to John's family as his mother is from Caguas, Puerto Rico."

My first plate, about to be demolished...

See, I'm not just writing about some friends that threw a decent party one night and the food was okay. No, it goes beyond that. This event is a rarity in a time where folks just don't seem to know or even trust their neighbors anymore. Now, I'm not trying to spout some atavistic Mayberry crap but...on the other hand, so what if I am? What's wrong with having some friends and neighbors come over once a year, everyone bringing a little something to the party, and for just one moment we put down the phones and turn off the video games? I like Mayberry. Who doesn't like Mayberry?

Honestly, when they told me about this event I immediately saw some potential for a sort of throwback Homeskillet article, one that can encourage fellow Tucsonians (or...Tucsonans? Which one did we decide on?) to possibly get some inspiration from Deb and Gonzo and throw our own block party. 

It can happen! I have faith in you Tucson...

If only this blog had Smell-O-Vision...

"In this day and age I think it is more difficult for everyone to imagine having a block party," notes Gonzo, looking almost a little disappointed. "Society as a whole can be a more dangerous place and more and more people are enveloped in technology and locked in their homes.  No one takes the time to go outside and realize they are a part of a world called Earth.  If neighborhoods would take the time to get involved and reach out to each other, have a party or get together annually or semi- annually, we could revive the block party or at the very least create a friendly community."

Amen!

Had to take a break from plate #2...

Okay, this is a food blog so I'm gonna get into the food here. 

The pig was amazing. They slow cooked this thing in a hand built "pit" that was actually ground level so the walls came close to about 3 or 4 ft, smoked in a combo of charcoal and mesquite wood. The ears, snout and jowls, my favorite part!, were crispy and decadent. The fatty ratio to the rest of the hog was pretty large, as expected, so cutting it with a sweet or tart thick sauce really brought it together. It was delicious as it was or when I made a pulled pork sandwich on a fluffy pretzel roll. 

And roll is what I did when it came time to leave... 

Where the action all took place

The smoke point on this wood is simply magical

"We had to really dig deep to prepare for the first annual Pig Roast," sites Deb explaining the preparation to develop such a gala as this, "as we had never thrown one before and we wanted it to be successful and have one each year to follow.  We used excavators to tear out trees that we had cut down, we laid tile (not 100% finished by party time) in the living room and kitchen, networked with friends to borrow things such as the kegerator, a large canopy, musicians, assistance in building the pit and the margarita machine just to mention a few. Landscaping was done in the back yard and tables, chairs, and trash cans were rented. So, yeah, not easy and not cheap."

Neighbors digging on the tunes and food coma...

But was and is it all worth it, I had to ask.

"Oh yes!" was the resounding answer.

Still not too sure what a 'horny pickle' is...

Here's the thing. The first annual Pig Roast was held, and will probably be held, the first Saturday in August. Now, for those that may not know, or don't frequent Tucson in mid/late summer, that time of year is known as "monsoon season". 

Now, monsoons here in the high southwest desert are a blessing. They provide a bit of respite from the barreling heavy heat and give us some well needed rain. On this particular time, just about the moment they were to pull the pig from the steam pit, Tucson was hit with a torrential downpour. 

Like, literally, the hog was scheduled to be lifted out at 4pm...and that's when the Almighty unzipped the sky and tears of a trillion angels careened upon us at, like, 3:59pm. 

Won't let bad weather dampen the tunes or the spirits...

I was at work at the library when the pitter-patter of heavy droplets began to hit the midtown branch. From our view out the big back window, dark clouds loomed and rain drops were jutting down, cutting in sideways. 

"Oh no," I thought. "This sucks. I sure hope the pig roast is still happening. More important, I hope the pig is still happening..."

Drying off after the monsoon hit

When we arrived I asked if the sudden storm caused any problems.

"Temporarily," admitted Gonzo. "Our front large tent was in major distress, with many guests scrambling to save the tent from total destruction from the wind and rain while musicians protected their equipment.  The pig was being carved at the time and created a rather tense situation.  Initially, everyone involved was shocked.  But fortunately, it actually created a memorable event and laughs took over as everyone rebuilt the tents, drank and continued to carve the pig."

Hey...thanks!

Yes! See, it was moments like that which always made the best memories. In fact, I'm glad a random monsoon swung in and threatened to ease the good times that were being had by all. As with most monsoons, it came and went just as quickly as it had started so by the time we grabbed our first drink and plate, the tents were back up, the music was back on and the kids were playing hard as all kids should right before school is about to start.

These kids are going for U of A toss across scholarships...

After relaying some tales of block party awesome that I was privy to in my more innocent years, I just had to know if they plan on doing this annually.

"This is definitely intended to be an annual event!," Deb assures me with a mighty grin. "Our goal and intent is for this event to grow each year, and bring family and friends together each year.  How cool is it to be attending the 8th annual pig roast and realize you have new friends that you have met at the 1st annual.  Or now your eight year old is grown and remembers being at the 3rd annual playing games and meeting their new friends as well."

So awesome...

Golden rays hitting the surrounding trees...

Cool. Now I just hope some readers out there take the lead in their own neighborhood and do the same as these guys. It doesn't take much, just a little elbow grease, some cash and the help of our friends and family, related or not, to make a fun shindig for making memories that will last longer than a Snapchat photo. Because this party was one that will inspire many more to come. 

"Definitely!," piped Gonzo when I asked if Tucson should be home to more block parties such as this. "Tucson needs more event such as these for people to be a part of.  I would hope that our Pig Roast will be an extremely large even within five years." 

Just. So. Much. Food. Yes!

I mean, you don't have to do an elaborate splurge such as the Scorchin' Pig Roast, far from it. Heck, most of the block parties I went to were like hot dogs and Ms. Wong's ambrosia salad with some cheap beer and a radio. Still, somebody had the notion to be all "It's a beautiful summer day! I've got a cooler and a bar-be-que. Come one, come all. Bring the dog."

Heck, in this day and age you could do a vegan cook off and homemade beer extravaganza, or perhaps the hipsters can congregate and have an annual 'Ironic Moustache' competition and inflatable pool party or even a build a grill out of old Jenga pieces and bits of your roommate's waterbed because he hasn't paid rent in two months type of get together. 

Point is, you're getting together, with friends and neighbors, with family that you adopted and that adopted you, for one shining day and night for the purpose of "Dude...why not?" which can possibly bring us all a little closer in the time of not-too-social media. Sure, I internet most of the day, have devises and text instead of call, but I do prefer a nice lawn chair, a cold beverage, hot drippy meat of some kind served on a questionable paper plate while listening to good music over any status update or Instagram hashtag anyday. 

But....that's just me.

Beautiful sunset after a beautiful day...

When night began to creep in, when the kids began to get a little cranky and, most importantly, when the food hallucinations began to take hold, we knew it was time to call it. As we made our way out, thanking Deb and Gonzo and taking one last bite of a crispy pig ear, I couldn't help but think that even through all the years since those little get togethers in Glendale, it felt as nothing had changed. For one sparkling moment, a very well welcome deja vu set in and I couldn't help but smile. 

Yeah I'm an adult now, but just a small moment with people I pretty much had no idea who they were, became friends, just like when random neighborhood kids would skuttle in Victor's mom's Korean BBQ block party, we were pals for an instant and then we'd never see each other again. But I sure hope that's not the case for this party. 

Because I forgot to get the coleslaw recipe from that nice lady in the purple top. What was her name? Ah, it doesn't matter...

I'll see her again next year. 

Typing and Camera

"Metal" Mark Whittaker

Early August, 2015

Metal Influence

Municipal Waste, "The Art of Partying"

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUH8l1IWQaA

Culinary Crimes Against Humanity: A Hot Dog Stuffed Crust Pizza!

As you may or may not have noticed but we here at the Tucson Homeskillet are a brave/dumb lot. Eating the worst rated burrito in town, going to strip clubs for the free food...this normally doesn't equal a strong mental constitution nor sympathy for the stomach. But, whatever. If it involves interesting or unusual food here in Tucson, coming from a chain restaurant or local hub, we will rise to the challenge and give you an honest report.

Even if it (almost) kills us.

So when we got word that a long running corporate pizza operation decided to stuff their crusts with variations of depression, we took it upon ourselves to see what was going on and, more importantly, why in the name of all that is sacred are they doing this to us. I mean, we can kind of see garlic bread stuff crusts, that "almost" makes sense, but this particular blend of hate and mockery shook the food loving foundation that was built around this silly website, literally, to our core and we just had to see, and taste, for ourselves if it is and was as horrifying as it seems.

Talking about the hot dog stuffed crust pizza.

God send death!

It seems of late that the powers that be in corporate kitchens are either A) so freakin' high that they keep coming up with concoctions such as this because they have infinite resources and why the hell not or B) they are simply trying to destroy mankind.

Honestly, it seems a little of both. Perhaps this particular pizza conglomerate has some meth'd out wizard locked away in some tower somewhere where he juggles pots filled with random ingredients and high powered drugs because they keep doing this to us on a fairly regular basis.

I mean, okay, like I said before, I can kind of see a cheesy garlicky stuffed crust pizza; it's sort of in the same ballpark, aka "Italian". But to foist upon the sweaty masses a pizza crust filled with hog part tube meat just seems a little extraneous. No wonder the rest of the world hates us and our obesity rate is higher than those that graduate from college...it's because of crap like this. Am I right?

Oh well. It's food and there's a few of these places in Tucson, so...why not? Let's eat us some hot dog stuffed crust pizza shall we?

As if the mummy toe lookin' weiner nub is trying to say: "If you have any mercy, please kill me now."

So the Homeskillet gathered up at our favorite watering hole, then suckered, I mean..."enlisted" a couple of our good friends, brought with us one veggie and one peperoni hot dog stuffed crust pizzas, set them out and let loose the taste test. A few brave souls putting their life on the line just so the public can be safe from such poisonous treachery against you, your family and your butt.

God bless these soldiers sent from fooder heaven!

Anyway, here are the hot dog stuffed crust pizza eaters and their stories.

First up is:

Our favorite bartender shares a taste of the "challenging" and, shall we say, "creative" when it comes to gastro festivities with us such as ranch dressing dipped pretzels, literally anything involving meat and potato chips with flavors such as "Waffle House", "Democracy" and "Grandpappy's Shoe Horn". So, honestly, I wasn't too surprised when after she bit into it and took a bite of the hot dog crust, she made this face:

"Hmmm..."

And here is what she had to say about it:

"I was prepared for Hell to be unleashed upon my taste buds. But, instead, I got a surprisingly 'not bad' flavor explosion in my mouth. Way to up your game corporate pizza place!"

Okay. So that's one opinion so far and it was a pretty favorable one. Not bad. But what about someone that is not as adventurous or deviant when it comes to eating wacky food?

It looms, like crying children in the night...

Next up, we have:

To be honest with you Anna had no idea that she was going to be taking part in a pizza eating event. She was just here with her sister, to have a nice time, when suddenly, WHAM!, here comes a chunky 40 something year old Metalhead with a piece of greasy pizza with lil doggers crammed in the crust.

At first she was hesitant, but then she loosened up, took a bite and had this to say:

"I thought I was going to have a stroke. But it just reminded me of hot dog crescent rolls stuck to the end of a bad piece of pizza. First I ate the pizza, then I ate the hot dog bites and it was like two meals in one! Is that....good?"

It's great. Really, you all are doing so good.

Like the Emperor saying to Luke: "You...want...this?"

So far, so...not bad. It seems the first two eaters deemed the pizza "passable" if not slightly "relatively okay".

But we carry on! And next up to the greasy plate is:

For a guy who likes him some good ol' Nordic Black Metal and anything Zakk Wylde touches, JB seemed out of sorts about doing this. C'mon man! Do you think axe wielding Vikings would be a-scared of some cheese and tomato spread topped bread lined with artificial hog grindings served with a mustard dippin' sauce? (I forgot to mention that didn't I? Yeah. This noise came with a mustard dipping sauce. Sorry.)

Dogs, pizza, glop and alcohol in repose

Well, he finally gave in, ate a slice, stared out into the abyss and had this expression on his face for quite some time:

(cue ambient black vortex sound here)

JB's take on the whole hot dog stuffed crust pizza extravaganza?

A silent gaze that only read: "I am either going to kill Metal Mark for making me do this or retreat to the whispering hills where I can live in peace and religious freedom so far far away from food items such as this..."

Fair enough. So we just left JB to his own personal reassessment of all of the choices he has made in life and we move on to:

Giggling most of the time at the prospect of eating such turd-osity, Rizz was actually kind of excited to explore the furthest reaches of corporate sponsored rampage and dove in once the pizza was within her reach.

The RiZzA, going for it...

First the pizza. Then the dog slab. Then this:

Please note JB still not looking too well after his encounter with the pizza. Pray for him...

And the result?

That's the look of a woman who was about to eat poison but was happy that it was in fact not. And here is what she had to say about it:

"I really wanted to hate this and was almost certain that I would, but...I don't. What does that say about me?

I live!

"The crust was almost croissant like, not too chewy and not too doughy. The pizza was...meh. Pretty unremarkable. That being said, that's pretty much my response to most pizza being that it's pretty hard to fxxk up pizza. The dogs were terrible, visually; they looked hauntingly like cooked toes. But dipped in that hockey mustard? Not half bad. I wouldn't order it myself, but....if it was around, I'd get down on some toe crusted 'za again. Shamefully."

"See, I told you I wouldn't be that bad." Shut up pizza!

Wow. My plan to thwart the corporate hate train of drippy food muck has not gotten the results I wanted. Folks seem to dig the hot dog stuffed crust pizza, if not tolerate it. I was a little shocked. This assignment felt like an easy one, one that would have me snark my way all through the meters and set notions that a lame chain store pizza dotted with hot dog nibbles would provide enough regurgitation fodder that this whole dumb blog would be slathered with laughable bits and easy lampooning of the fare.

But, no. Not really. My friends seem to like it enough to not despise me enough because I put them through the Tucson Homeskillet "I dare you to eat this" ringer. So it seemed set, the hot dog stuffed crust pizza was not terrible. Huh.

Of course, now it was my turn:

Yep. Here I am about to bite into my first slice of the pizza. I was a little nervous (and, actually, a little hungry) but I had organized this treaty tryst and now I had to belly up to the beast and do my duty.

Which end to I start at first? Does it matter?

I ate the pizza. I ate the dogs. I dipped them in the mustard dip. I did. I ate the whole thing.

And here is my take on the whole thing:

(Note: no change of expression)

Yeah. The face says it all. The pizza is just fast food style with nibblets of franks at the end that you can tear off and eat as a separate entity or combine the two to create a haphazard monopoly of flavor crash that any half baked dorm room couch jockey would deem "not mad at this situation going on here right now."

Didn't hate it. Didn't really like it. It was and is what is was and is. So I decided to leave it at that. A shrug and a closing of the pizza box. On to the next food challenge...

But not until we get a real opinion on the whole hot dog stuffed crust pizza business. The one true overlord of all things eating that goes on within the Tucson Homeskillet.

I'm talking about:

That's right. Our cat. I set a piece in front of her and with her usual glare after I subject her to another mess of food sadness, she just looked up at me and said:

(Light meowing) Which translated to:

"Tonight, when you sleep, I will straight murder you."

 You're welcome Lil Poundcake. I love you too...

Camera and Typing
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Late July, 2015

Metal Influence
SLAYER, "God Hates Us All"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8lA437iOS-Y

The Tucson Homeskillet Food Truck Spotlight: Presenting the Zany Beaver!

But before I get around to answering that age old question, let me tell you how I discovered not only poutine, but one of the best food trucks here in Tucson.

It was a chilly early autumn evening, She-Ra and I were at the pub when a shiny white van pulled up outside. The bartender informed us that a new food truck had volunteered to feed the hungry and cold drinking patrons inside.

"It's poutine", said the bartender. "Ever hear of it?"

Luckily, we have. Being big time cooks and fooders, we knew it was a Canadian comfort food which consisted of fries covered in gravy and topped with cheese curds. Sounds weird right? Yeah, we thought so too. But being not only food adventurous we were also quite hungry, so we went out to the truck to see what was going on.

The truck was called the Zany Beaver, the name alone made me love them immediately. It was run by a nice middle aged couple and they not only offered up the standard poutine fare, but also ones topped with bacon, and pulled pork and chicken and bacon and....wait, did I mention bacon already? Ah, who cares! Fries, gravy, cheese and bacon. Sold! So we placed our order and waited inside.

After a few minutes, the lady working the front window delivered two heaping bowls of the stuff. From the crisp night air, steam rose off the curds and gravy, the bacon glistened in the moonlight and fresh cut fries jutted out from under the weight of the toppings like a deep fried tentacled seabeast waiting to be devoured. It didn't take long for us to fork up, tuck in and go for it.

Let me tell you...it was glorious. For some divine reason, all of those flavors and components, together, freaking worked like a magical chalice of joy and carbs. It did not take long for us to become mega fans of not only poutine, but of the Zany Beaver.

So, to answer your question, here, my dear readers, is what poutine is:

Owned and operated by Canadian native husband and wife team Craig and Dianne Brewer, the Zany Beaver became a labor of love because both of them had pretty normal jobs before running a successful food truck.

"I worked as a photojournalist for many years with weekly and daily newspapers in Tucson, and Westfield, MA, " Dianne tells me as she hands off a bowl of goodness to a lucky customer. "Ironically I had a weekly food column in Westfield, featuring family favorite recipes that I wrote on. Craig has always worked in I.T., and still does."

I then had to know what was her early influence as far as food and cooking was.

"I would say my dad was a huge influence in cooking," Dianne muses.  "I would watch him throw things together in a pinch and always come up with some amazing meals that I now realize would be classified as stir fry these days. I always loved to dabble and experiment with cooking. Eating wise, I can go far back to my grandmother’s rice pudding. It’s a British dish. To this day it’s still one of my favorite treats. Unfortunately, my grandmother and only one of my aunts took it to their grave, and no one else in the family learned how to replicate it. All my cousins and myself are still trying to figure that one out."

Have some fries with those cheese curds? Yeah man!

With Canada, currently, being a culinary hub and go to location for serious chefs and eaters, I wanted to get her take on what defines Canadian cooking.

"Many, many different dishes. I love Quebecoise tortiere," she says with a flourish and smile. "It is a special meat pie made with ground pork and other ingredients that is prepared for special occasions. There's also salmon pie, fish and chips, shepherd’s pie, butter tarts, Nanaimo bars, pouding chomage, (which defines as a poor man’s pie) and, of course, poutine!"

Of course.

Check the poutine skills. Amazing!

 When it came time to quit their jobs and open up a food truck I just had to know...why poutine?

"Why not?", Dianne reacts with a chuckle. "I watched poutine make it’s trip across Canada once it crossed the Quebec border in the 1990’s as the wave continued over to British Columbia. And as it moved down the west coast of America into California, Arizona seemed to be the logical next step."

Dianne serving up poutine realness...

 

"Poutine starts with a base of French fries, then topped with cheese curds and gravy," she informed when I asked her to define the dish to those not in the know. "Traditionally, in Quebec, this was the go to dish. As it skipped across the country, others added variants to the dish, like meat, etc., and changed the concept. It is basically translated into a mess, but it’s oh so good! Imagine a fully loaded deep fried potato as compared to fries. It’s the same concept. It means good eats with beer after a long night for those who have never experienced this."

 

Poutine fully loaded!

So now that they knew they wanted to make poutine full time, I then had to know about how the concept came about.

"We were watching a food network show on deep fried anything one night. We made a joke about many things that we could deep fry. Somehow I got onto the concept of how I missed my poutine, and it was like a light went on over both our heads, and the concept was born from there."

 

Thank you for the concept because this is incredible...

"As for the name, well, my husband had this wacky idea which I’m not even going to delve into as a start," Dianne starts with a wink and nudge. "It was a little bit too risqué for myself. It did involve the word beaver though, as the beaver is actually Canada’s official animal, kind of how the eagle is in America. I knew I wanted that in my name, to communicate to fellow Canadians here. We agonized for months trying to figure out what would work with beaver, and it wasn’t until we were lost on a business trip in Phoenix one Sunday that we saw this billboard on the Interstate 17 advertising “Zany” prices on their product. We believe we got lost for a reason on that trip, because zany just seemed to go so well with beaver, and of course, it reflects some of my personality. We loved it!"

 

And Tucson loves you!

So Dianne and Craig had a concept, they knew what they wanted to serve up and after getting a name and a truck, their day to day goes something like this:

"Crazy long days," she admits looking a bit tired just talking about it. "Lots of product planning, ordering, and prepping on the truck, then traveling to events. It takes a lot of time. Once we get to the event, it’s either very very busy, or slow. It can be a lot of hurry up and wait, or hurry up and keep that line moving. I have sometimes been up at four in the morning to pick up supplies at the local restaurant supply stores, to finish the day by midnight or even later, when we get extremely busy."

On a busy night, gotta keep the line moving, keep those dupes rolling...

The highs of owning a food truck?

"The highs are working with the foodies (and fooders!) and the enjoyment of watching people as they sample their first poutine." 

And...the lows?

"The lows are the many many hours of off-site work that not everyone is aware of in what it takes to run a small business. A food truck is a small business, it involves accounting, paying taxes, filing tax returns, bookkeeping, budget planning, and great organizational skills to keep it going, as well as looking for and confirming events. One of the major major lows is when equipment on the truck, or something on the truck breaks. It can add up in loss of income and events."

Go face deep in the poutine goodness...

So what's next for the Zany Beaver?

"We have a lot of ideas that we’re tossing around at the moment," she mentions with a knowing glance. "We’re not sure quite what direction we’re heading in though. We fancy the idea of a brick and mortar in time, but we’re not quite sure where in town it would be most successful, and if we’re willing to take that plunge. We’ll just continue to keep on trucking for now."

Zany Beaver manager Cassie (L) with owner Dianne (R)

"My favorite dish varies on any given day," Dianne admits when I asked what her favorite menu item was. "One day I want to say chicken, then I lean over to bacon, then pork. I guess you can say that the menu was based on all my very favorites. In Quebec they have a specialty deli meat called 'smoked meat'. If ever there was a favorite poutine for me that is it, but unfortunately the ingredients in the brisket inhibit the sale of that product here in America."

For now, we here in Tucson just want to thank the Zany Beaver for even being here. Poutine isn't an everyday dish (well, for some it might be, but you gotta have uncanny gastro-dynamics) but it is a special treat when you see the bright white truck with the smiling beaver on the side. On those particularly cold days here in Tucson, or you've had 5 too many to drink or you wanna bulk up for that hike up to the K2, poutine is the ideal meal to get you motivated. It is luscious, it is decadent, it is dense and it is crazy delicious. The Zany Beaver have this Canadian comfort food on lock down and will most likely be the only real poutine game in town for quite some time. 

And we here at the Tucson Homeskillet, are perfectly alright with that. 

 Sante!

Camera and Typing

"Metal" Mark Whittaker

Late July, 2015

Metal Influence

Voivod, "Rrroooaaarrr"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YRgLIq-SXEA

The Tucson Homeskillet Investigates: Free Burger Day at a Strip Club!

Let me just say this one thing: strip clubs and me just haven't gotten along in the past. It's not like I don't like them, I think they are fine but....I also think they are very bizarre.

Why, you may ask. Well, it comes down to one thing basically, something that I have wrestled with many times in the past when I have been, uh, a "patron" of certain gentlemen's clubs, one thing that I just really can't wrap my big yet little brained head around.

There are beautiful naked women dancing all over the place for your entertainment and we just have to sit there as if we are watching an infomercial.

I don't get it. How can dudes just enter a club, slap down some money and then not lose their cool when, uh, "stuff" starts happening to them? It's insane. Now, see...I personally do not want to get in trouble at certain gentlemen's clubs, knowing that most hire very large and intimidating bouncers to deal with those that lose their cool, so I tend to avoid them. BUT, there have been moments in my life, a few to be exact....okay quite a few, where I have been asked, invited or pulled into against my own will, to partake in the affairs of these mentioned certain gentlemen's clubs to enjoy the, uh, "stuff" that goes on in such establishments.

Some results have not been pretty. Let's just say that I have been kicked out twice and have run screaming from one of these arenas of hedonistic pleasures. The rest I was usually hiding behind a couch of some sort, quietly watching the events unfold as if I were a kid alone at home watching a scary movie on TV.

It's the, uh, "over stimulation" you see; I just don't cope well with it. So when this assignment started to take shape I was a little nervous going into. But, to uphold all things virtuous as a dedicated food journalist, I took this particular conquest with a manly gusto that I really did not know had in me.

First though....I would require a little help.

Metal Mark in a strip club? Yeah...he's gonna need some assistance.

The task at hand was such: I had heard that a certain gentlemen's club served up free burgers and fries every Friday from noon-7pm. Are you serious? Food? In a strip club? That's...

No, wait. If I recall, there was a certain gentlemen's club back in San Francisco (which I called home for 12 years before moving to Tucson...not the strip club, the city. Jeeze.) that actually had a chef driven menu and, like, $30 steaks. Okay, so maybe I just never put the two together. Why would I? Food...in a strip tease establishment? C'mon man. That's like having an open bar at Disneyland. Sure, the two would go great together but....is it a good idea? The notion about eating free burgers and fries in a place where, uh, "stuff" happens, nearly made my brain become a lint collector in a dryer where I scooped out the left over gray matter from the screen and tossed it into the bin.

OKAY!, I said to myself. I'll do it. But I'm going to need some help. I can't just go into a venture like this on my own. No way. It'd be weird me hiding behind a couch without a group of friends as an anchor for my weirdness. Or what if I just spontaneously combust and leave a mess for the poor employees of the strip club to clean up on a hot Friday afternoon? I'm gonna need a wingman. So, luckily, my good friend Erik, aka Chili, owner and bartender of Danny's Baboquivari lounge here in Tucson (http://www.dannyslounge.net/, 2910 E Ft Lowell Rd.) stepped up and said he would help.

He's a brave one that Chili. Give this man a gold star by his name.

So, at around 11:30 on a Friday afternoon, we met up at his bar, consumed a bit of needed pre-strip club antics medication (as noted before) and then drove out to the far reaches of Tucson to eat free burgers and fries in a place that would be writhing with half naked women.

First of all, Chili was the best choice for this assignment for various reasons. #1, he's awesome. #2, like me, he is in his 40s. #3, he is married with kids and I have been engaged for over 10 years, so, basically married. #4, he said he'd do it. And, #5, he said he would drive.

At around noon-ish we arrived at our destination and, to be quite honest with you, I was really hungry at this moment. Hopefully the free food would be a scant decent enough to quell the gurgling feed me beast that was jiggling my belly. I had heard from those that have been to places like this for the food explain that the free food is pretty bad, pretty small, and usually the, uh, "entertainment" was not A-list. In fact, from a reliable source, I had heard that if certain, uh, "entertainers" became less, uh, "inviting" they were sent here to do their penance.

But as a strident feminist (that's right, food blogging Metalheads can be feminists, just read Caitlin Moran to find out what I'm talking about here) this did not interest me. As a very heterosexual man I was a bit curious but...whatever. Free burgers and fries. In a strip club.

Let's go!

Here we are. Let's see what they got...

This particular place was pretty far from our homes in mid-town Tucson and was right next door to a run down Circle K. It was here that I began to get worried. Perhaps I was in over my head. Now I had dragged a good friend and all around nice family guy down with me. Would risking eyes, stomach and neither regions be worth a dopey article to entertain you good people who read food blogs? Man, I hope so. Because we had made the trek, made the decision and now that we were standing on the precipice of peril, the only choice was to re-ignite that husky man gusto and step inside.

O en to 7pm? Sounds tempting!

Now, here is where things get tricky. See, cameras are not allowed in these certain gentlemen's clubs. It's pretty obvious if you think about it. A dark den of salacious goings on, you think the owners and operators want a bunch of half drunk duders snapping photos all over the place? Yeah, not happening. What if the mayor was here this afternoon and we caught him red trouser'd enjoying the grinding lap sway from some lithesome glitter siren? Like I said, it aint gonna happen.

Knowing this, I had emailed the establishment a few times saying that I was a food reporter doing a take on the free food that is served up in sin mills such as this, but I never got a response. Huh.

As we entered the place the first thing we were hit with was how dark it was. The foyer was only lit by the front door (which was the back door actually...) when it opened or the occasional beam of light that came our way from the disco like main area just a few steps down. We were frisked, we had a metal detector swipe over us, our i.d.s were scanned and processed. Man, these guys don't fool around. Kinda shows you what we are up against. I then told the doorman that we were here from the Tucson Homeskillet and we had emailed the management a few times saying that we would need to take photos of the free burgers and fries. The young man look confused, but after handing him one of my business cards, he said he'd contact a manager and see what he could do.

That was good enough for us. So after passing all of the pre-entrance tests, we made our way down the few steps, into the club and sat at a table.

Chili: a man who is ready for anything...

Our table was front and center of the stage. This particular place was not all that big; only one main stage with a smattering of tables and chairs throughout surrounding it, almost stadium style. A full bar was off to the right and was busy with servers and patrons crowing it. At 12pm on a random Friday afternoon in Tucson, the joint was jumping just a bit more than anticipated. It wasn't busy by any means (I could only imagine what this place is like at midnight, that's when the questionable "all you can eat taco bar" starts up. Yikes...) but there were guys seated and ready all around.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness that was cut with lazers, strobes, pinwheels and black light, I noticed that the setup wasn't as skeevy as had been implemented. It seemed clean, it seemed rather un-scary, in fact, it was kind of cozy. The chairs were soft and comfy, the servers were nice and, well, articulate, and the performers were like Cirque du Soliel but topless and with a pole. I began to relax. Perhaps I wont freak out and need some couch to shield me from the happenings squelching before my eyes.

Mainly because I couldn't find a couch. So...there's that.

Metal Mark + strip clubs, usually = not awesome...

When our drinks arrived I informed our server what we were here for and that I would need to take pictures. She seemed fine with it but would still have to get the okay from the manager.We ordered the free burgers and fries and awaited a response from the manager. At this time I went to the restroom, when I returned Chili leaned in with some information.

"Hey, so I found the manager," he said over the pounding psuedo-Metal blaring from the house PA, "and he didn't seem too happy about taking pictures. I don't know. It may not happen."

Crap, I thought. How am I to convince the Homeskillet reading public that we actually ate free burgers and fries in an actual strip club without photo proof? I mean, like all 3 or 4 readers out there will not be convinced if I can't get photos of the free burgers. It'll just seem like two 40 something dudes going to a nudie palace and then claiming they ate free stuff.

Nope. I had to get photos.

It took a while but I finally got the attention of what I assumed was a manager. He had on a tie and wore an ear piece while carrying a clipboard. Seemed managerial. I then explained why we were here, that I had been emailing them for a while, then after I handed him my business card he seemed to relax a bit and go along with the gag. The manager claimed that the burgers were "Some of the best in town!", which made me even more excited than I currently was at this juncture. So I sat back down, enjoyed another round as the "artistry" that was unfolding before us on the circular stage near by.

After a while the food arrived. And, to be honest with you, even in the disorienting flashing light near darkness, the burgers looked pretty good. Bigger than I thought. The server placed a basket of freebie goodness in front of us and it was then that I had to ask if I could take pictures of them.

"Yeah, sure," she said super casually. The manager guy then returned to our table, patted me on the back and said go ahead and take some pictures. I fumbled for my phone, opened the camera mode and took a picture. The first one I got was so dark you couldn't even make out an outline. Rats, I thought. This is a total bust. They'll never let me take flash photography here, even with all the flashing (of lights) going on all around us.

"No, go ahead and turn on the flash," manager said. "You need to get your picture."

So I did. And glory be, these are what the free burgers look like at the strip club:

Ladies and gentlemen...free strip club burgers!

Not too bad right? They were quarter pound burgs with onions, pickles, tomatoes and cheese. Chili and I were dutifully impressed. So we fixed them up to our liking, tucked in and then took a bite.

The result? They were pretty tasty. For reals, the free burgers at the strip club were actually quite good. It wasn't the greatest sandwich I had ever had but considering the location, the fact that they were free, what was going on the stage and all around us, the sensory overload took over and made me go "Mm-mm. This is a tasty burger!"

Here's the thing. Not only were the burgers and fries free but we also got in for free. How did that happen you might ask? Well, in the back of the Tucson Weekly, there is an ad for the establishment and with it a coupon that reads "Free Admission With This Ad". Chili and I both had those lil pieces of paper in our pockets and before we even entered the club, we presented the door guy with them and after the frisking and metal detecting, we got into the club for free.

Free admission. Free burgers and fries. At a strip club.

Why is not every dude aware of this! I'm telling you, if you are over 21, have means to get out to Golf Links and Wilmot on a Friday afternoon, have enough cash for a drink or two, cut out that coupon from the Weekly...you will get into a strip club for free and be fed free burgers and fries. God bless the frikkin' USA.

With that said, at first I wasn't going to reveal where we went because I thought I would be bashing the food, place and the, uh, "entertainment", but after our awesome experience I am proud to say that Raiders Reef (aka the boat that don't float) was a lot of fun.

A good time was had by all. Well, at least Chili and Metal Mark...

After we finished the burgers and another round, we had realized that we were there for over 3 hours. How did that happen? With no lights, no clocks and, well, "things" going on all around, we got distracted, quite easily, and had to pack it in. Chili had some family get away to attend to and I was going to go to Raiders Reef "sister" club, Curves, to get another free burger to round out this assignment.

The thing was...I was full! I'm not kidding. Those burgers and fries filled me up. Holy moley, I was impressed. So after dropping me off at the bar, I got in my car, drove home and took a post free burger and fries at a strip club nap. I'm pretty sure I dreamt of an endless meat and glitter buffet only to wake up and inform my wife She-Ra that I was okay and had made it out alive.

Something almost persuaded me to go back to the club, knowing there was more free food to consume, more "entertainment", all in a cool dark time vortex where I could just while away the hot after noon in the Sonoran desert.

Instead I hung out with the cat, watched "The Muppet Movie", all the while feeling glad I didn't freak out with a belly full of free meat and potatoes.

All was right with the world...



                                       Raiders Reef: 6475 E. Golf Links Rd, Tucson, AZ

 http://raidersreefaz.com/cms/

Camera and Typing
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Mid July, 2015


Metal Influence
Melvins, "Honey Bucket"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hp5r9qwqpPc