Domesticity and Ale

Feb. 11-15

Monday started with domestic stuff. We had a load of wash to do. I had been wearing the same trousers for at least a month so it was time to leave them with a dry cleaner.

We drove past the giant rabbit at Marshall Way. I know it’s not a jackalope, because it doesn’t have a rack of antlers. 

Prestige Cleaners is on Goldwater Blvd., named I guess for Barry. Those of us who remember the “AuH2O” bumper sticker have been around for a while. 

We weren’t so lucky with the wet wash. There is a coin laundry not far from the hotel, but none of machines looked very inviting. Many were sitting half full of rancid water.

We wound up driving a few miles to a place we had noticed on our way to Patrick and Kristin’s house. It’s called Coin Less Laundry because you have to buy a card and charge it up with credits to run the machines. 

In any event, the machines worked and the clothes came out clean.

The high point of the day was going to dinner with my cousin Bill and his wife, DeeDee, who live in Mesa.

They met us at the hotel. When you go out for dinner with Bill, you should let him decide where to go. If you do, there will always be a delightful discovery.

This time, Bill took us to the Cornish Pastie, which is only a few blocks from the Howard Johnson Inn. The name comes from its signature dish.

Cornish pastie is a savory turnover that originated, according to the menu, in the tin mining country of Cornwall. A curious feature is an extended bit of crust where the dough comes together at the seam.

That’s were a miner could hold the pastie while he ate it. That was advisable because his hands were likely coated with arsenic from the mine.

The restaurant offers dozens of versions. I chose one called Porky, filled with pork, potato, onion, and apple.

I didn’t detect apple outright, but the pie was very good nonetheless.

I had a couple of ales. One was a hazy—that is, unfiltered—IPA, a bit sharp and pleasingly bitter, giving it a crisp, clean flavor.

Bill had a one-hop IPA made with Mosaic hops, which gave it an interesting, almost floral edge.

The menu also listed a Blood Red IPA, but the bar had run out of it. So DeeDee searched on her phone for spot nearby that might have some in stock. One likely candidate had an unlikely name, Geisha a Go Go.

DeeDee made a couple of calls and found that nobody had the Blood Red because it’s a seasonal. But with a name like Geisha a Go Go, the bar was a must-see. 

The menu is Japanese. The posters behind the bar are dead rock stars, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Sid Vicious.

SanTan Devil’s Ale is a good American pale, in the tradition of Sierra Nevada. It’s lighter than an IPA and not as bitter or as piney. SanTan operates pubs in Phoenix and in Chandler, where it started. 

The company also distributes its beer in the area. I went to the website but couldn’t be sure if they operate a central brewery or brew at the two pubs.

I also tried a can of Ska Pinstripe Red. Red ales are often good. This one has the toasty red malt flavor with a hint of sweet, but it’s not cloying. It has the strength of a session ale, around 5 percent alcohol. 

Ska is not based in Jamaica, but in Durango, Colo.

Tuesday we tried to find Pueblo Grande Museum. This is another partly excavated mound-builder site. It’s in the heart of the Phoenix-Tempe-Mesa etc. metropolis. You can stand on the mound and watch planes taking off from the airport.

When I wrote down the Google instructions, I left out one critical turn, a right at East Van Buren. My one compensation for the error is that it managed to get us lost.

Instead of East Washington Street in Phoenix, we wound up on Washington Street in Tempe. When that brought us to Scottsdale Road, Joanna suggested we give up for the day and try another time.

When we got back and saw where I had gone wrong, I copied a corrected set of directions into my notebook. I also noted a simpler route, involving only two turns.

Joanna had arranged to meet an old friend, Steve, in the lobby at 3:30. We walked up at three, and he was already there waiting for us.

Steve lives northwest of Phoenix and works near the airport, a trip of 20 or 30 miles. He commutes, like almost everybody in the area, by car.

He works an adjusted schedule to avoid rush-hour traffic. He leaves at five or six in the morning and his work day ends at 2:30.

Joanna used to work in an accounting office at Montclair State. When Steve was a student there, he got a part-time job in her office, and she mentored him.

They’ve stayed in touch ever since.

We went to the Italian Grotto for dinner. So far, the restaurants in Scottsdale have been terrific. 

My dinner was delicious—slices of sweet fennel sausage in a dark red sauce over ravioli. The wine was a very fine Chianti.

Wednesday we made it to Pueblo Grande. Unlike the other prehistoric Indian sites we’ve seen on this trip, Pueblo Grande is a city park, not national.

The centerpiece is a large mound that has been only partly excavated. The site was once privately owned, and was donated to the city in the 1920s.

There were excavations into part of the mound as early as 1901, but the techniques of the time left the exposed sections open to accelerated erosion. So they were later filled in, much like the Casa Grande ruins.

You walk through the site on a trail. The way to go is marked by petroglyph-style lizards, which gave me the photo of the day, “Joanna Following the Geckos.”

There are several structures on top of the mound. No one is sure what all of them were used for. 

Some on the mound show signs of habitation—usually the remains of a hearth. Maybe the privileged people lived on top of the mound. (“Like Upper Mountain Avenue,” Joanna said.)

One room on the mound has windows that align with the solstices. And also with a curious feature to the north, Hole in the Rocks, which is just that, a round hole worn through a ridge.

The room could have been yet another prehistoric calendar to determine the timing of plantings.

There are signs, too, of extensive habitation and thousands of miles of irrigation canals forming a network over the area. 

The park includes replicas of adobe dwellings. 

Another with one wall open to show the interior is a reconstruction of a pole house. Remains of many similar structures, usually the post holes and the hearth, are found at other mound-builder sites.

At its peak, more than 1,000 people may have lived here. The community lasted for about 1,000 years. It and many other villages in the region were abandoned sometime around 1450. 

No one knows why. Maybe flood, maybe drought. It was long before the Europeans came. 

For dinner, Joanna wanted to try the food at Geisha a Go Go. It’s a few blocks from the hotel, so we walked. Nice and convenient. I’m not driving, so I don’t have to behave.

We tried a bunch of small dishes: gyoza dumplings, fried rice, vegetable yakisoba. This last one is a stir-fry with buckwheat noodles. I have since learned that soba noodles can be made with wheat flour and seasoned with oyster sauce.

This time I tried another new local brew, Camelback IPA from Phoenix Ale Brewery. It was very drinkable, bitter enough with a mild fragrance, but not in my top IPA territory, like Voodoo Ranger or Dogfish Head. 

So I followed it with a New Belgium Voodoo Ranger. The company describes it as having all kinds of citrus flavors and a little sweetness at the start. I think that’s exaggerated. 

It’s a good blend of flavors and very complex. I don’t care as much for the citrusy brews, like the Lagunitas IPA, for instance. I crave them occasionally, but much prefer the dryer ales, like the Ranger.

Ranger is a family of IPAs from New Belgium. The ale called Ranger runs about 6 percent alcohol, Voodoo Ranger about 7, and Voodoo Ranger Imperial 9 percent.

After the Voodoo Ranger I had another Ska Pinstripe.

It’s almost half a mile from Geisha a Go Go to Howard Johnson. It can really build up a thirst. 

That’s why we stopped on the way back at a bar with the promising name of Cold Beer & Cheeseburgers.

The Cold Beer part was plentiful, true, but short on local options. So I had a pint of Elysian Space Dust. I’ve had this before but can’t remember where or when.

Space Dust, made by Elysian Brewing in Seattle, is a strong IPA, 8 percent alcohol. Although the hops send out a good fragrance and a bitter flavor, you can still taste the malt. It’s well done.

Thursday we traveled out to Sun City West to the R.H. Johnson Recreation Center to watch Joanna’s niece Michele in a lawn bowling tournament. They were playing pairs.

Michele and a friend, Lorraine, were on one team. The other team consisted to two Canadian women, I think. The ranks of the local lawn bowling scene swell with Canadians every winter. 

I don’t know many of the rules, but lawn bowling seems related to Bocce. The little ball goes out and then players take turns trying to roll as close as they can to the target ball. 

The playing balls aren’t spherical, though. They’re more like kaiser rolls, round in one dimension and almost flat in another. They roll across the grass and when they lose momentum, may flop onto one side. 

Michele scored several points toward the end of the match, but the rally came too late. So instead of proceeding to the next level, we all went to lunch instead.

Later most of us convened back at Patrick’s house for kale chips, bok choi, and pizza. No kidding. And it all worked together very well.

Friday was moving day. 

Members of a kickball league have taken over the entire Howard Johnson for the weekend, as they do every year at this time. The advance guard moved in Thursday night and started partying early.

It’s just as well they have taken the place over for themselves. Their idea of fun is to see how much noise they can make.

I don’t know why people think that’s fun. Maybe it makes them feel naughty. Or maybe they’re striving for attention to get laid. I’m not sure.

We’re a long way from Scottsdale, out in a region of malls and subdivisions.

The drive took a little over half an hour, but we still got here before noon, too early to check in.

We explored the neighborhood to kill time. We picked up some fruit and yogurt at Fry’s Food & Drug, which is apparently a Kroger chain. At least, it carries some Kroger store-brand goods.

We were also looking for a place to eat lunch. Near the supermarket on Peoria Avenue, Joanna saw a Mexican restaurant, Garcia’s. 

Let’s try it, she said. And so we did.

This is Mexican food country. After all, it wasn’t too long ago that this was part of Mexico.

Refried beans and rice are always fun. The menu also had a tamale with yellow corn instead of meat. I had to try that.

I was hungry. I was thirsty. The cornmeal was like cake and the corn kernels inside made me feel very healthy. Even the Negro Modelo tasted better than a lager is supposed to.

We checked in at the Candlewood Suites with no problem and spent the rest of the day goofing off.

As I say, we’re in one of those Super-America scenes of highways, subdivisions, and malls. I wonder if it’s coincidence that “mall” rhymes with “sprawl.” 

But we got lucky in one way. Unlike some places I’ve been recently, there is an actual sidewalk here along the access road. From the Candlewood parking lot, we can see a sign for Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen. 

Even though we’ve been run out of Scottsdale, we had the luxury of walking to dinner again.

Lunch at Garcia’s was about as much food as I eat for dinner most nights, so I wasn’t up for anything too rich or plentiful. 

Joanna had a couple of small fried catfish filets with rice because they were one of the few offerings that wasn’t blackened and spiced up. 

I had a dozen Gulf oysters on the half shell. They were surprisingly lacking in flavor. I remember how wonderful those oysters were in New Orleans. And how briny wonderful the Blue Points are in New Jersey.

These needed the lemon juice and cocktail sauce to give them a kick.

The beer selection was on the weak side, in my estimation, but it had one saving grace, Stone IPA. After three pints, I could still walk home just fine, but it was time to go to sleep.

That’s it for now.

So here’s wishing everybody good oysters, better beer, and the best sleep.

Be well, all, and good night.

Harry