Tag Archives: food

Flying for Food

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Mike tries to arrange a group outing for lunch.

We were at Stan’s house on Saturday afternoon when Mike said, “Let’s go fly together somewhere tomorrow.”

Stan’s wife, Rosemarie, and Dave, another local pilot, were there. Stan flies a Cessna 182 and Dave just got a second plane, an RV-4, that he needed to build time in before he could take up passengers. Mike is half owner of a Grumman Tiger.

What followed was a discussion of various responsibilities the next day. We finally decided to meet at the airport at 1 PM and fly somewhere for lunch. The “somewhere” wasn’t decided.

On Sunday morning, during breakfast, Mike and I started to discuss where we could fly. We brainstormed and came up with a list of airports within flying distance that had restaurants nearby:

Restaurants on Field:
– Prescott
– Falcon Field (2!)
– Payson
– Kingman
– Deer Valley
– Glendale
– Scottsdale
– Chandler
– Winslow (weird hours)

Restaurants within walking distance:
– Seligman
– Valle
– Chiriaco Summit (CA)

Restaurants within free shuttle distance:
– Parker (restaurant at the casino)
– Bullhead City (restaurants across river in Laughlin)

Quite a selection. (Note that Wickenburg isn’t on this list. Why someone with a few bucks doesn’t build a restaurant on the field is beyond me. I know why I don’t do it: I’ve already been through the employer nightmare in Wickenburg and have learned my lesson.)

Sunday morning progressed. We had chores to do around the house. We even cleaned a small part of the garage! Then Mike made the fatal error of attacking the mistletoe that had begun killing some of our mesquite trees. (Mistletoe is a parasitic plant and, if not periodically cut out of the trees it infests, it’ll kill the trees.) It was hard work that required him to stand in awkward positions with a heavy saw over his head. After 45 minutes of that, he was too tired to do anything. Including fly.

That didn’t bother me. I wanted to fly anyway. I felt pretty confident that I could get to the destination around the same time as the two planes. Zero-Mike-Lima cruises at 110 knots, but I could easily push it to 120 knots with only two people on board. I’d already called Jim to invite him to join us with his Hughes 500c. Although he wasn’t sure he would, it would be nice to have two helicopters with the two airplanes. I was hoping we’d go to Falcon Field; I really love the Italian restaurant, Anzio’s Landing, on the southeast end of the runway. And there’s plenty of parking right out front.

By the time we got to the airport at 12:40 PM, the wind had kicked up a bit. It was blowing across the runway at about 8 to 10 knots. Airplane pilots don’t like crosswinds. When no one had arrived by 12:55, I got the feeling that Mike’s plan wasn’t going to become a reality.

Jim was already there, working on his Beech 18. He bought the Beech a few months ago in Florida and managed to leak 10 gallons of oil from one of its engines on the ferry flight back to Arizona. Since then, he’d been working on finding and fixing the leaks. He thought he had it taken care of when he flew out to Blythe for some touch-and-goes the other day, but the left engine was still oozing. A bad O-ring on one of the cylinders. He has to pull the cylinder to fix it. In the meantime, he’s begun pulling just about everything else. Last month, he pulled out the floor and replaced it. He’s now waiting for new runners on which to mount the rear seats. Yesterday, when we arrived, he was pulling instruments out of the panel and rearranging them in more logical positions. His helicopter was not at the airport. His wife, Judith, had already said she didn’t want to come with us, so Jim had decided to work on the Beech — something he could probably do for the rest of his life if he wanted to.

Stan and Rosemarie drove up right around 1 PM. I was talking to Jim when they pulled up, so I missed the beginning of their conversation with Mike. But the end result was that they’d come with us in the helicopter. Dave wasn’t coming. So a flight that started with potentially four aircraft ended up with just one.

Of course, with the helicopter, the list of dining opportunities increases. Helicopters don’t need no stinkin’ runway. There were at least five more places we could eat:
– The Wayside Inn, near Alamo Lake, is the destination for Flying M Air‘s “Hamburger in the Middle of Nowhere.”
– Robson’s Mining World, in Aguila, has a nice little cafe.
– Wild Horse West, near Lake Pleasant, has great burgers.
– The Kofa Cafe, out in Vicksburg Junction, used to be very good, but I haven’t been back since my first experience with the new owner.
– A truckstop on I-10 south of Vicksburg has a dirt strip out back where you can land and not dust the truckers.

Mike wanted to go to the Wayside Inn, so that’s where we went. You can read all about it in another blog entry. The food ain’t bad and the atmosphere is definitely different, especially if you live in a big city and don’t have much exposure to an off-the-grid lifestyle.

We flew by way of Robson’s, which was pretty quiet that afternoon. Robson’s big anniversary celebration is coming up on the first Saturday in January, and I think they get more visitors in that one day than they get all year long. I do helicopter rides out there during the event and it’s always a lot of fun. Then we followed Ballard Wash (I think) from its narrow start almost all the way to Alamo Lake. I circled the Wayside once, trying to find a flag to judge the wind, then realized there wasn’t much wind there and just set down in my usual spot near the intersection of two dirt roads and the old, unmaintained dirt strip. (If you ever fly out there in a small plane, I recommend landing on the road rather than the strip; it’s a lot smoother and better maintained.) I kicked up a huge cloud of dust that drifted to the east as I cooled down the engine and shut down.

We crossed the road and went into the restaurant. Everyone at the bar looked at us. “I knew it was you,” the waitress said.

“Yeah, well…” I said. Everyone laughed.

We had lunch among the fish photos and trophies. The place was relatively quiet. The last time we’d been in there with helicopters, a crowd had gathered and the restaurant was completely full. I guess having four helicopters and a plane parked outside is a bit of a draw to the locals. But that day it was just us and a man eating at the bar. A few people came and went.

We paid up and left. As I started up, a few people in ATVs parked at the end of the dirt strip, facing us, ready for a show. They were not rocket scientists. Not only had they parked right in front of me, forcing me to depart in a different direction so as not to overfly them, but they were close enough to get seriously dusted when I took off. I took off to the northwest, along the road to Alamo Lake.

We did a tour of Alamo Lake, then the Santa Maria River, and then Date Creek before heading into Wickenburg. It had been a nice little outing — even if we were the only aircraft to participate.

131 Passengers

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Maria Speaks Episode 16: 131 Passengers.

This episode is straight from my blog, Maria’s WebLog. It discusses how I spent the last weekend in October. It wasn’t a typical weekend.

Transcript:

It all started during a conversation with Tom at Gold Coast Helicopters in Glendale about 10 days ago. He mentioned that they were going to be giving helicopter rides at the Thunderbird Balloon and Air Classic. That’s a huge annual event that includes balloons, warbirds, aerobatics, rides for the kids, and all kind of vendors. The event usually draws over 100,000 people and it lasts from Friday afternoon through Sunday afternoon.

“You flying the JetRanger?” I asked.

“No, just the R22.”

An R22, as you may know, is a 2-place helicopter. I owned one for about four years. It’s a great little helicopter, but it has one big drawback: it can only accommodate one passenger. That’s the main reason I sold mine and bought an R44, which can accommodate three passengers.

“You’re going to lose a lot of business to couples and families who want to ride together,” I warned, knowing this firsthand. It was a frustration I used to deal with regularly.

What followed was me suggesting that I bring my R44 down and fly with them to take groups of 2 or 3 passengers. I had already tentatively planned to spend Saturday of that weekend in Congress, doing rides at the Trading Post there. But that was tentative and could be easily changed. Tom and I talked money and decided on a reasonable number. Then he told me he’d ask Bill (the owner) and get back to me.

He called the next day. I was up at Howard Mesa, waiting for the gas guys to arrive, and my cell phone battery was getting low. So we kept it short. Bill had said yes. I should come down and meet with them Thursday before the show.

I flew down to Glendale on Thursday and met Tom face to face for the first time. He let me fly their R22 to the other side of the ramp to reposition it — the first time I was at the controls of an R22 in nearly a year. (I didn’t embarrass myself.) We talked business. We talked people in the business. We knew a lot of the same people and a lot of the same stories that went with them.

He told me to come back on Friday for a meeting at 1 PM. The air show was starting that afternoon. I should tell the controller I was with the show. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t let me land on the ramp.

I was back the next day with my banners and signs and scale. I wasn’t sure what the GC guys had, so I brought along some of my gear. I had two yellow banners that said “Helicopter Rides” in big letters and some plastic signs that said “Helicopter Rides Today.” I also had my original A-frame sign that said “Helicopter Rides” with an arrow on both sides. I didn’t bring the flags.

I didn’t need the flags. GC had an excellent location for selling tickets. Their JetRanger and their other R22 was parked right in front of the terminal on the ramp. They had an EZ-Up set up between them with a table. My yellow banners decorated two sides of the EZ-UP and my A-frame sign went out in the aisle between booths, pointing in. It was a nice setup.

The airport was packed with other static displays of aircraft, as well as booths for food, aviation-related items, and a few simple rides for the kids. On the north end of the ramp was a parking area for the warbirds that would be participating in the air show. Beyond that was a ramp where 2 F-16s waited for their turn to fly.

There was some confusion, at first, over where we would base the helicopters. The place we thought we’d use was inside “the box” — the area set aside for aerobatics use. But we hopped in Tom’s car and drove around the airport, looking for another place. We found four. The best of the possibilities was right next to the F-16s. We went back and asked all the necessary people — five of them, I think — if it was okay to operate there. Then we talked to the Air Boss, who would be running the show while the airport was closed to traffic, and told him what we’d do. He assigned us call signs of Ride-Hopper-One (me) and Ride-Hopper-Two (the R22) and told us all he wanted to know was when we were departing and when we were returning. “Otherwise, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”

F-16sWe had no problem with that. I repositioned my helicopter to the north end of the ramp and set it down beside the two F-16s.

Heritage FlightThe airport closed at 3 PM and the Air Boss took over. A bunch of the performers took turns practicing their routines. It was mostly aerobatic stuff. The kind of flying that makes you wonder why people think helicopter pilots are crazy. These guys, purposely inverting their aircraft and letting it go out of control in tumbling dives are the ones who are crazy. But it was pretty cool to watch, as long as you didn’t try to think yourself into the cockpit. There was also a bunch of tight formation flying, including a flight with the F-16 and two other fighters: the Heritage Flight. (Not a bad shot with my new camera, huh?)

The gates opened to the public at 4 PM.

I did two flights that afternoon with 2 passengers each. The route was about 12 miles round trip. I’d take off from the ramp and follow the power lines between the Glendale and Luke airspaces. Then I’d either go northwest along Grand Avenue to Bell Road or continue north toward Sun City (which is laid out in a bunch of circles that look pretty cool from the air). Then I’d loop around to the right or left and come back pretty much the same way I’d left. The ride ranged from 8 to 12 minutes. GC helicopters was selling them for $45 per person, which I thought was a little high. (I was eventually proved wrong.)

We did rides while the air show was going on. Since we never crossed into the performance area, there was no danger. It was really weird to see a performer’s smoke trail on the return flight to the airport. We also did rides during the brief period when they reopened the airport to regular traffic. One time, on the second day, the Spitfire, which had to make a right traffic pattern during performances, flew over us. My passengers loved it. Late that afternoon, the GC guys brought their R22 over and I think they did a bunch of rides, too.

Balloon GlowThen the sun set and the balloon pilots started setting up for the big evening event: the desert glow. By 6:30, 19 balloons were floating right over the taxiway, using their burners to light up the night. The ramp was open to the public and thousands of people were wandering around right beneath the massive envelopes. It was magic.

I flew home in the dark, disappointed by the amount of work I’d done. Four passengers was not enough to even cover my transportation costs.

The next day — Saturday, October 29 — was distinctly different. Mike and I blew out of Wickenburg at 5:30 AM to arrive at the airport by 6 AM. It was dark in Wickenburg — especially dark since a power outage had affected the airport and none of the lights there worked. But I took off into the dark and soon saw the glow of Phoenix ahead. At 6 AM, I was three miles outside of Glendale. I made a radio call, which was answered by airport management. They told me the airport was closed. I told them I was part of the show. They told me to use caution when I landed.

I set down between the R22 and 2 F-16s again. The rent-a-cop the Air Force had hired to watch their birds overnight was standing exactly where he’d been the night before.

The balloons were already inflating for their morning flights. This was when the balloon owners actually made money — they sold hour-long rides as part of the show. Mike and I had taken a balloon ride back in New Jersey at an event like this years ago. It was expensive but something everyone should experience at least once.

Balloon ClassicI started flying at 7 AM, when the balloons were just lifting off. They drifted to the west-northwest, toward Luke Air Force Base. My pattern was a bit more north, so although I flew between a few of them, most of them were to my south. The view on the return part of our loop was incredible — dozens of balloons hanging in the early morning sky.

I flew on and off throughout the morning. The R22 did, too. Then somewhere around the middle of the day, things got busy. I flew nonstop for several hours, taking a break for fuel and another break when the F-16s flew. (For some reason, they didn’t want us in the air while the F-16 were flying.) Just after sunset, after finishing my last ride for the day, I consulted the tiny notebook where I’d been ticking off the passengers. 84 passengers. Wow.

I had a little excitement just after that last ride. The show had included a pair of rocket powered cars that sped down the runway, drag-strip style. I was still in the helicopter, listening to the radio, when someone told the Air Boss that one of the rocket cars had gone off the runway. The Air Boss acknowledged his words, but said nothing else. The other guy came back and said, “Well, can’t you send someone down there to make sure he’s alright?”

“I have no one to send,” the Air Boss replied.

“Ride-Hopper-One is spinning with no passengers,” I said. “Do you want me to go down and take a look?”

“Could you do that?” the Air Boss replied.

“Will do.”

I took off and sped down the taxiway while thousands of spectators watched me. It was dark and my navigation lights and landing lights were on. I probably looked like a blur of lights to them. I got down to the end of the runway around the same time as a pickup truck. The rocket car was pointed on an angle to the extended centerline, about 100 feet past the end of the runway. It was upright. Someone who looked like he could have been the driver was walking around. I reported all this to the Air Boss, along with the information that the pickup truck was there to help.

“We’re sending a fire truck down there,” the Air Boss said over the radio.

I started back along the runway. “The car is upright and there’s no smoke or flames,” I added.

I came back to my parking space on the ramp, set down, and shut down.

Mike and I watched the balloon glow together, walking among the balloons. It was still going on when we climbed back into Zero-Mike-Lima and went home. The next day, we arrived at the airport at 7 AM. Some of the balloons were already lifting off. The day got off to a slow start for us. But by 11 AM, we were cranking. I flew nonstop for several hours, then sent in the word that I was getting seriously tired and that they should stop selling tickets. By the time I finished at about 2 PM, I’d flown another 43 passengers.

I should say here that two things really amazed me. One was that folks thought nothing of spending $45 per person to take every member of the family for a ride. Mike thinks at least a dozen of the people I flew were kids under the age of 5. How many of those kids will remember the ride? A bunch of them were really excited and happy. One little red-headed boy had a smile bigger than the Cheshire Cat’s. I’m so accustomed to people balking at $30 or $32 per person for a flight that the idea of them lining up to spend $45 on multiple family members really surprised me.

The other thing that amazed me is how good kids are at buckling their seat belts. I don’t have kids and never had. I don’t spend much time at all with kids. But every once in a while, Mike would sit a kid in the front seat beside me for a flight. I’d tell him (they were mostly boys) to reach over and get his seat belt. He’d immediately locate the buckle (not just the strap), adjust it in the strap, and fasten it. Kids did this better than adults! I even watched one sharp 6-year-old untwist the belt before buckling it. Mike says it’s because kids that age are geniuses. They absorb everything they’re taught. I wish they could stay that way.

We managed to escape from Glendale right before one of the F-16s fired up for its part of the show. I called the Air Boss as I hovered into position for departure. “Ride-Hopper-One departing to the northwest.”

“Ride-Hopper-One, proceed as requested. This will probably be your last flight until the F-16 lands.”

“This is my last flight for the day,” I told him. “I’m going home. You guys have been great. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” the Air Boss replied.

On my way back to Wickenburg, I pointed out the small herd of bison I’d spotted in a pasture less than a mile from Glendale Airport.

Fine Dining in Wickenburg, Take 2

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Mike and I enjoy a great dinner…in Wickenburg!

To the people reading these blogs — especially lately — it might seem that I spend an awful lot of time and words thinking and writing about food and restaurants. You need to understand that Wickenburg is a small town in a relatively remote area and fine dining is not something that’s in demand — or apparently understood — by the general population. Although there are restaurants where you can get a good meal, getting a fine dining experience in town is a bit tougher. That’s hard for a transplanted city girl who was accustomed to getting any kind of food she wanted any time of the day or night.

Hopefully, when they start selling all the expensive housing they’re building around town, rich people will move in and there will be enough of a demand for fine dining to open a few new restaurants. In the meantime, I’m waiting.

But last night, Mike and I had dinner at one of the town’s three remaining “American Plan” guest ranches: Rancho de los Caballeros. We’d been eating at Los Cab (as the locals call it) occasionally for the past five or more years. During that time, they underwent a change of kitchen staff, with at least three different chefs. Los Cab’s dining room is the closest you can get to fine dining in Wickenburg and sometimes it’s pretty darn close — close enough to convince me, anyway.

Last year, I was quite disappointed. Mike and I ate there three times and it just wasn’t cutting it anymore. The menu had gotten boring and the service just wasn’t what it should be.

One of my pet peeves in a fine dining restaurant is having a server or busperson address us as “you guys.” I’m talking about a greeting like, “How are you guys today?” Or a question like, “Would you guys like anything else?” I call this the You Guys syndrome. While it’s perfectly acceptable in a place like Screamers, for example, where you walk up and order a burger at the counter and they call your name when it’s done, you don’t expect it in a place that has a dress code. Yet sadly, Los Cab’s staff was suffering from the You Guys syndrome.

How are they supposed to address people, you might be asking? How about “How are you this evening?” or “Would you folks like something else?” Duh. It doesn’t take much imagination. But if the young folks that make up the staff aren’t properly trained, they don’t know they’re doing something that’s not quite up to par. So I can’t blame them.

Last night was our first meal at Los Cab this season and we were suitably impressed. Service was excellent, the menu was interesting, and the food was good. And I didn’t hear a single “you guys” during my entire meal. What else can you ask for?

I mentioned the menu. Los Cab changes its menu daily. This is because all guests staying at the ranch eat all meals there. If you’re there for five days, you don’t want to see the same menu every day. Especially since the menu is somewhat short. Last season, the chef experimented with a single menu and revolving specials, but he saw the light and switched back to the seven menu system midseason.

Last night we had the Friday menu.

I started with a mixed appetizer definitely designed for daring city slicker types — it included fried cactus, home made jerky, and grilled rattlesnake. Unfortunately, they were out of rattlesnake — it is out of season now, you know — but the jerky and cactus strips were very good. I wasn’t too keen on the dipping sauce, which tasted a bit too much like soy sauce for me. Mike had the Tortilla Soup. He said it was a different recipe and a bit spicy but good.

For our main course, I had grilled venison served with tabbouleh and pear slices. It was very good, although I think a little more sauce wouldn’t have hurt it. Mike had roast duck breast atop a smoked portabella mushroom. It was an interesting preparation — most times we’ve had duck, it’s been paired with a sweet sauce, like a cherry or orange glaze. This had a more smokey sauce that was definitely different. We shared a bottle of wine with dinner. (In case you’re wondering, it was served properly in the correct glasses.)

For desert, we shared creme brulee and something called Chocolate Lasagna. The creme brulee wasn’t my idea of a creme brulee, which is an eggy custard served very cold with caramelized sugar still hot on top. (Frank’s in the Myrtle Beach area made the absolute best when we used to do down there about 10 years ago.) This was a more pudding-like concoction served over fresh berries in a thin sugar cookie crust with vanilla creme on the bottom. Very good. The Chocolate Lasagna was chocolate cake layered with marscarpone. It wasn’t my taste, but Mike gobbled it up. Of course, we had that with coffee and tea. My coffee was very good — I’m so picky about coffee — although the bean was a bit darker roast than I prefer. At least it was brewed to the proper strength, fresh, and hot.

What’s nice is that Los Cab has a fixed price menu that includes three courses — appetizer/soup, entree, and desert with coffee. Alcohol is extra, of course, but they don’t nickel and dime you for entree accompaniments or beverages (like one Wickenburg restaurant that gives you free “dessert” — a tiny scoop of half-melted ice cream — but charges you $2 for the coffee you drink with it). And this year, Los Cab accepts MasterCard and Visa — previously it was a cash-only restaurant.

After the meal, the restaurant manager brought our check and asked how everything was. I told her it was great. We talked about last season when both she and the chef were new. She said it was like opening a new restaurant back then and that they had to work out the kinks. I told her that so far, this year was looking much better than last and that we were looking forward to coming back on other days to sample the rest of the menu.

If you live in or visit Wickenburg, you really owe it to yourself to try Los Cab’s dining room for your next special occasions. You’ll need reservations to get in. Because all guests eat at the restaurant, they open up tables to outsiders only if tables remain after all guests have been seated.

So yes, you can have a fine dining experience in Wickenburg. Thank heaven!

Plane Germs

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I fight off a cold I may have caught enroute from Boston to Phoenix.

PhotoLike most people, I hate getting sick. It isn’t just the feeling like crap part of being sick. It’s the knowing that I have so much to do and that doing any of it will exhaust me and prolong my illness. Mike and I took a vacation in Maine last week. We stayed with our friends, John and Lorna, who have a wonderful piece of property on a stream with a dam surrounded by tall trees. The weather in Maine was mostly foggy while we were there, but every once in a while, the fog would lift or clear away and we’d get an outstanding view of the New England countryside or coast.

We left on Friday for Amhurst, MA to visit Mike’s niece, Molly. The drive was wonderful through Maine, with the fog clearing out enough to make it a very pleasant drive. But when we hit New Hampshire and Massachusetts, it became overcast. By the time we reached Amhurst, it was raining. It was terribly humid on Friday — the kind of humidity that makes you sweat no matter how cool it is outside. On Saturday, it was pouring and very cool. But not quite cool enough to give me the chill I normally need to catch cold.

So it must have been the plane ride. Five and a half hours on board, from Boston to Phoenix. Stuck in coach, crammed into a window seat beside Mike on a plane too full for anyone to stretch out. I spent most of the flight reading, despite the nagging headache I’d had since the previous afternoon. I couldn’t even listen to my iPod very long. My head ached.

The air was typical airline air. Who knows where it came from or where it had been? How much of it came from outside the cabin? How much of it was laden with the germs the 100+ other passengers had brought onboard with them?Now don’t get the idea that I’m paranoid about germs. I’m not. I fully believe that everyone should expose themselves to a certain amount of germs just to keep their immune system working. That’s why I don’t go out of my way to use antibacterial soap. And I never really believed that the germs on airplanes could make you sick. To me, it sounded like just another fear fed into society by the media, which loves to keep us scared and tuned in for details.

But now I’m not so sure.

I arrived home at 10 PM on Saturday. I was fine on Sunday. I woke up a bit early on Monday — okay, so it was 4:00 AM — but felt fine. At about 7 AM, I had a nasty sneezing fit. By 10 AM, my nose was running like a faucet. By noon, my head was aching and my nose was sore from blowing it. By 2 PM, I was at the cold medications counter in Safeway, asking a pharmacist to please help me find the right medicine for my symptoms.

My condition continued to worsen. Mike made us dinner and it took me forever to eat. Ever try to swallow food when your nose is completely stuffed?At 7:30 PM, I went into the bedroom to read. I was asleep 10 minutes later.

I slept sitting up. I know from experience that a postnasal drip can give you a sore throat and cough. I didn’t want to go there. So I slept with my head up and tilted to one side. Thankfully, the nasty stuff in my nose had thickened a bit from the medication and wasn’t drippy. As I write this on Tuesday morning, I still don’t have a sore throat or cough.

But I am on medication. And I decided to take the day off to rest up. That’s the only way I’ll recover.

But why now? Why couldn’t this have happened over the summer when I was goofing off most of the time? Why does it have to happen when I’m working on a book revision and have two editors nagging me for articles? When my helicopter needs to be run up after maintenance so I can do a tour for a woman and her grandson this weekend? When I’m trying to launch a podcast and my voice is too nasal to make recordings?No need to dwell on it. I’ll just settle down on the sofa with a box of Puffs, glass of orange juice, and a good book. I’m taking today off so I can get back to work tomorrow. I’d better be at least a little better by then.

Brunch at the Princess

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Now THAT’S a meal to remember!

We spent Saturday night in Tucson after my Apple store appearance. We had a 9:05 AM flight from Phoenix to Boston and it seemed silly to drive all the way back to Wickenburg just to drive back to Phoenix in the morning.

We were actually on line for security at Sky Harbor when we decided to look at our boarding passes. That’s when we discovered that America West had changed our flight to one departing at about 1:30 PM. We were four and a half hours early for our new flight.

I hate when that happens.

Fortunately, we had a car at the airport and it was Sunday morning. Sunday morning in Phoenix means brunch to Mike and me. We normally go to the Biltmore, but we’ve been there so many times that we were interested in trying something new. I suggested the Scottsdale Princess. The information booth near baggage claim had the number. I called and made a reservation for 10 AM.

I should have been suspicious when they told me they wanted a credit card number to hold the reservation. But I just rattled it off — I use my American Express card so often the number is memorized — and hung up.

I never asked about price. After all, how much could it be? The most we’d ever spent on brunch was $55 per person at the Biltmore some years ago, when it was a very good brunch. It’s not quite as good now, but I think it’s cheaper.

We had sticker shock when we saw the sign at the restaurant’s door: $70 per person. Ouch! No wonder they get your credit card number and have a 24-hour cancellation policy. They don’t want to lose potential customers who faint away when they see what they’ll be paying. Silly people like us who don’t ask first.

But they were pouring Taitinger champagne — not the cheap junk most restaurants try to get away with at Sunday brunch. And everything looked good. I mean really good. So we went in.

Oh, how I needed an experience like this! Excellent service, from the moment we stepped up to the door. We were seated by a maitre d’ wearing a crisp, clean suit who didn’t seem the least bit put off by our ultra casual attire. He put us at a table by the window, where we could look out at the gardens. Our waiter appeared almost immediately, offering bottled water and then champagne. He offered to give us a tour of the buffet area, which extended from the restaurant’s interior out to a beautifully decorated Mediterranean looking courtyard. We decided to explore for ourselves and wandered outside.

I have never seen a brunch with as many options as this one. There were smoked and grilled meats with accompanying relishes and sauces. All kinds of smoked fish. Three kinds of caviar with all the fixin’s. Grilled vegetables. Tapas. Plain and exotic fruits. An omelet station, a crepe station, a pasta station, and a carving station — which also offered freshly grilled filet mignon, pork chops, lamb chops, salmon, and trout. Giant, pre-peeled shrimp and steamed crab legs. At least 10 kinds of cheeses. At least 20 kinds of desserts.

Everything was of unquestionable quality, prepared to perfection, and displayed attractively. The staff was knowledgeable and friendly.

We made four trips to the buffet. Although the place filled right up, there was never a line for anything we wanted to eat. Each time we returned with a new plate, our old plate and silverware was gone and new silverware was in its place. Our napkins were neatly folded at our place. Our waiter returned frequently to refresh our champagne. One time, we finished our champagne before going to the buffet for more food and returned to find our glasses still empty. I was surprised that our waiter had apparently slipped. But he appeared with the champagne bottle right after we returned and poured, explaining that he didn’t want the champagne to sit and get warm in our glasses while we were gone.

Was I dreaming? Pinch me!

Oh, how I needed this experience! I’d begun to think that service and quality was something I could no longer expect when dining out. This set me straight again. Thank heaven our flight plans were changed!

After an hour and a half, we asked for our check. When the waiter brought it, he told us that we’d eaten quickly, that people usually stayed an average of three hours. We told him about our flight and he understood.

Brunch cost over $170 for two, including tip. But was it worth it? You bet! I’ll be back again — when other plans don’t “rush” me through my meal.

And one more thing. Our new flight to Boston stopped in Las Vegas and didn’t get to Boston until midnight local time. Our brunch may have been expensive, but it lasted the whole day — we weren’t the least bit hungry on the flight.