Skillet Doux

Gallo Blanco

Elote Callejero	Dominic Armato

Sometimes you can get a hint that you're in for something good without taking a bite.

If you approach Gallo Blanco via the back door, along Clarendon, you're assaulted by the restaurant's exhaust vent, an overpowering, smoky blast of charred meat... not lightly griddled, but full-on carbonized. You haven't even walked in the door yet, but already you know they're doing something right.

	Chicharrón de Queso	Dominic Armato

If you enter via the front, Gallo Blanco is a little more coy. It's a hotel restaurant, even if that hotel is The Clarendon, a hipster hideaway where the walls are covered with paintings of rail-thin women sporting bikinis, tattoos and aviators. The restaurant itself isn't quite so overtly trendy, but it's definitely modern and lively, concrete floors, colorful walls and a menu that matches the vibe but, very importantly, stays grounded, though that probably shouldn't have come as a surprise. The kitchen's run by chef Doug Robson, best known around these parts as the fellow who launched the menu(s) at La Grande Orange... or perhaps no longer, what with the success of Gallo Blanco, which takes the Papa Bayless approach of honoring the traditions and spirit of Mexican food without being totally constrained by them. Robson takes his liberties -- as do many contemporary chefs down in Mexico City, where Robson was born -- but when he does, they're mostly smart and tasty and respectful of their roots.

Guacamole	Dominic Armato

Roots are pretty much all there is to the elote callajero, a straight-up traditional rendition of one of the humblest of Mexican street foods, corn on the cob grilled to a sweet char all the way around, slathered with a lime mayonnaise, rolled in cotija cheese and sprinkled with smoked paprika. It's a reminder that sometimes the best preparations are the simplest. Done perfectly and served too hot to eat, I didn't have the good sense to give it a minute or two to cool. Three days worth of a burned mouth to get at it 90 seconds sooner? Fair trade. On the opposite end of the traditional spectrum is the chicharrón de queso, which could best be described as chef's spoils converted into a dish. Ever broiled something that was topped with shredded hard cheese and feasted on the bits that melted over the side and crisped on the bottom of the pan? That's what this is, except it's the entire pan, melted and crisped, rolled into a tower while still supple, and served with a tart aioli spiked with aji amarillo. "Chicharrón" is used in a rather loose and poetic fashion, and aji amarillo is probably more closely identified with Peruvian than Mexican, but who cares when the results taste good?

	Ceviche de Camarones	Dominic Armato

The pendulum swings back towards traditional a bit when it comes to the guacamole, which is a step above the baseline without getting too cute. It doesn't need anything else, but the two house salsas, a sharply tart tomatillo and smoky chile-based red, make for fine accents. The ceviche de camarones is similarly ungussied, served as it is in many a mariscos joint, almost a little plain with just a light tomato and lime base, avocado and cilantro, the idea being that you can adjust it to your tastes. For me, a squeeze of lime, a shake of salt and a squirt from the red salsa bottle and it was right on. My only complaint would be that while I could be wrong, I'm left with the impression that the shrimp were lightly poached before going into the cure. Safer? Sure. But if a bout or two of food poisoning over my lifetime is all that separates me from that still almost vaguely raw flavor that's lost when it's done this way, I'll gladly accept that tradeoff.

Farm Salad	Dominic Armato

I'm glad my ladylove ordered the farm salad, because it's something I probably never would have chosen for myself, and it's surprisingly good. Though it varies somewhat with the season (hence the name), arugula was the base for hers, accented with toasted walnuts, pomegranate seeds, diced roasted squash and miniscule crumbles of bleu cheese (a simple and great choice as larger chunks routinely overpower salads like these). We've all had this salad before. Many times over, probably. Which is why it's such a pleasant surprise to have one so good, perfectly balanced and composed, beautifully presented, not the slightest bit under or overdressed, and yet with the squash and pomegranate and herb dressing, still reminiscent of the flavors of Mexico. This dish has no business being anything other than an afterthought, but executed perfectly, it stands out.

	Tacos de Pescado	Dominic Armato

A variety of tacos are offered, and though they won't compete with the corner taqueria in terms of cost at two to three dollars apiece, they certainly leave you with the sense that the extra cash isn't simply going towards overhead. Tortillas are delicious and steamy, proteins are full of flavor and toppings are fresh and vibrant. Shrimp are plump and delicious and paired with smoky chiles de arbol and soothing guacamole. Carne asada gets... well, I hesitate to call it an upgrade, but the use of shredded ribeye is certainly a refinement, and the smoke of the grill shines through. Perhaps my favorite was the cochinita, somewhat divorced from its banana leaf roots, but porky and powerful, with orange, garlic and achiote all distinct, bold and delicious. On Tuesdays, you can even get three for the price of two, netting you three tacos for four to six bucks. In terms of taco price performance, that's tough to beat (though the fish tacos at Tacos Atoyac spring to mind).

Chilaquiles Verdes	Dominic Armato

Being a hotel restaurant, Gallo Blanco runs the full slate from breakfast through dinner, and while I didn't sample much off the breakfast menu (available all day), I have a soft spot for chilaquiles. I went with the chicken option, but given how well the kitchen handles vegetables, it was probably the wrong call. But I mean this (in speculative fashion) only on a relative basis, as I totally dug these. Crisp tortilla chips, layered and cooked in green salsa with shredded pollo al carbon, Oaxaca cheese and smothered in two fried eggs, what I really enjoyed -- even beyond the vibrant flavors -- was the range of texture on the chips, going from toothsome but yielding in the center to still crisp on the edges. The dish's chaotic look betrayed some rather careful composition. And if the chilaquiles are really good on a weekday, I have a hunch they're otherworldly after a night of binge drinking. Almost makes me wish I were a binge drinker. (Almost.)

	(Half) Naco Torta	Dominic Armato

The only thing I tasted that didn't quite get my juices flowing was the much-beloved (in foodnik circles, anyway) naco torta. It's a slight variation on the carne asada torta, I believe the only difference being the addition of two fried eggs. But even a glorious runny egg can't keep me from not quite feeling the value at $10, which isn't to say that I think it's overpriced. It's just that I've gotten the same charge out of $5 tortas in more downscale joints, and recently. Part of it may stem from the fact that this one just felt overly sweet to me. Which is strange, because the tacos, made with (I think) the same meat, didn't. But I still might even get it again. This definitely falls into the "if this is your weak link, you're doing pretty damn well" category. And it was assembled with enough care that I'm willing to wager the other tortas will hit big.

Pollo Asado	Dominic Armato

There are some more substantial plates as well, and after walking the smoky gauntlet out back, you'd better believe the pollo asado was going to be my choice. It's half a chicken, citrus-marinated, grilled to a deep golden color, charred on the edges, and served with fresh tortillas and a seasonable vegetable, grilled chayote with cotija and whole cloves of roasted garlic, in my case. There's just a tiny touch of a sweet sauce on the chicken that I couldn't quite place owing to its judicious use, and it's also served with the same aji amarillo aioli used for the chicharrón, which takes a dish already somewhat reminiscent of Peruvian pollo a la brasa and makes it even more so. But whatever influences are at play here, it's a simple dish, really well done. I found myself shredding up the breast to make impromptu tacos with some of the house salsa, dipping the wing and leg into the aji amarillo, and sucking the thigh meat off the bone as-is, because you really don't improve on that by dressing it up.

In our zeal to champion the little guy, the authentic strip mall joint, the unearthed gem, we food nerds on occasion could be accused of practicing a form of culinary reverse prejudice, particularly when it comes to ethnic cuisine. A stylish Mexican joint? With creative twists? In a trendy hotel? I make it my credo not to discriminate against deliciousness, whatever form it may take. But I like when a place like Gallo Blanco makes it easy to root for the big(ger) guy. No matter where you put it, Gallo Blanco's food is really, really good. And why not at The Clarendon? Hipsters have to eat too (even if those paintings on the wall might lead you to believe otherwise). And the ones who fall into Gallo Blanco after sunning at the pool or boozing at the bar eat pretty damn well. As for me, whatever hipness I may have once possessed died long ago. But I don't intend to let that keep me away.

Gallo Blanco
www.galloblancocafe.com
401 W. Clarendon Avenue
Phoenix, AZ 85013
602-327-0880
Sun - Thu	8:00 AM - 10:00 PM
Fri - Sat	8:00 AM - 11:00 PM

Binkley's

(Very) Miniature Sloppy Joe	Dominic Armato

My first visit to Binkley's slipped away into the desert, never to be found.

It was nearly three years ago, well before we came to call Phoenix home. After a trip to visit family that was highlighted by meals at Sea Saw and Binkley's, we returned home to a few months of chaos. I managed to get the Sea Saw post up after a couple of weeks, but two months of blogging wasteland followed, by the end of which the details of our meal at Binkley's had almost completely vanished into the ether. I looked at photos, struggling to remember the dishes' composition, what they tasted like, or even in a couple of cases whether or not I'd enjoyed them. The entire reason I started blogging in the first place was laid bare. Those memories that I cherish, both good and bad, were simply gone, and I found myself unable to form any definitive thoughts, much less express them coherently. Of course, it would be completely irresponsible to post about a restaurant in such circumstances. And so, 43 photos of a summer menu at Binkley's sat in cold storage for nearly three years. Before my dinner this weekend, I went back to take a look, and with a couple of exceptions, I couldn't remember any of them. They might as well have been somebody else's dinner, because they sure didn't look like mine. And while I may lose details over time, I remember dishes. What had happened? Had my cerebellum been cooked by the desert heat, or had my first meal at Binkley's really left so slight of an impression on me? For the first time I can recall, I found myself hoping it was a matter of brain injury.

Binkley's, you see, is the pride and joy of the Phoenix restaurant scene. It's the unimpeachable gastronomic temple in the desert, an Arizona none-too-stuffy front of house backed up by a no-holds-barred fine dining back of house, commanded by the restaurant's namesake, Kevin Binkley. Having trained with such luminaries as Patrick O'Connell and Thomas Keller, Binkley brings a pedigree. And with gushing review after gushing review, he brings a reputation. And yet, the circumstances surrounding my first visit truly caused me to wonder what he would bring to my table.

Amuses. Lots of them.		Dominic Armato

The answer, at first anyway, is amuses. Lots of them. An endless stream of them... before dishes, after dishes, in between dishes... Kevin Binkley likes small bites. And fortunately for his diners, he gets small bites. Though some work better than others, they are without exception small in stature and big in flavor, a formidable punch packed into a tiny package. Cauliflower soup with apple curry oil is a simple and elegant pairing, made amuse by its remarkable potency, a warm and creamy distillation of cauliflower with just enough salt to extract the maximum amount of flavor without jumping over the precipice. It's been done, but rarely so well. An exceptionally light and airy chicken liver mousse arrives in a Lilliputian cooking vessel, to be spread on wafer-thin crisps and topped with such bracing morsels as mint-infused tomatillo, red wine and eucalyptus gelée, pickled red onion, caper berries and coarse mustard. Though enjoyable, there was a disconnect between the mousse and its accompaniments. The central element was outstanding, but it was so delicate that it was bullied by its supporting players. The mousse was a star. It just fell in with a bad crowd. There was no mistaking the star of our third amuse, an olive oil and vanilla poached bit of cantaloupe, with radish halo and festive sprout. Simple, strong, clean, delicious. Up next, a single spire of Romanesco broccoli, with yuzu cream cheese, yuzu foam and prosciutto powder. Though I lost the prosciutto, it was another bracing bite. Hot on its heels, a spoon filled with poached carrots, curry oil, toasted almond, dried currants, cilantro and couscous, as notable for its texture as its flavor. And to round up this one-bite barrage, a "pork bun," comprised of a bit of belly, bun, soy-marinated pineapple and wasabi foam. Delicious. The pineapple needed to be dialed back a bit for balance's sake, but again, simple, clean, bold, tasty.

	Spot Prawn Tartare	Dominic Armato

One of my dining companions joked that on previous visits, he sometimes wasn't sure where the amuses ended and the dishes began. But the spot prawn tartare was no amuse, either in terms of size or sophistication. There's a certain almost starchy quality to certain sea creatures like squid, scallops and shrimp when they're raw, and while I love it in full potency, it's a very different and no less compelling experience to have it as it's done here, mellowed and smoothed out by the sweetness of blood orange. Blood orange juice, blood orange segments, blood orange foam, a dehydrated blood orange chip, used in so many ways it elevated the textural interest while still keeping the flavors clean and uncomplicated so as to not overshadow the spot prawn. Though the other accents were numerous -- uni gelée, snow peas, slivered radish, pickled grapes, chili threads -- they were used sparingly enough to leave that central pairing be. Sophisticated in composition and yet somehow simple in flavor, I thought it an excellent treatment of some stellar product.

It was here that we received the intermezzo pictured at the top of the post, the miniature sloppy joe that I was surprised to later discover would not be the most playful dish of the evening. With a nickel-sized bun and slivered cornichon condiment, it packed a lot of flavor into so small a bite. It was, however, a sloppy joe, its only exceptional interest being its size, towards which I might have been more positively inclined if the bun weren't rather dry. I've no doubt that keeping such tiny bits of bread moist and spongy is no small technical challenge, particularly in the desert. But if the itty-bitty dry bun is a theme -- and I've heard from others that it is -- whimsy shouldn't be at the expense of flavor and the dish should be 86ed, I think, no matter how adorable that little sandwich is.

Foie with Sunflower and Huckleberry	Dominic Armato

My aforementioned dining companion requested the foie, and I couldn't be more thrilled that he did. Food nerds can be bought with foie. It's just a fact. But still, exceptional preparations stand out and this was assuredly one of them. A sizeable segment of foie was seared, almost charred, to a deep, deep brown color, the melting interior suspended within an almost crispy shell. But while the execution was excellent, the flavors were positively inspired. Set atop a slice of sweet vanilla French toast, it was dressed with a touch of balsamic reduction and accompanied by fresh mulberries and a smear of paste made with ground sunflower seeds. The sunflower seed paste was the linchpin, a savory, nutty contrast to foie's traditionally sweet accoutrements. But this flavor combination, so unconventional yet so right, completely sucked me in. It was both complex and delightful in unexpected ways. A couple of times I caught what I could have sworn was the slightest whiff of chocolate, but the kitchen confirmed, none was present. Something about the nutty sunflower playing off the sweetness of the balsamic lent that impression, I think. But regardless of its composition, this dish was something special that's going to stick with me for a long time.

Mango Bomb	Dominic Armato

Since another intermezzo followed the foie, I'll take a little intermezzo myself and muse over how remarkable it is that this dish was so unremarkable. Let me explain. It was delicious. The "Mango Bomb" employs a technique that's now a modernist classic (contradiction in terms?), encapsulating a liquid in a skin formed from the same. You bite it, liquid gushes out, and it's mango through and through. And acidic verjus and spicy chili oil are delicious, straightforward accompaniments. In short, it's a great little refresher in between courses, and what's remarkable is that we can simply enjoy it as such, rather than it being a referendum on molecular gastronomy. The evening's menu wasn't particularly heavy on modernist techniques (with a few notable exceptions), but there's that mango globule, staring you in the face, without the need for an accompanying lecture. I find that refreshing, as I did the dish.

	Corvina with Tomato and Fava	Dominic Armato

That the corvina was both the weakest of the non-amuse courses and still quite excellent is, I think, a testament to the meal as a whole. It was a beautiful piece of fish, with a crisp seared crust and moist flesh, perfectly seasoned and paired with a spicy remoulade and numerous plays on tomato and fava bean. Beneath the fish, a juicy and tart green tomato, battered and fried. Surrounding it, whole peeled cherry tomatoes, oven dried tomato slices, tomato puree, fava beans and basil oil. Off in the distance, crusty bruschetta with fava puree, more tomatoes and more basil. Fresh tomato and heavily reduced tomato have a very different character, and the oven dried tomato and thick, pulpy tomato puree managed to walk the line between the two, taking on an intense flavor without losing the brightness of the fresh product. But despite the numerous components and techniques involved, this was a simple dish at heart. Fish, tomato, fava, basil and bread with a bit of creamy remoulade. It was quite delicious, and beautifully executed. I felt as though it was wanting for just one final touch to really make it pop, even if I can't think of what that might be. Still, this was a dish I'd be thrilled to receive at just about any restaurant. If this is your weak link, you're doing incredibly well.

Pork au Poivre	Dominic Armato

After another intermezzo, a simply presented shot of tangelo soda, we moved on to the meaty portion of the menu, here represented by Binkley's pork au poivre. It was as though with each successive course, he was adding more elements, employing more techniques, working in more flavors, and yet here was where I think my final conflict with Binkley met its resolution. Just to describe the dish takes forever. Peppered and roasted pork sits atop an artful drizzle of root beer jus. Behind that, a turnip empanada with caramelized baby turnips on a raisin puree with an assortment of whole rehydrated raisins. Behind that, a cube of fried, crispy, spicy grits sitting next to a spinach puree with a sort of ethereal spinach paper on top. (Side note: said spinach puree was really remarkable, like spinach times twenty, an entire bunch crammed into a tiny quenelle.) At first, it seems like deconstruction gone wrong. There's so much, flung to every distant corner of the plate that bringing it all together is impossible. Want to get a bite with everything in it? You can't. Some assembly required doesn't begin to cover it. So I spent a few frustrated minutes trying to put together elements that I was starting to feel really should have been put together in the kitchen. And then somewhere near the midpoint, I was distracted by conversation, and suddenly it started to come together. By turning off my brain and just blindly eating, it started to work. An enormous amount of energy is obviously expended on the plate, and I'm not sure that a little focus wouldn't make it even better. But this sort of virtuosic combination of distinctive elements has its charms, and while working my way through the dish I learned to appreciate them.

	Culinary Rave?	Dominic Armato

A very conventional (if delicious) cheese course followed, my selections from a small board plated with toasts, nuts and a bit of dried fruit. And I have to wonder if this rather conservative interlude was simply to set up the first dessert, which bordered on -- no, WAS -- completely ridiculous. I don't necessarily mean that as a pejorative, but looking at the photo only gives you half the picture. Those lights would change colors every couple of seconds. There's a horrible groaner of a pun about a rave review in here that I'm going to avoid, and simply say that while many will probably find this dessert absurd, I don't mind a little fun. Though I could have used a techno soundtrack, and was forced to supply my own. The tiny lollipops were bubble gum flavored, with little sprinkles adding a pleasing texture. What was in the glass? One whiff... fruit cocktail. Sort of. Rather, it was an assortment of fruit gelées -- pineapple, mango, lychee -- suspended in a viscous liquid that evoked heavy syrup without being so heavy, and looking like an inverted lava lamp. Like Steve Martin pulling out the script within minutes of the opening of Picasso at the Lapin Agile, I wonder if this bit of absurdity might have more of an icebreaking effect if positioned closer to the start of the meal. But either way, I respect Binkley's attempt to keep things loose.

Peanut Butter Souffle	Dominic Armato

The next dessert item was also quite playful, if more subtly so. More of a dessert intermezzo, it was a peanut butter soufflé the size of a silver dollar, finished with huckleberry jelly. Peanut butter and jelly. Like one of his mentors, Binkley acknowledges the power of classic, unpretentious flavor combinations. I'm not certain the peanut butter made for the best soufflé texture, but it was tasty whatever you call it. The final full dessert course was another far-flung presentation, this time of strawberries and cream. The strawberries were coated with zabaglione treated with agar agar, and they sat in a sea of vanilla crème anglaise along with balsamic reduction, dehydrated strawberries, miniature chocolate moon pies and a bit of honeysuckle. In this instance, I'm not sure that the various manipulations made the dish more delicious, but they made it more fun, and there's certainly value in that. A few mignardises -- raspberry pate de fruit, meringue and drops of chocolate with coconut -- and three and a half hours later and about $100 lighter, we were on our way.

	Strawberries and Cream	Dominic Armato

I don't think there's any fear of me forgetting my meal this time around. Chef Binkley puts on quite a show, marked with an enormous amount of precision and energy. The sheer number of components involved in his full tasting, while not unprecedented, is quite remarkable. And this virtuosic performance not only produces some wonderful dishes, but it's grounded with a bit of humor and wit, without which it might drift into straight-up pretension. I don't know that I can gush unreservedly like so many other pieces I've read. There were lulls, and while I don't mind a little fun for fun's sake, there were moments where some of his complex machinations seemed to be a means without an end. It may be telling that of the larger courses, by far the best of the evening was the one that was most simply plated. But the bottom line is that there is delicious and impressive food here, produced by a master technician and sometimes creative genius, in whom Phoenix's pride is well-placed. It can be an intimidating thing to weigh in on a sacred cow, and truly, none in Phoenix's herd are more sacred than Binkley's. And so it's with a great deal of relief that I discover Binkley's is a restaurant that's truly excellent, and even a little special.

Binkley's Restaurant
www.binkleysrestaurant.com
6920 E. Cave Creek Road
Cave Creek, AZ 85331
480-437-1072
Tue - Sat	5:00 PM - 9:30 PM