Zocalo Hannah

The Wild Garlic Grill hits the mark with delicious French-inspired cuisine

It’s a trait I inherited from my mother, whose aesthetic taste is unrivaled: the moment I enter a restaurant I start to pass judgment — way before I’ve seen the menu or my waiter — based on the decor. Mom-and-pop joints and dives have it pretty easy with me: if I expect cracked linoleum and paper napkins, I adjust my pickiness to match.

The Wild Garlic Grill, however, shoots for refinement — and doesn’t quite hit the mark. The ocotillo-ribbed ceiling provided a rustic warmth, and there were a couple of vibrant, good-looking oil paintings on the walls. But the heavy, patinaed frames on the blackboards and mirrors looked tawdry, the “butcher paper” on the tables looked liked it should have come with crayons, and the bar was cramped and cheap-looking. Unfortunately, sometimes it’s obvious when a restaurant doesn’t hire an interior designer.

The good news: as soon as my dinner came out, the decor was the last thing on my mind. The food was delicious. Chef Steven Shultz, an Arizona native and a veteran of the state’s restaurant scene, is the culinary muscle behind Wild Garlic Grill. His French-influenced culinary background, fused with a more laid-back California vibe, is what makes Wild Garlic Grill a success.

Both of my meals began with an appetizer or two. Although the fondue lacked the gooey consistency of its classic forebearers — it was more like cheese sauce  — my dining companions and I polished it off happily. Mussels with garlic and tomatoes on my second visit were delicious, but the restaurant had run out of bread. Nothing to sop up the savory beurre blanc sauce at the bottom of the bowl! I wanted to dash out to a bakery, or dispatch our waiter. Our meal was marred, though definitely not ruined, by this shortage.

The highlight of my dinner came in a large, shallow bowl — so reminiscent of a Moroccan tagine that I found myself resisting the urge to eat the succulent lamb with my hands. It was the night’s special: braised lamb shank in a rich and comforting burgandy wine sauce, redolent with warm spices and accented with onions and mushrooms.

Two fish dishes also showcased the kitchen’s talent: a tilapia special served with a crisp salsa (heart of palm, avocado, cilantro, and more), and grilled salmon with tomato-spiked risotto and a beurre blanc sauce.

A vegetable side of the evening accompanies each dish at Wild Garlic Grill.  The first night’s vegetable medley included bell peppers, chard, and, oddly but not unsuccessfully, cooked cucumber. A mix of sautéed kale, zucchini, and Brussels sprouts on my second visit was too salty for me. Still, it added a pleasing burst of color to my meal — a delicious but incredibly rich linguini bolognaise with braised beef, pork, and veal that would have easily been enough for two hungry carnivores.

The restaurant features an entirely adequate wine selection and a small, somewhat bizarre cocktail menu featuring items such as a Smurf-inspired blue martini and a savory “sangria” that sounds more like a Bloody Mary. One of my dining companions tried the Summer Day, a drink made with muddled basil and cucumber — delicious, but misplaced on a drink menu that should have had pairings better suited to the complex, savory meals that Wild Garlic Grill offers.

The service at Wild Garlic Grill is a bit harried, and at moments the timing is off. The wait staff is warm and accommodating, however, and as time goes on the staff will no doubt learn the rhythms of this still-new restaurant. And next time I visit for a great meal, I’ll avert my eyes from those heavy-framed mirrors and simply enjoy some delicious food.

The lowdown:

How much? $$ – $$$ (entrees average between $10 and $20)

Who goes? Attracts a more mature crowd; mostly groups of friends or couples.

What’s the vibe? Classy yet inviting.

Is it worth it? Fantastic food for the price — definitely worth a visit.

Review: May’s Counter

Chicken And Waffle Experience Underwhelms

The subdued ambiance of May’s Counter feels incongruous to cheery Southern cuisine. There are bright red diner stools marching along the bar, but black and dark wood dominate the decor. Six flat-screened TVs tuned to sports stations are dotted around the dining area: heavy tables spread across a tiled floor that mimics poured concrete. Black faux leather booths—each with a bold red racing strip down the center emblazoned with May’s Counter’s logo—line the wall opposite the bar. The overall atmosphere of “sports-bar-meets-diner-meets-grandfather’s-mahogany-paneled-study” is polished – but boring. As for the food, the concept is robust, but execution underwhelms.

Two friends weaned on grits and fried chicken in Louisiana joined me for my first dinner at May’s. We ordered a few beers – May’s has an entirely adequate selection of cocktails and beers, including the kitschy option of a PBR tallboy in a paper bag – while we mulled over the trendy-looking menu.

I selected the “Hen” ($10): one waffle and two chicken breasts. The chicken arrived crisp and crunchy, its white meat moist within, but the batter could have used a jolt of seasoning. And the limp waffle was like elevator music: inoffensively bland.

My friend Daniel approved of his gigantic shrimp po’ boy ($11, with a side of tater tots or crinkle-cut fries), with the exception of the bread: it looked and tasted like an oversized hot dog bun and left him wishing for the traditional French bread. Jessie’s fried catfish “big plate” ($14 with two sides) was enjoyable, but she delivered a crushing blow when she admitted that the meal wasn’t as good as her elementary school cafeteria’s version. Her collard greens were unexceptional – and tasted inexplicably of cumin. Her second side order, grits, won top awards: fluffy and deliciously decadent. The three of us split two additional sides. Cheers for the crispy fried okra ($4), but the ranch dipping sauce overpowered. The house-made mac and cheese ($5) looked pretty, flecked with chile, but looks can be deceiving: it didn’t even taste as good as the boxed stuff.

My second visit to May’s Counter provided two delights: the pickle chips appetizer ($7) and the “best bite ever.” My dining companions and I dug into the crisp, salty pickles with gusto. They seem like a misfit among appetizers ­– they strike me as a perfect bar food ­– but they’re good enough that I’d eat them wherever they show up. The “best bite ever” I credit to the culinary genius of my friend Alex. He ordered the “BYO” ($12 for a waffle and your choice of three pieces of fried chicken) and deconstructed the whole thing into a mess of dark meat, crispy skin, hot sauce, and maple syrup, scooping it all up with bits of waffle. He fed Ali and me each a big bite of chicken wrapped up in a waffle dripping with hot sauce and syrup. Absurdly messy – and equally delicious.

Our “Angry Bird” buffalo chicken sandwich ($9) tasted solidly O.K., but the “12 Gauge Chicken” sandwich ($9) should have stayed in the kitchen. A thick, puffy, hamburger-esque bun and dry grilled chicken overwhelmed the tentative spread of grayish guacamole and a few slices of jalapeño. A side of succotash ­– a buttery mix of grape tomatoes, corn, and lima beans – was colorful and had plenty of flavor, but wasn’t good enough to salvage the meal.

May’s attracts families looking for a casual meal out and groups of college students looking for comfort food and a beer in a sports-bar environment. The restaurant, brainchild of Arizona chef and restaurateur Aaron May, has a good concept, and they’ve got their marketing down pat (“Eat Well, Drink A Lot” is their catchy slogan). With a relative dearth of fried-chicken-and-waffle joints in Tucson, sure, hit up May’s if that’s what you’re really craving. But, at least at dinner and lunch time (I didn’t try their breakfast offerings), don’t stray off the beaten path. May’s can fry up a good piece of chicken – they can fry anything pretty well, for that matter – but beyond that, they disappoint.

The lowdown:

How much? $$ (entrees average between $10 and $15)

Who goes? Attracts sporty college students and families.

What’s the vibe? Classed-up sports-bar ambiance; plenty of outdoor seating. Service is inconsistent but not terrible.

Is it worth it? Go if you want fried chicken and waffles and don’t mind that your meal’s a little overpriced.

All major credit cards accepted.

Sundays at The Cup

The Cup Café is the place to be in Tucson on Sunday mornings, and there is, accordingly, a substantial wait time for a table. In Hotel Congress’s own words, however, “The build-your-own Bloody Mary bar helps pass the time quickly.” Indeed, this creatively-designed bar, situated in the lobby of Hotel Congress and open exclusively on Sunday mornings from 10- 2, is even a destination in and of itself. Explains Matthew “Cheeks” Talavera, one of the bartenders you’ll regularly find at Hotel Congress at the Sunday bloody bar: “It’s not just about wasting time before you get a table at the Cup.”

Time might not be wasted at the Bloody Mary bar, but you might very well end up that way if one delicious morning libation happens to lead to another (and maybe another). Part of the fun is the set-up: there’s a cup on the bar full of slips of paper. Grab one, and in the style of a sandwich shop you get to circle your preferred ingredients: salt or not; your choice of vodka, gin, or tequila; level of spiciness; number of shots; and garnishes. Some of the garnishes, like pickles, are classic. Others are more unexpected: avocado, artichokes, and three different types of cheese are all options.

My companions and I took our made-to-order Bloody Marys out to Congress’s front patio—we can be counted among the Bloody bar clientele who were not simply passing time before breakfast at the Cup—and began a share-and-compare session. My brother and our friend both had delicious drinks, but—luckily for me—my own Bloody Mary was my favorite. I chose the classic vodka Bloody, chose “hot” as my desired level of spiciness, and garnished the drink with cilantro, capers, cucumber, and goat cheese, plus the requisite celery. (I was hesitant to add cheese to my Bloody, but I can’t really even resist goat cheese, even when it seems like a bad idea (which is rarely, to be honest). I’m glad I added it. The creaminess of the cheese helped to offset the spiciness of the drink.

Because be forewarned: concerning the “hot” Bloody Marys, Cheeks tells me (and I can corroborate), “You asked for it hot—it’ll be hot!” Indeed, both my brother’s and my Bloodys were exceptionally spicy. Even the mild Bloody has a bit of a kick to it: the Bloody mix at Congress, made in-house, contains Mexican chili, a Tucson-made green poblano sauce, and Tobasco.

The staff wasn’t too knowledgeable about the origin of the Bloody Mary bar, which was too bad because it would have been nice to hear the story of how it came to be. Apparently it’s been around for four or five years and “you don’t want to know why it’s called Bloody,” according to Andres “Andy” Parada, a Cup server and sometimes-Bloody Mary bartender. The Bloody Mary bar doesn’t need myth and notoriety to be a success, though (Hotel Congress has enough ghosts already, anyway). What it needs are good Bloody Marys—and that’s already covered.