How to Destroy a Perfectly Good Margarita

It’s the salt.

Last night, Mike and I went out for dinner in Wickenburg. It’s summer here and our choices are limited. More limited than we thought. We’d been planning to eat at House Berlin, the German restaurant. House Berlin makes an excellent walleye and is the only restaurant in town where you can get veal. But a hand-printed sign on the window said “Closed August for Vacation.”

We left the car parked where it was and walked to my second choice that evening. I won’t say which of Wickenburg’s amazing dining choices it was because I need to be critical (again) and I know how sensitive my fellow Wickenburgers can be.

A Short History of the Best Margarita in Wickenburg

The restaurant we went to used to make the second best margarita in town. The first best was at the Santa Fe Cantina, which was also one of the town’s top five restaurants. Santa Fe made the best ribs, too. And the best artichoke dip, which I was fortunate enough to get the recipe for.

But the Santa Fe sold to new owners — who, to their credit, still made those excellent margaritas.

But then they handed it off to their foster son — or at least that’s what I heard — and he decided to change the menu. (Hey, that’s an idea! Take a formula that works in a restaurant that has great following and change it!) He soon drove the place out of business.

So now we had to settle for second best, which, without a real best, becomes the best.

In My Mind: A Nice Cadillac Margarita

I like Cadillac margaritas. That’s a margarita with a shot of Grand Mariner in it. A good Cadillac margarita is the best margarita. Okay, so that’s my opinion, but next time you’re in a place that makes good margaritas, try one and see for yourself.

So when the waitress came, we ordered two Cadillac margaritas. Then we opened the menu to start browsing selections. That’s when I discovered that we were going to pay $8.25 for each drink.

Now I’m accustomed to spending that kind of money for alcohol at resorts and fancy Scottsdale restaurants. In fact, it’s even common for us to blow $10 to $16 a piece on top shelf martinis. But I’ve never spent that kind of money in Wickenburg for any drink — even at the town’s nicest restaurant at its best guest ranch. And the price didn’t include Wickenburg’s exorbitant sales/BB&B tax, which is somewhere around 14% these days — second highest in the state (and proud of it)! The high tax is why quite a few people in WIckenburg are dining out in town a lot less often these days.

But this was a night out after a long week sitting in front of a computer, working on a book. It would be worth the money for a good margarita, no matter where I bought it. At least that’s what I thought.

Reality Strikes — Again

Margarita GlassThen she brought the margaritas. They were in small cocktail glasses, the kind you’d get a scotch on the rocks in. (Most restaurants in Arizona have special margarita glasses. Some of them even have saguaro-shaped stems.) The color was right for the drink, but not for the salt. It was green.

Let me back up a bit. Margaritas are normally served two ways: frozen (as in blended with ice) and on the rocks. Either way, you can have salt around the rim of the glass. They usually use Kosher salt or something similar to it. You can even buy special salt around here in a glass dipping container (shaped like a sombrero — how cute!) to make it easy to salt the rim of your margarita glasses at home. The point is, it’s salt. Plain salt. It isn’t flavored and it certainly isn’t colored.

The salt on our $8.25 margaritas was green.

It was the kind of green you might use on St. Patrick’s day: a bright Kelly green. Not lime colored like you might think reasonable for a margarita.

But I try to have an open mind. (I swear I do.) So I brought the glass up to my lips and sipped my margarita.

At first the taste of something moldy and salty hit my tongue. Then the taste of cheap margarita mix. The tequila may have been in there somewhere, but it couldn’t overpower the moldy salt. And the Grand Mariner was hiding under the ice cubes or somewhere where my tongue couldn’t get it.

I immediately began wiping the salt off my glass. My napkin and fingertips turned bright green. Some of the salt fell into the glass, leaving green streaks as it sank to the bottom. I stopped wiping.

Later, I tried to use the cocktail straw to sip some margarita that hadn’t been tainted by the salt. All I got was a mouth full of warm margarita mix. I guess the bartender didn’t have a shaker. Or maybe he/she was too busy dying salt to mix the drink properly in the first place.

I think — but I’m not sure — that the salt was leftover from St. Patrick’s Day five months before. I also think that the moisture of five months of dipped wet bar glasses got a little mold growing in the container. (Can mold grow on salt?) And I think this mold — or its essence — has become an integral part of the margarita making process at this particular restaurant.

I have to stop writing about this because I’m grossing myself out.

The Rest of the Meal

Mike’s ceviche was spoiled. We sent that back. It should have tipped us off that it wasn’t a particularly popular item when we saw it spelled “saveche” on the menu.

My mole was good. But then again, it tasted just like the mole I can make with a jar of the concentrate from the supermarket. (Because of our Mexican population, the local supermarkets have an excellent selection of Mexican foods.) That means that either the jarred mole is very much like this restaurant’s recipe or they use the same stuff. It didn’t matter much to me. It tasted good.

Mike’s quesadilla looked okay to me, but disappointed him. I think he was expecting a lot of stuff on top, like one of the other local restaurants — the one he wanted to go to last night, I should mention — makes it.

The chips were good, but Mike said the salsa tasted bad. It tasted okay to me and it was nice and chunky, the way I like it. But he got me worried that I was missing something bad, so I didn’t eat much of it.

The Search for the Best Margarita in Wickenburg Begins Again

Anyway, at this point it’s safe to say that if this is now the best margarita in Wickenburg, we’re in a sad state. It’s time to start looking for a new best. I hope I find it — at any price.

And I think Mike will remind me of this meal the next time I suggest dining in that particular restaurant again.

Eating Habits

I think we eat well. Probably too well.

The other day, I had to journey down to Phoenix to meet with a compounding pharmacist about women’s health issues. Sheesh. Now that’s not something that’s normally part of my life.

As I’m aging, my body is changing. (Duh.) My metabolism has slowed down and it’s difficult to keep the pounds and inches off. But that’s only a small part of what I went to see the pharmacist for. The rest was that women’s stuff that starts becoming an issue once a woman gets into her 40s.

VeggiesThe subject of diet and eating habits came up in our conversation. I told her that we eat pretty well — perhaps too well. Our diet consists primarily of fresh food prepared at home. We don’t eat a lot of prepared foods at all. While we haven’t bought into the organic thing yet — mostly because it defeats part of the purpose when those organic foods are shipped 2,000 miles to get to our store — we do eat a lot of fresh vegetables. And since I’m one of those people who won’t eat fresh food after it’s been sitting in the fridge for a few days, we hit the local supermarket once every day or so to get a few things for our next few meals.

Variety is the Spice of Life. Or it Should be.

One of the disappointments we’re constantly struggling with is the lack of diversity in food available here at the edge of nowhere. Fresh fish is simply not an option — it all comes to Wickenburg previously frozen, no matter how “fresh” it looks in the butcher case. Veal is seldom available and, when it is, we can expect to pay $14.99/pound or more for it. Special cuts of meat — for example, veal shank (for osso bucco) or ground lamb (for one of Mike’s Armenian dishes) — must be ordered at least a few days before you want to eat it. Italian greens like the ones I grew up with — including escarole, chicory, and broccoli rabe — simply don’t make it to Wickenburg. I remember the first time I bought an eggplant in Wickenburg — the first time I’d ever seen one in the store. I had to tell the girl at the checkout counter what it was. She’d never seen one before. The supermarket recently stopped carrying the frozen edamame (soy bean pods) because they simply weren’t selling enough. Alex the Bird is very disappointed, since that’s one of his favorite foods.

What really kills me, however, is that they have these Safeway magazines in the store, filled with recipes. Lots of mouth-watering photos to really motivate me to cook. Yet in half the recipes on the magazine’s pages, there’s at least one ingredient that can’t be found in our local Safeway store.

Yet you can buy all kinds of beer in 12-packs and the “snack” aisle is completely full of every kind of chip you can imagine.

So although we eat well in general, our diet lacks the diversity we’ve had in the past.

And don’t talk to me about local restaurants. I’ll whine about that again in another post one day soon.

Why I’m Overweight

Of course, my problem keeping the pounds off is threefold:

  • As my metabolism has decreased, my food portions have not. Simply stated: I eat too much. This is unfortunate because I really do like to eat.
  • Since I spend the majority of my day sitting on my butt (currently working on two book revisions) and I don’t participate in outdoor activities this time of year — would you, with temperatures exceeding 100°F every day? — I don’t get enough physical activity (AKA, exercise) to get my metabolism back up, even a little.
  • The whole mid-life hormonal thing is further throwing my body out of whack, thus making it impossible to get a grip on what I need to do to fight back and start losing some of this weight.

Don’t Talk to Me about Dieting

Now I don’t want to hear the word diet as applied to that kind of activity where you starve yourself of one or more kinds of food (or all kinds of food) to drop pounds. I don’t weigh or measure my portions. I don’t count calories.

Recent studies have shown that dieting is not successful in the long term. You lose weight, you gain it back. It becomes a roller coaster lifestyle, with multiple sets of clothes so you don’t need to shop when your weight is back up or down.

I can vouch for this. Sure, I lost 20 pounds in 3 months on Atkins back in 2004. But since then, I’ve gained back 30 pounds. And let’s face it: not all diets are pleasant or healthy. What I need is to get my hormones stabilized and to change my lifestyle to eat less and exercise more.

The Silver Lining: Dining in Phoenix

One of the good things about going down to Phoenix for errands — like seeing this compounding pharmacist the other day — is the opportunity to eat out and enjoy something different. (Yes, it always comes back to food with me.) The other day, after finishing up my business, I drove through a dust storm to meet Mike down at the Biltmore Fashion Center. After a quick visit to the Apple Store to finally see an iPhone first hand (I wasn’t terribly impressed and I’m sorry about that) and a stop in the Williams Sonoma shop for a new martini shaker, we headed over to Tarbell’s on 32nd Avenue and Camelback.

Tarbell’s is a great little restaurant that specializes in fresh, local (whenever possible), organic foods. (They also have a great bar; when you ask for a Grey Goose martini, that’s what you’re going to get.) Mike and I shared a tuna tartar appetizer, which we’d had there before. The tiny bits of tuna were arranged on the plate with taro chips and ginger cucumber relish. Yum. For my main course, I hadpan-Seared Sea Scallops with organic butternut squash risotto, crispy sage, and roasted chestnuts. Mike had pan-Seared Alaskan Halibut and organic peach, spinach, and pancetta hash with smoked tomato sauce. These tastes were well matched and quite a treat from what’s available at home and in Wickenburg’s restaurants. For desert, we shared a warm, soft chocolate cake with pistachio ice cream. Very rich.

We finished dinner just before 6 PM — which is when the organic bakery in the same shopping center closes. We popped in and bought a loaf of fresh multigrain bread. One look at the ingredients told me we’d made a good purchase decision — I actually knew (and could pronounce) every ingredient! Imagine that! (I only wish I could remember the name of the place. But if you go to Tarbell’s you’ll see it in the same shopping center.) Oh, and did I mention that it was delicious?

Now don’t get the idea that I’m all hot for organic foods. I’m not. But I do like to know what I’m eating. And I also think that Americans buy too much food that’s shipped from somewhere far away when local alternatives are better for so many reasons. That’s one of the reasons I prefer shopping at small specialized stores — like bakeries and produce shops — than in huge name-brand supermarkets that truck in their food from who knows where.

Where Do You Eat?

Any suggestions for good restaurants with interesting food down in the Phoenix area? Don’t keep them to yourself. Use the Comments link or form to share them. I’m especially interested in learning about places on the west side of Phoenix, since that’s closer to home.

A Real New York Bakery

The cakes looked so good, I had to take a photo.

A year or two ago, Mike and I went back to New York to do some visiting. While we were there, we downtown in Manhattan for a walk around SoHo.

The SoHo area of New York, as many people, know is the area SOuth of HOuston (pronounced house-tin). It started getting popular with the artsy crowd at least 20 years ago and most of the buildings and lofts have been renovated. There are lots of great shops and restaurants. There’s even an Apple Store down there.

It was a kind of crummy day weather-wise but the light drizzle didn’t bother us. People from Arizona generally like rain — because we get so little of it — and we’re no different. Mike’s cousin Rick was with us and he’s from Seattle so he’s used to rain. We walked around the relatively empty streets, past street vendors who’d given up trying to keep their wares dry and were packing up for the day.

Then we saw this bakery. I wish I could remember its name or where it was. North of Canal, I’m sure. We went in, ordered some delicious pastries and coffee, and sat down to snack out of the rain.

A Real BakeryThis case of cakes and pies and pastries called to me. In Arizona real bakeries are a rarity. Supermarkets here are big and new and almost all of them have a bakery department. Some are actually quite good. Our recently renovated Safeway here in Wickenburg has a nice display case of cakes and cookies these days. But I’ve never seen any bakery in Arizona with a display like this. And I’ve never been to a bakery in Arizona worth writing about.

That’s why I took the photo. To remind me of New York bakeries.

This coming weekend, Mike and I are going back to New York to do some visiting. We’ll only be there two days. But I’m hoping, with my fingers crossed, that we get enough time to drive into Manhattan, perhaps down to Little Italy. There are some Italian pastry shops down there that are to die for. I’d like to put together a little box of goodies to take home on the plane and, if they survive our airline-induced hunger, snack on for a few days next week.

That’s the plan, anyway.