The place is huge, so I didn’t get to know all the people I wanted to. Never got to meet Bill Goodykoontz or discuss movies with him (would’ve loved that), or tell Clay Thompson that he’s as much a part of my day as my morning cup of coffee, or tell Suzanne Condie Lambert what a talented writer and truly funny person I think she is. She makes me laugh out loud — often — as she goes about the business of acerbic celebrity gossip, laced with a good bit of American culture-skewering while she’s at it. There’s a book in you, Girl. Remember Laurie Notaro?

As for the people I did get to know:

Howard Seftel: Of course, I’ve known Howie for years. We’ve operated since the early 90s as friendly rivals and just plain friends, calling each other occasionally to discuss news, seek each other’s input or simply commiserate about life as a restaurant critic. The day I left PM, I called him right away, and in a show of solidarity, he wrote a blurb about what had happened. He was outraged by the bald-faced denial of the separation of church and state (editorial versus advertising), a journalistic precept that continues to be eroded a little more each day at other publications.

He’s the person who urged me to call the paper, promising they’d give me some kind of work, if not much in the way of pay. In other words, he treated me like a friend and colleague, helped me get a leg up at a time when I really needed it. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me.

When I came on as a freelancer, writing two reviews per week, our beats often overlapped. We had to confer with each other about which of us got what, but Howie was always generous, never displaying the sort of territorial stinginess you might expect from someone in his position.

When the paper offered me a full-time position, he was my greatest supporter and ally, giving me the 411 on the ins and outs of the job. And when I left so suddenly four short months later, he was again my greatest supporter and ally.

Howie, you know how I feel about you, both as a writer and as a person. I admire your integrity, your restaurant acumen and your bottomless well of hilarious metaphors.

Karen Fernau: It’s crazy that I never actually met Karen until right before I started working at the paper full-time. You’d think that over the years our paths would have crossed. People who knew her and worked with her were always saying to me, “Oh, you gotta meet Karen. You’ll love her.” And they were right. I did, and I do.

From Day One, we were buddies — gossiping and commiserating like old friends. We were invariably on the same page about all sorts of issues, and it was Karen who made me feel at home and comfortable on the 8^th floor.  Girlie, I don’t intend to lose you as a friend just because I’m on the other side of the fence now.

Stacy Sullivan, my editor and jefe: Thank you for always being easygoing and infinitely patient with me as I struggled to learn attributes and all the other maddening aspects of that crazy system. I must come off as more of a Nervous Nellie than I think I do. Stacy would always say, “Don’t worry. You can’t break it,” and I would feel better instantly. You’re a sweet, charming guy, and if you ever need someone to watch the place in NO . . . .

Megan Finnerty: My favorite spice girl, very professional but never afraid to crack an insider joke or keep me in the info loop. A wildly fun and funny girl beneath the no-nonsense demeanor.

Linda Vachata: My editor prior to Stacy and one of my favorite editors of all time (and believe me, in 22 years, I’ve had quite a few). She was always respectful of my work, and work-crazed as she was, always took a minute to tell me a story about her dogs or exchange a little joke. We became friends by email, which — sadly — is entirely possible these days. Linda, more face-to-faces in the future, I hope.

Jaimee Rose: Here’s a person I’ve watched grow as a writer over the years. She can tell a compelling story about mixing religions in marriage, or she can write about the arduous process of making perfect croissants — both deliciously. Early on, Jaimee and I formed a little mutual admiration society, which is the sort of boost we writers sometimes need. Here again, lunch is in order.

Rich Ruelas: I don’t think I’d been on board a week before Rich invited me to speak in his journalism class at the downtown ASU. He made me feel part of the team instantly and lumped me in with the writers who show integrity. I so appreciated that! And no, it was nothing you said, Rich. I’m pretty sure we’ll run into each other at FnB or some other wine-centric venue in the future.

Richard Nilsen: Sorry I didn’t get to read your think piece. I’m guessing it was brilliant. Thank you for seeing me as the old-school writer I really am and finding nothing wrong with that. You’re my brother from another mother.

John Stanley: Oh my goodness, what a sweetheart! We could all take lessons from this guy on the phone interview. Thank you, John, for getting down on your knees and helping me figure out the vicissitudes of Citrix, expenses and all the other tasks that sometimes made me want to slit my throat.

Ron Dungan: Another mild-mannered fellow, my cubicle neighbor, who was always friendly and helpful when I needed help (and that was often in the first month). We groaned about the byzantine expense reports together and were probably destined to become great friends.

Wendy Killeen: Information Specialist at the paper. Working with Linda V, Wendy organized tons of info for Calendar and always, always had something sweet and supportive to say to me. Wendy, you’re a lovely girl and I know with your great attitude you’re destined for good things — more writing, maybe?

Brian Berlinski: Do people usually like the person responsible for creating paperwork involving numbers? I LOVE Brian Berlinski, who was cheery and upbeat every time I came to him with a question. What a good, good guy!

And to all the rest of you I’ve failed to mention in this long-winded Academy Award-like speech — Elaine, Celine, Jill — thanks for your patience along the way.

To Randy Lovely and Nicole Carroll, thanks for hiring me in the first place. I’m happy you had faith in my abilities and sorry that choosing a new path may have created headaches for you.

With regard to the Arizona Republic and all the terrific people there, I’m tempted to use George Costanza’s famous breakup line:  “It’s not you; it’s me.”

Word.

I had been unceremoniously swept out the door by PM in April of that year and I was wondering what on earth to do with myself. By early summer, I was thinking of trying to create my own food, chef and restaurant-related website, not understanding that such a thing probably couldn’t make me any money or that, in fact, everyone was already blogging instead. Looking back, I would say that I was ridiculously out of touch.

I asked Mari Belardi at Cowboy Ciao who might be able to help me with web stuff, and she suggested Ty Largo, adding, “We love him.” I got online first thing and checked out the websites he had designed for Ciao and Digestif. “Cute!” I thought, watching the little graphic of steam rising from a coffee cup over and over again. It was crisp, it was whimsical and I imagined he could make something just as darling for me.

So I called Ty and we met for lunch at Digestif. There he was: black and white-checked glasses, silky black hair standing on end in a faux-hawk, sitting up straight and putting on his best business-like demeanor.  “Cute!” I thought again.

We hit it off instantly, oohing and aahing together over Payton’s farm-to-table yummies, talking about our favorite restaurants and my possible future plans as a web-based food wonk. We promised to get together again soon and did, this time at the bar at House of Tricks, where we drank too much and got to know each other better.

By mid-summer of 2008, I was working freelance for the Arizona Republic, thanks to Howie’s suggestion that I call Jen Johnston, who would become my editor, friend and occasional dining companion. Life felt slightly more stable. I had work. Not enough work to really live on, you understand, but enough work to keep the wolves from the door for a few more months. Ty got busy. I got busy, wrangling as much freelance work as I could find and we didn’t speak for months.

Last spring (2009), we met at Quiessence and over cocktails on the lawn, we commiserated about feeling adrift. Ty raised his eyebrows and looked at me over those crazy glasses and, lowering his voice a bit, asked, “Would you ever consider coming over to the dark side?” That’s PR-speak for journalists who leave journalism for PR.

I laughed . . .  and then I started thinking.

I’d harbored the PR idea for years (as many of my pals will attest) but I could never work up the nerve to leave my career and try something new. Then too, after all that early tutelage at New Times (where publicists were characterized as having “666” tattooed on their skulls) PR still smacked of used car salesman in my snobbish little head.  More importantly, no one in PR had ever actually invited me to come on board before.

I was flattered, but I wasn’t ready.

No sir, I wasn’t willing to give up a single thing after losing so much already. I was hanging on for dear life to whatever I had. After about a month of back-and-forth, I confessed that I just couldn’t do it. Ty was clearly disappointed, but he rallied and with a little help from his friends (see his own blog post at Juxtapalate.com), started carving out an impressive client roster as he transitioned from web development to PR.

We remained friends, and, in fact, became better buds over more shared meals than I could ever remember.

And then, this spring, after starting the full-time job at the paper, something just snapped. I realized I was tired of doing the same thing, or more accurately, the thing that was purportedly the same but that had changed dramatically (but in piecemeal fashion) over time. I had become less enchanted with writing reviews and more enamored with the prospect of PR. Suddenly, working with journalists I knew and liked or chefs I admired sounded pretty fun. And just maybe, I’d have the chance to exercise the sort of creativity I yearned for. I didn’t give a hoot about being Nikki Buchanan, Restaurant Critic, anymore. The title didn’t mean squat. It was interesting, challenging work I wanted in a field that, in the scheme of things, wasn’t wildly dissimilar from what I was already doing.

Ty and I talked. Then, after he met with Stacy (who brings a boatload of her own impressive clients to the table), it all sort of fell into place. Suddenly, I had faith in Ty, Stacy, myself and the universe in general.  I was ready to dive off the cliff.

Well, now I’ve done it. And you know what? The water may be deep in places, but it feels just fine.

Stay tuned for my Goodnight, Sweetheart letter to the Republic.

The place was doing a brisk business, and while I thought I might get take-out, the room was so pleasant I decided to sit down and eat my chicken while it was still hot. The new LoLo’s is a big open room with lots of windows, the walls hung with cute black and white photos of little kids making a mess in the kitchen. The place has a comfortable, homey aura about it, which is so refreshing, given the zip code. I literally bellied up to the massive wooden bar (perfect for solo diners) and put in my order for a soul food platter. Or at least I think that’s what it was called. I was cobbling together what I wanted — two pieces of fried chicken, but no waffle, but maybe some sides — and a friendly woman sitting next to me said, “Give her the soul food platter.” (or whatever she said), so already, I felt taken care of.

I hadn’t had more than a few gulps of my iced tea (served in a Mason jar) and started a conversation with the guy next to me, who was clearly thrilled to have discovered the whole chicken and waffle thing, when my platter arrived: three pieces of fried chicken (two thighs and a drumstick, still sizzling), cheese grits, fried okra and a great big cornbread muffin with a melting knob of butter on top. Your typical light summer meal.

I missed the fried chicken throw-down at Noca, and I love Chris Curtiss’s cooking with all my heart, but I’m telling you, I just don’t believe anybody can make fried chicken better than LoLo and crew. It’s crunchy and greasy and salty in exactly the right proportion. I’m crazy for it. I sat there in front of God and everyone and licked my fingers.

And the cornbread? I don’t remember thinking so before, but I will say now: this may be the best in town too. I’ve never liked a speck of sugar in my cornbread, and LoLo’s does make sweet cornbread. But it’s not sickeningly sweet and the texture is fabulous. Not too crumbly (I HATE it when cornbread falls apart), with just a nice little crispy edge. The grits came with grated cheese on top and another great big hunk of butter. Yum. I’ll be having the rest for breakfast. Good okra too. I wanted a slab of the Red Velvet Cake, a monster of a thing, slathered with cream cheese icing, dotted with pecans and served on an old-fashioned, clear-lidded cake plate. But I just couldn’t do it. Even my belly and I have limits.

It’s hard not to notice that my last post before this one, dated April 5, was my sharing the good news of my recently acquired full-time position as Southeast Valley  restaurant critic at the paper.  And then I dropped off the face of the blogosphere, which was not exactly coincidence.

I counted up how many reviews I’ve written since I started writing for the paper back in June of 2008. You know what number I came up with? 180. 180 restaurants in two years. My God, it’s a wonder I’m not 40 pounds overweight instead of 20. Still, I’m a beast. So there’s that.

And then there’s the aspect of mind numbing repetition: two restaurants a week, two ledes a week, two décor descriptions a week, two conclusions a week, two everything every week. It’s a treadmill, I tell you, and the pace can suck the creativity and enthusiasm right out of you.

Do I sound like a whiner? By all means, take the reins. Then get back to me in six months, a year, 20 years. Clearly, some people are born to this job (John Mariani and other fabulous writers of his ilk come to mind)  and seem content to do it forever. And maybe some people aren’t. Or maybe I just need a little break.

It has been suggested to me that writing a 500-word review is an easy task, something to be handily banged out in an hour, but I beg to differ. In many ways, short reviews are more difficult. There’s less room or time for graceful writing, transitions, jokes and asides, discussing trends, establishing underlying philosophy or creating a solid argument. Much of the good stuff, the little nuggets that make food writing fun get left in the dust for the sake of brevity.

Conventional wisdom holds (although I seriously wonder who dreamed this one up) that people reading on the web are like good old Sergeant Friday, too busy for anything more than “just the facts, Ma’am.” I disagree. It doesn’t matter if you’re holding a book, a newspaper, or a magazine or you’re staring at your computer screen, you still want the writing to be entertaining and brimming with personality. Otherwise, why bother?

Now, that I’ll have a smidge more time, I hope to stay a bit more current here at Wild Lavender. I still love food, and I still have strong opinions. That will never change. Talk to you soon.

When Howie called to congratulate me, he said, “You’ve gotten the last journalism job of the 21st Century.” And he may be right. Within that same week, Raymond Sokolov left The Wall Street Journal (uninterested in accepting their offer for a food trends beat) and here in town, dining critic and reporter Jess Harter was laid off at the East Valley Tribune, a move Harter says he knew was coming. At this moment, I feel lucky, lucky, lucky. Grateful too.

So here’s the scoop. The Valley will now be divided into territories or beats. Howie will have Phoenix and Scottsdale, Barbara Yost will cover the West Valley and I will cover the Southeast Valley, meaning Tempe, Chandler, Ahwatukee, Mesa, Gilbert and Queen Creek. I hope (no, plan) to become the SEV expert, the person who keeps abreast of everything happening there in a restaurant and food-related way and reports it to you, dear readizzle.

The cool thing about my beat is how quickly it’s growing and how ethnically diverse it seems to be. In recent months, I discovered a Venezuelan gem called My Arepa, a sweet Caribbean outpost called Hot Pot Caribbean Cuisine and terrific dim sum at Phoenix Palace.  I look forward to finding more small, sincere independents such as these three.

So if you all learn of great Southeast Valley spots or juicy news I should know about, please contact me here at Wild Lavender or at the paper. I don’t have an email set up there yet, but it should be in place in the next few days.

Question is: With so much good food in my future, how in the world am I going to shed 15 pounds (heck, I’d settle for 10) by summer?

Matt Diamond is a wine wonk through and through, a cork dork who’s worked with three of the most well-known wine guys in the Valley — namely, Craig DeMarco, Peter Kasperski and Tom Kaufman at Postino, Cowboy Ciao/Kazimierz and Humble Pie respectively.

So it seems odd that he and his wife Courtney would decide to open an ale house (think cozy neighborhood hangout minus sloppy-drunk college crowd) and not some la-ti-da wine bar with bruschetta on the menu. Not that I don’t love bruschetta, just sayin’ . . .

But they did, and now that I’ve seen it, I’m thinking they’re pretty damned smart. The place is called The Main Ingredient Ale House & Café, and it’s housed in the former Lisa G. location — a charming red brick bungalow they’ve furnished comfortably and decorated with vintage music posters plus cool pix of the surrounding Coronado neighborhood. The upgraded back bar looks great (check out the Schlitz lamp), as does the front porch vignette I intend to inhabit soon — a couple of comfy chairs with a table between: just perfect for a lazy afternoon.

Diamond told me that he and Courtney had decided the wine bar theme had been done to death (so true). They knew they wanted to have a fun, cool, inexpensive place that had a relaxed wine bar vibe but seemed a bit more “off the beaten path.”  A beer bar, specializing in craft beers, seemed just the ticket.

Of course, you can get wine if you want to. The California-heavy list has 14 offerings by the glass or bottle, seven other selections sold by the bottle only. As you might imagine, it’s hardly mainstream.

But beer is the big thing. The menu features some 20 of them in can or bottle, including Sam Adams, Bud, Miller High Life and Schlitz because nobody around here plans to be a beer snob. Diamond says other local places (The Parlor and The Roosevelt, for example) are carrying Pabst Blue Ribbon, so he figured they’d go with Schlitz. After all, they’ve got the lamp!

Four of the eight draft beers are Arizona-made: Four Peaks The Main Ale (a pale gold and refreshing Kölsch made specifically for The Main Ingredient), Four Peaks Hop Knot, Four Peaks Hefeweizen and Oak Creek Nut Brown. Stone Imperial Russian Stout and Oskar Blues Gordon are also on tap, which, I’m told, is very rare. With few exceptions, most of the beers here are revered regional favorites.

My pal and I nibbled around on a few things, but our visit was just for fun, not full-fledged reviewing.

I can’t wait to come back. This is my kind of hangout — especially when I can drink beer on the patio or belly up to the cozy bar.

The Main Ingredient

2337 N. Seventh Street, Phoenix, 602-THE-MAIN, 602-843-6246.

Read it and let me know what you agree or disagree with and tell me what I’ve left out. There must be tons of stuff I’ve forgotten.

1) Pan-Asian Cuisine

2) Wasabi mashed potatoes

3) Edible flowers used as garnish for entrees

4) Candied walnuts/pecans on salad

5) Elaborate dessert plate designs made with crème Anglaise and raspberry coulis

6) Dessert plates dusted with cocoa or confectioner’s sugar

7) Chefs swanning around their dining rooms instead of working in the kitchen

Servers who begin by saying “My name is ____ and I’ll be your server tonight.”

9) Perrier water (so unbelievably over-rated)

10) Lego Food—Elaborately stacked and impossible to eat

11) Dishes with too many ingredients

12) Dishes with crazy, forced combinations of ingredients

13) Super-architectural desserts

14) Bizarrely shaped serving pieces that upstage the food served in or on them

15) Lame vegetable sides, particularly the ubiquitous zucchini, yellow squash and onion combo

16) Portobello mushrooms—I still like them; they were simply overused for a while there.

17) Tiramisu—Ditto.

18) Molten chocolate cakes, lava cakes—Ditto again.

19) Menus that list every single ingredient in the dish (Beef stock? Really? And Thyme?)

20) Menus with over-the-top descriptions

21) Menus with misspellings

22) The phrase “baked to perfection”

23) Wraps of any sort

24) Chefs wearing those stupid toques

25) Servers who say, “How are we doing?” WE?

26) Ranch dressing

27) Dirty menus (makes you wonder what the kitchen looks like)

28) White napkins that shed on black clothes

Whizzing down West Bell Road yesterday, I saw something that nearly made my heart stop. The sign over one of my favorite Latin American restaurants said Mi Comida instead of Mi Cocina Mi Pais.

I whipped the car around and pulled in to take a look. A taped note on the door said something about “we’re under the same ownership, blah blah blah.” Inside, I could see the same fellow waiting on tables I’ve seen a hundred times before — Michael, it turns out — chef owner Rosa Rosas’s son.

When I asked him what was going on, he said that in January, some corporate outfit from Texas sent them legal papers saying they had a trademark on the name Mi Cocina and that Rosa would have to change her restaurant’s name or risk legal action. Rosa took the matter to her own lawyer, who pointed out that although her name is registered with the Arizona Corporation Commission, the Texas big shots have lots more money than she does and the battle would be costly. Naturally, she changed the name. And now Mi Cocina Mi Pais — established in 2003 — is no more. Mi Comida (a name that also seems ripe for the corporate plucking) means, basically, “my food.”

This isn’t the first time Big Money has muscled out the little guy. Just ask Steve Friedkin who’d been operating as Lone Star Steaks at 16th Street and Bethany Home for years before another Texas group (are they just a little meaner there?) forced him to change his restaurant’s name. Lone Star became Texaz Grill.

The good news for diners (regarding Mi Comida) is that the turmoil shook Rosa up so much that she got busy and added new dishes to her already terrific menu. Now, in addition to all the old favorites, she’s offering white corn and green plantain empanadas, arepas, ajiaco Don Miguel (creamy potato and chicken soup), seco de chivo (goat stew), aji de gallina (chicken stew in spicy cream sauce) and encebollado de pescado (Ecudadorian fish soup). Oh yeah, she’s got an exotic tropical ice cream on there too. I didn’t ask, but surely it’s lucuma.

Let’s all try to get in there soon and show Rosa some support. Her food is yummy and she’s a sweet, sweet lady.

Mi Comida Restaurante Latino
4221 W. Bell Road, Phoenix
602-548-7900

I went to Estate House yesterday afternoon to meet with Gio about our first Wild Lavender cooking class, coming up next Saturday, February 27th. We went back in the kitchen, and while Gio (it’s pronounced “Joe,” not “Gee-Oh”) prepared a bunch of peppers for roasting for the next day’s Simple Sunday Dinner, we loosely mapped out what he’ll demonstrate and what we’ll talk about next week. I learned at least a half dozen cool tips about cooking in the course of that conversation, and then it hit me why I’m so excited about these classes. Gio is a generous, funny, knowledgeable guy (in short, the perfect teacher) and I am a perpetual student. I’m going to learn a ton of stuff right along with everybody else, and frankly, I can’t wait. People always assume that because I’m a restaurant critic, I cook a lot, but here’s a picture of my fridge’s interior — aka International House of Leftovers.

I do not cook. But I’m guessing all that’s about to change. I’m going to want to practice what Gio preaches. And I can tell you, this is a man who isn’t going to just stand there and do a boring old demo. He’s going to teach us the general principles of cooking so that we can apply the techniques we’ve learned and not just try to duplicate a single recipe. It’s like the old Chinese proverb: “Give a man a fish, you have fed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” So, yeah, we’ll all learn to fish.

We’re going to have so much fun! I’ll be there without the ratty-looking wig (unveiled, as it were), and ready to answer any questions you might have about good restaurants and what a life of perpetual eating is like. We’ll kick off every class with a special Wild Lavender cocktail (don’t worry, teetotalers; day-drinking is not required), and we’ll also learn about wines, cocktails and other appropriate beverages to pair with the foods Gio and other visiting chefs make each week.

So here are the goals Gio and I have for the class:

1) Get to know each other
2) Learn a lot
3) Eat well
4) Have fun

If you have any questions about the class, ask them in the Comments below. See you soon!

Wild Lavender Cooking Classes
Every Saturday (Starting 2/27)
11am-1:30pm
Includes multi-course lunch and wine pairings
RSVP at 480-970-4099
> View the class schedule online

Double Knot with Spicy Buffalo Wings

When it comes to beer, I’m seldom adventurous. Most of the time, I gravitate toward the clean, crisp stuff you drink ice cold in a frosty glass. Anything much heavier, and I feel like I’m drinking bread.

As for IPAs, I’ve never been a fan — until a week or so ago when I tasted Hop Knot brewed by Four Peaks Brewing Company in Tempe. It’s classified as American-style strong pale ale, and it took the bronze at both the World Beer Cup and the Great American Beer Festival in 2006. So it’s been around. I just didn’t know it.

I took a sip of my buddy’s and was surprised to find that I liked it. Then I saw it on tap when I dropped by The Main Ingredient with a girlfriend last week. You know how that happens? You’ve never heard of a thing and suddenly, it’s everywhere you look?

According to the Four Peaks website, Hop Knot is made from American malt and four different kinds of American hops, each added at four separate times in the brewing process. I like it because it’s both hoppy and a little citrusy without tasting bitter.

Last week, I stopped at Four Peaks to have a Hop Knot and something spicy to go with it. Wings, I was thinking. But when I started telling my awakening consciousness story to my server – a darling girl who was kind enough to take interest — she suggested I try the Double Knot instead, a seasonal double IPA (which means, twice the amount of hops) that just came out the week before and only lasts about a month. She said she loved it.

And boy, do I get that. Served in a snifter, it’s a pale copper color with almost no head ($5). The nose is amazing — citrusy and pretty, almost floral to me. I absolutely love this beer for being clean tasting and well balanced. And it’s delish with the hot and vinegar-y Buffalo wings($8).

Apparently, it’s very expensive to produce, requiring 11 pounds of hops per keg. Oh yeah, and the alcohol content is 9.2, very high. So hey, let’s be careful out there.

Double Knot will be gone soon, so get over to Four Peaks while the gettin’s good. This is beer-drinking weather.

Four Peaks Brewing Company
1340 E. Eighth Street, Tempe, 480-303-9967, www.fourpeaks.com.